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#i think... aside from having a large chest-_-
comfortless · 1 day
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If it's not too much trouble or boring to write, may I ask for more König taking care of sick reader? Thanks :)
(The anon that asked for the other sickfic and that is sick again 🥲)
König brings you breakfast. Tries, at least. There was an attempt made to ensure that the plate of hastily thrown together food and the big mug of lemon tea look nice together. Warm bread and your favorite jam, butchered on the plate with the butter running off to the other side of it entirely. He’s not a chef, and breakfast isn’t quite his forte; König much prefers you cooking in the mornings and the lazy way he can drape himself over you as you do so.
But… you’re ill and look so somber and adorable tucked into bed, wearing one of his shirts and hardly able to keep your eyes open when you’re presented with food. To think this poor little angel would have to suffer so… He momentarily sets everything aside, tells you in a quiet tone of voice that everything around the house has already been handled, so all you need to do is focus on taking care of yourself. No. Actually, he can help you with that too.
Despite any protests, you find yourself seated in his lap, one large hand gently caressing your cheek as a digit prods at your lips. There’s an expectation of compliance. He knows what’s best, or, has himself convinced that he does.
“You have to eat,” he chides, bringing the bread right up to your mouth. Apple butter for the first bite, some other sticky confection on the next. And as frustrating as it might be when all you would like to do is curl back into bed and nurse your aching head with the comfort of a cool pillow, König does not let up until every crumb on the plate has been cleared.
There’s a dollop of jam smattered across your bottom lip from being hand-fed like a disobedient pet. Then, a warm tongue grazing over it and a mouth leaving a trail of kisses up to the peak of your warm cheek. “Messy little thing,” he huffs against your temple. “And your tea..?”
Thankfully, he doesn’t try to scald your mouth feeding you that, too. His hands find your hair instead, then massage at the nape of your neck as you sip away at the bitter drink. There’s a rumble in his chest as he tries to soothe you, humming a song his Oma used to sing to him as a boy until your eyes shut and you relax against his chest in sleep.
If or… when you do try to leave the bedroom, you’re met with a horribly doting brute. He isn’t entirely sure what else he can do to console you. He isn’t one to sit about on his phone for hours on end, but his search history is assuredly a mess by now. You’re not given the chance to walk even a foot past the threshold of your shared room before you’re picked up and toted about like a bride on her wedding day with no warning.
Medicine is pressed into your mouth by his hand while you’re sat on the countertop, trying to assure your weary, giant nurse that you’re fine. He could stand to relax a bit. König is nothing short of a tense, anxious nightmare when he’s worried about something, especially something as important as you. It’s no surprise when you find yourself lying back on the couch with his face buried into your chest as you stroke at the top of his head, the overgrown buzzcut prickling the tips of your fingers. He smiles in his sleep, babbles something like a wish as his hands twitch to squeeze at your sides.
“Just… stay right here.”
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mychlapci · 20 hours
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Rodimus is meant to be a carrier.
His thighs are thicker, his chest plates have swollen, his tank is large, round and enters a room before he does.
Far from the typical carrying of most cybertronians who don’t get nearly as big even with the off chance they carry multiples.
His nozzles have darkened and swollen so much they’re too sensitive to go behind his chest plates after a certain point so he’s just stuck in his office or his berth room with no chest plating and even having to remove the plating on his tanks with how big he gets.
He sticks to having energon delivered to his hab suite late when no bot would be out by ultra magnus who, along with Megatron, see the state of their captain who yells at them to get out only to get the fragging of a life time and his fuel pouches sucked dry.
They make it a nightly habit to see Rodimus fragging or not, to the point Rodimus himself has to admit they either like him, they do-they really do, or they’re obsessed with his new frame- two things can be true after all- and he doesn’t know what to do with that aside from…letting them.
Of course, throw Drift and Ratchet in the mix who come back from their honeymoon early because Rodimus wasn’t video chatting with him like usual anymore and Drift feared something happened to him or Rodimus was being self destructive again thinking he wasn’t worthy of being Drifts amica- again - so he and Ratchet who was equally worried, barged into Rodimus’s hab suite mid day and saw him.
No chest plates, pouches swollen and tender with denta marks, tank open without armor, swollen and covered only with Rodimus servo that was trying to calm his rambunctious sparkling down and his thick thighs holding up a bowl of flavored frozen energon that became Rodimus’s new craving.
Rodimus was not expecting to see the two and he was not expecting Drift and Ratchet to lock the door, open their panels and devour him like they needed him to survive.
He wakes up to Magnus, Megatron, Drift and Ratchet surrounding him talking about who gets him, whose sparkling goes in him next and who was going to get first drink of his energon when he onlined.
He’s just dazed until he hears them say something about making him all four of their conjunxs and needing a bigger ship for all the sparklings they were going to breed into him.
..i should’ve made this anonymous
hrghh you get it. Poor Roddy hiding in his room because he can’t lock his titties behind his chest plates anymore, he’s very lucky to have Megatron and Magnus coming in daily to bring him fuel and pound his pregnant valve until he’s a squealing mess. He’s so big no one who sees him can resist putting him on all fours and making sweet, sweet love to his improved frame.
Drift, Ratchet, Magnus and Megatron get to share him, of course… With tits that big and a belly so swollen he needs four big, sturdy mechs to keep him satisfied. Rodimus should get pampered for being such a perfect carrier. And they need to make sure he stays fat with babies.
Once again i am imagining Rodimus with a big, healthy baby latched onto his tit while his belly is already big with his second sparkling...
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harrysbelovedd · 1 day
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carnival date [rafe cameron]
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pairing - rafe cameron x reader
summary - you get sick of rafe playing hard to get, so you decide to hit him where it hurts.
warnings - swearing, angst/fluff
Lights shone brightly below us, a large teddy bear sitting between us. As the ferris wheel begins to approach the boardwalk ground, I look over at JJ. I smile lovingly–hoping my acting is believable. 
“Is he looking?” I whisper through clenched teeth. 
JJ’s eyes peer down, spotting a furious Rafe standing on the ground, smoke practically fuming out of his ears. His strong arms cross over his broad chest, veins in his hands protruding out of anger as he clenches his fists.
“Oh he’s looking, and I think–correct me if I’m wrong–he is going to kill me and throw my body off the pier once we got off this fuckin’ thing.” He widens his eyes, nodding his head toward the man I’m really here for.
“Possibly,” I shrug, “Don’t worry I’ll put in a good word, you should lock your doors though.” I warn, playfully. Except just to be safe, JJ probably should triple check his locks tonight. Rafe’s jealousy is unexplainable. But that’s what he gets for thinking he can play hard to get with me.
Rafe and I have been playing this game for months, he shows his interest in me on a drunken night, then the next morning acts like I don’t exist. He knows that I know how he feels, and I’m sure he knows how I feel. Today, I grew sick and tired of him acting like a child. So, I decided to use the one sure-fire way I could get him to fess up.
Jealousy.
I don’t hang out with the pogues much, but JJ Maybank happened to owe me a favor. A couple weeks ago he snuck into Midsummers trying to find some free booze. So, when security caught him, I covered for him and told him he owed me. So, here we are. Pretending to be on a date to make Rafe jealous.
Soon enough, the ferris wheel came to a stop. JJ stood up, grabbing my hand and the teddy bear as we hopped off the ride. Rafe now stands with Topper and Kelce, pretending to be part of their conversation. But really, his eyes are purely on JJ and I. 
“Kiss me, JJ.”
His eyes widen, “Woah I-”
“Please, it’ll set him off and he’ll come over here, trust me.” I beg.
He rolls his eyes, “Alright but we’re even after this.”
He leans in, his calloused palm holding my cheek, pulling me closer. My eyes flick down to his lips and before we even have the chance to actually kiss–
“Yo, Maybank!” 
My lips curl into a smirk at his voice. Just like clockwork.
We both turn to see the brooding man walking toward us. His gaze is lethal, every other person on the boardwalk making way for Rafe Cameron. His jaw clenches, his fists balling by his sides. 
When he reaches us, he chuckles menacingly, “This is cute. I don’t give you attention so you go for the fuckin’ pogue?”
I scoff, “No, JJ just has the emotional maturity of an adult who’s able to actually understand his feelings and act on them.”
I hear JJ chuckle next to me, probably never expecting to hear the words “emotional maturity” and “JJ” in the same sentence. 
“He’s gonna treat you like shit, y’know that right? He’ll use you for what he needs then he’ll toss you aside,” He argues, turning toward JJ. “And when that happens you better watch your fuckin’ back JJ. You hurt her, I’ll kill you.” He seethes. 
I push JJ back, hopefully sending him the signal to leave before Rafe does something stupid. “And you’d do any better?” I scoff, “I see the girls you bring to Tannyhill and never fucking speak to again. I stopped wasting my time the second I realized you’d do the same to me.”
His anger stops at my words, he steps closer to me. “Do you really believe that? They weren’t you! I’ve been so terrified of hurting you I’ve been trying to protect you from myself. They were nothing.”
“Why didn’t you just say that?” I whisper, my fingers tugging at the hem of my top.
“Because–” He hesitates, “I’m stupid. I didn’t want to ruin our friendship. And I’m just stupid.”
“You are stupid,” I chuckle. 
He smiles, his head dipping down to meet my line of sight. His fingers push my hair behind my ear, “So can I kiss you now? Your date ditched.”
“Yeah, that wasn’t a real date,” I smirk.
“Oh you’re just as jealous and fucked up as me, huh baby?”
I grin as he pulls my face toward him in his palm, smashing his lips against mine.
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messylustt · 10 months
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i need hobie brown smut i can’t find any 😭🙏 hes a rockstar so i’m pretty sure those fingers are …. 😍😍
practice — hobie brown. longer name. hobie using your pussy for band practice. they areeee tho. god.
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he’d be sitting on a comfy chair or couch, legs spread (of course), and he’d be ushering you over by a slight backwards tilt to his head. thinking all is innocent you walk over, bouncing onto the couch beside him. hobie immediately grabs your legs which had bent slightly together, as he straightens them over his lap, his large hands practically wrapping around both calves (they are big enough, yes).
“how’d practice go?” you ask, shifting to get slightly more comfortable. “I could practically hear your guitar from a million rooms down — ” but your words drift off upon feeling his hands glide up your leg, coming to a stop by your bare thighs (you being in a skirt). you intake air as hobie yanks you closer to him by your thighs, slightly spreading them in the process.
you’re now practically draped over him having to push up slightly on your elbows as you stare at him from lower on the couch. “it was alrigh’…” his hand began to lead under your skirt all while keeping eye contact with your fluttering eyes. “if ya heard it that far away, then mission accomplished.” your breathing hitches as hobie’s ringed fingers disappear under your skirt, away from your vision, as he slowly brushes over your covered pussy, making your hips jolt.
“but apparently I need practice…” he hums, beginning to draw patterns over your clit as your chest begins to heave. “my fingers need to be quicker to get a certain tempo…” now he’s moving your panties aside as he slides the tips of his fingers through your wetness. “thanks, babe…ya all prepared for me.”
and then he’s thrusting two long fingers into your cunt making your breathing hitch as your hips shift. “hobie…”
“mm…” he watches as his fingers go in and out your pretty hole. “ya can help me get better…righ’?” his thrusts are moving quicker now, as his other hand keeps your thighs spread apart. “let me know if my speed is improving.” you’re now a whimpering mess as your head knocks back, his thrusts now at an ungodly pace as his thumb moves to rub circles on your clit.
“no no…i need to you to see. to let me know how i’m doing…” his free hand moved to pull your chin back. “watch.” your pussy is clenching around his fingers, as the speed makes your entire body hum, his thumb somehow flicking your clit perfectly. and as your orgasm crashes over you, hobie hums to himself, slowing the pace a fraction, but not pulling out.
“see…i’m already getting better…you really are helping me improve…” his thrusts quicken up again, making you whine in overstimulation. “shh…this technique is working…i can’t stop my practice now…”
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© messylustt.tumblr please don’t steal, copy or translate my work onto other platforms.
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luveline · 6 months
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hiiii jade!!!! could i please request something with peter with reader who’s maybe put on some weight recently and is insecure about it?? (totally not self indulgent at all) i totally get it if you’re not comfortable writing that stuff though so no pressure
hi lovely! ty for requesting. fem, 1k
cw for negative weight talk/ weight gain
Everybody gains weight during the holidays, you think, tracing your figure in the mirror. Though it's not strictly holiday season yet, it's edging toward the end of the year. Maybe my new year's resolution should be losing a few pounds. 
There's a thunk of the bedroom window being yanked open and footsteps across the floor. You tense until your hear Peter panting for breath, likely having swung to you at high speed, or fresh from a fight with an usurped criminal. 
You rush back into your t-shirt, knowing exactly what path he'll walk. He barrels into the bathroom, sees you at the mirror and smiles so wide his cheeks look fit to burst. "Hey," he says, peeling the suit off and exposing his boxers to you without shame, "hey hey hey. Can I persuade you in with me?" He nods toward the shower. 
"Not this time, Pete." 
"Too bad," he laments. 
You look away as he strips out of his underwear. The shower turns on and he takes you by the hips to move you out of his way with a murmured apology, near lost to the drum of the spray. Peter has moments where he doesn't know his own strength, but the majority of the time he treats you like you're something precious. 
"Stay in here!" he demands as he pulls the curtain shut. 
"I'm not going anywhere." You close the toilet and sit on the lid. "Tough day protecting the people?" 
"Apart from tripping into a deceptively large pothole, it was fine. Why won't you come in here with me? I wanna rub your shoulders." 
"You want me to wash your hair." 
"Exactly. So get naked and get in here. Don't make me beg." 
You really don't want to, and you're not going to, but it's not a big problem. Peter doesn't truly mind, he just loves you. "What do you mean, deceptively big? Like, knee height? Higher?" 
"Mid thigh, I'd say. The people of New York are never gonna let me live it down. One guy was recording me and said he was gonna put it on YouTube for the ad money." 
"Anything else?" 
He gives you the rundown, describing what perps he faced and an older man he helped use an ATM machine. You hum distractedly, pinching at the fat where it spreads on your thigh, sitting down as you are. 
He sticks his face through the curtain gap, hair slicked to his cheeks. "What're you doing?" 
"You told me to stay, so I'm staying." 
He's nervous for a split second, glancing back into the shower as though there's an answer there waiting for him before angling himself toward you fully, his naked chest dripping and shining in the bathroom light. "Okay, fine, we need to talk about something. But I want you to know that you forced my hand here. Okay?" 
"Okay." You nibble the inside of your lip, used to his theatrics. "What have I done?" 
"It's not something you've done. It's something you are. I can't even say it. I," —he pulls the curtain in front of his face, moves it aside again– "just need to tell you. Lately it's like you don't even realise how beautiful you are and I'm tired of it. You're radiant. Like, glowing." 
Your recent internal debate must show on your face, that doubt, because he gives you a steadying smile. "Really, really beautiful," he says more seriously.
It's easy to smile at him. "Thank you, Pete." You scoop his suit off of the floor. "I'll go scrub the tetanus out of this in the kitchen sink." 
"Wait–" 
He can't just get out with suds in his hair, giving you the perfect escape plan. You have ten minutes to yourself filling the sink with soapy water and steeping the fabric before he's out of the bedroom in pyjamas, trousers tucked into his socks and hair damp from ferocious towel scrubbing. "You're such a– such a– thing," he decides. "I'm telling you you're beautiful and you walk off so you don't have to hear it? What's wrong with you?" His voice slips into a kinder register. "You do know you're pretty, right? I'm not just saying it to say it." 
"I'm just feeling icky," you confide. 
"About what?" 
You want to tell him, you find. "You know how I've gained weight?" 
He doesn't need any more explanation. Peter knows you've gained weight, you've mentioned it to him, and it's visual, and he can likely tell whenever he decides to flex his strength. "What, and you think that makes you less pretty?" He puts a damp hand behind your neck to bring you forward. "Seriously?"
"Yeah, a little." 
He kisses you. His nose bumps your nose, his lips crushed to your as he holds you in place. Despite this, it isn't an overly rough connection. It's definitely not shy. "You're beautiful," he says in the space between your lips. 
"It doesn't suit me–" 
"It does. It really fucking suits you. Have you seen yourself? You couldn't look better." 
"Even when I was thinner?" 
"You look just as perfect then as you did now." His intensity fades and he encourages you back enough to see your face, his thumb rubbing a short line into your neck. His brows are furrowed, dark eyes darker for it. "Weight isn't a factor." 
"No, but you have to say that." 
"I don't. Not really. I'm sure there are a thousand shitty guys who'd tell you something different, but I'm not– I love you, the whole you. I like you like this." He grins. "Which should be obvious." 
You tsk at him, to his delight, his laughter boyish as he buries his face in your neck with a hug, kissing a messy circle up and into the soft line of your jaw. You trap him there without thinking, chin hooked down, squirming as he blows hot air into your skin. 
"I've been putting it on too," he says. "It's happy weight." 
"It's not happy weight for you, Pete, it's just more muscle." 
"It makes you happy, doesn't it?" he jokes, smiling and kissing and hugging you all at once. "Just like it does on you for me."
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tojikai · 9 months
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Sundered 2: EMBERS
Pairing: Gojo x reader
Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9 ...+
Genre: Angst
tags/cw: angst, mean!gojo(kinda), babydaddy!gojo, babymomma!reader, motherhood, insecurities, arguments, implied pregnancy, mentions of abortion
word count: 5.4k
a/n: it's not sad.
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Pining so intensely for something you never had to the point where you physically ache.
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Each step that you take away from Satoru’s house feels like a stomp to your already broken heart. Your eyebrows furrowed, feeling the waterlines of your eyes start to get hot and itch. You recalled the noises and laughs that you heard from them while you walked out of their door. 
They have no idea how much you want to get down on your knees and beg them not to take away the only thing you have left. 
Your feet feel heavy with each stride you make toward your car. You could taste blood inside your mouth as you bit your inner lip to channel the pain away from your heart and to your body instead. You found yourself looking for answers on why all of this has to happen to you. As if being replaced by the man you love so easily and having to see how he treats someone else a thousand times better than you were not enough, you also have to witness your own flesh and blood turn away from you. Am I really that far behind that woman?
Is she that much better that even my own child prefers her over me?
You placed your hands on the steering wheel, looking down at your lap as you let the tears fall. You kept glancing over at the gate, hoping that Satoru would come out, running with your baby in his arms. Yet, you don’t want him to see you crying miserably. You swallowed thickly, letting out a large breath in an attempt to get rid of the painfully heavy feeling in your chest.
Driving away was numbing, and all sorts of thoughts ran inside your mind. But above all of them, your eyes were focused on the toy store as it got bigger in your view. You wondered about what you could get your little love to at least make her smile when she comes home. You remembered how your gift to her, her favorite bear that she used to hug as she sleeps ever since she was an infant, was cast aside as she clings to her new ones. 
Is that a foreshadowing of how you’d end up being in her life? It scared you.
Reaching the parking lot of the store, you looked at yourself in the car mirror, noticing your bloodshot eyes. You inhaled and let a big breath out slowly, puffing your cheeks as you assured yourself that it’ll be fine when she comes home later. Your head hurts so much but you can’t afford to care, stepping out of your car and heading to the front door of the store. The first thing you saw was a pregnant, young lady checking baby books. 
She reminded you of yourself when you were still pregnant with Yui; curious about everything, eager to learn, and all was about the baby. You admit that it wasn’t like that at first, given that you were young and had to drop out of college at that time. You were anxious, torn between decisions, and terrified of what life would be like for you from that point in time. During that period, you and Satoru were ignorant but trying hard to figure everything out.
You met Satoru at a nightclub where you worked as a bartender. He was flashy, and women just flock to him as if it was the most natural thing to do around him but that night, his eyes were on you. What with persistent offers of buying you drinks and talking to your manager to let you off early for the night, you ended up in a luxurious hotel suite with him. 
He even wrote his number on the price tag of the fancy lingerie set that he bought you after he ruined the one you were wearing the previous night. He was joking that you’ll never get enough so he’s providing you his contact for next time. You thought that would be the end of it. You didn’t think that it was just fate giving you a helping hand in advance because you’d end up with a child together. 
You consider it a dumb mistake. You know that Plan Bs exist. But with a working student like you who couldn’t even have time to get a proper boyfriend, it slipped your mind. The first thing you did after you got the results was call Satoru. You thanked the heavens that he wasn’t seeing anyone, and that he remembers you. It was a tense meeting, what with you asking if he wants you to abort the fetus. Next thing you know, you two were already dealing with your mood swings. 
“Look, I really want to work this out with you, Y/N. For the baby.” Satoru sighed, slamming the door behind him as he watched you sit on your old couch. You lean your elbows on your knees as you covered your face with your hands, harshly running them down your cheeks to wipe away the big, fat tears that fell from your eyes. There are just so many things going on with your life. 
“I’m only 21, Satoru. I got my whole life ahead of me.” You looked up at his tall figure, frustration was evident in your eyes. You can tell that he was also distressed. His hair was messy, his jaw was clenched tightly, and even if you cannot see behind his tinted glasses, you can tell that he hasn’t been getting enough sleep. The dark half-circles under his eyes and the redness in them show just how exhausted and disquieted he has been in the past few days.
Satoru’s five years older than you. He was born to a rich family of politicians who don't and probably will never need support from him or the other younger generations in their household. He has a stable source of income, he could probably make life investments that could cover your yearly living expenses. He has nothing to worry about, he won’t be dropping anything if he decides to take in another mouth to feed. But you…
You’re basically your mother’s retirement plan and now you got pregnant with a kid of a man you barely know. “Y/N, listen to me.” He got down on his knees in front of you, trying to take your hands off of your face as you sob, struggling to catch your breath. What’s going to happen to you now? You didn’t even get to finish the degree that your mother was working her ass off day and night for.
“You won’t have to worry about anything, you know? I’ll handle everything you need—” He trailed, trying to calm you down as he gently grabbed your forearms. “You don’t understand!” You cut him off, snatching your hands away, aggravated that he’s not thinking about how it could affect everything in your life. “Then, what the fuck do you want to do?!” You flinched as he raised his voice at you, breathing hard as he backed away.
“You think you’re the only one who’s going to be affected by this? You think you’re the only one who’s being robbed of another future! Open your fucking eyes, stop being selfish!” Satoru snapped back, harshly taking his glasses off before throwing it across the room. You started to cry, whimpering as you used the collar of your shirt to wipe your tears away.
“I’m scared, Satoru. I’m just so scared. I can’t even take care of myself, how am I supposed to raise a child…” You broke down, turning your body away from him. There was a long pause, a moment of pure silence, save from your sniffs and Satoru’s ragged breathing. 
You felt the couch dip as he sat down before pulling you to him, letting you cry on his chest.  “I know, I know. I’m sorry.” You would be lying if you said that the back rub, the temple kisses, and his whispers of reassurance didn’t calm you down. Those thoughts were recurring in your head and now that you finally let it all out and got answers from him, you were soothed.
You blinked hard, shaking your head to get out of your trance. You went straight to the dolls section. You can’t believe you just had a flashback of Satoru comforting you in the warmth of his chest. Your mouth started to twitch, wishing that he held you like that earlier when his girlfriend was slapping into your face that they’re gonna give your child siblings. It shouldn’t hurt you, but it still did. You realized that this girl, this woman is gonna have everything you wish you had with Satoru.
You walked past the kiddie pools and trampoline section, stopping when you saw a playpen, almost similar to the one Satoru bought for your little girl but smaller. The size doesn’t really matter though, because you know that you don’t have enough space in your place for something so big, anyway. 
Going closer to check the prices, you bit your lip as your eyebrows bumped together. You were calculating your monthly expenses along with the money for your savings in case of emergency. It’s expensive but you’re determined to cut back just to buy it. You kept your eyes on the tag as you took half a step away from it but your back was met by something, or rather someone behind you.
“It’s not cheap, is it?” A man’s deep voice boomed as you turned around, but your eyes were met by a broad chest. He’s big, you thought. He’s literally blocking your view. It didn’t help that you were short enough to have to look up to see his face. He was also staring at the playpen as he held the pushcart beside him.
“Y-yeah…” You answered, a bit awkward as you found yourself admiring the guy. You admired fathers who are active when it comes to their children. You didn’t grow up with a father so, you just found it endearing. You looked away from the man, gritting your teeth as an image of Satoru and his girlfriend shopping for baby things appeared before your eyes for a split second.
“Excuse me, sir. I still have to buy my daughter a gift.” You bowed slightly before turning away. He just nodded his head, too occupied to even look at you. You proceeded to check out the little dolls, hoping that you’d find something that’ll really catch your daughter’s eye. Picking up a dark-haired baby doll with big blue eyes sitting on a stroller, you smiled as you remembered how it has the same eyes as your baby.
You went to pay for the doll, and your heart was filled with joy despite the throbbing pain in your skull and the hot feeling behind your eyes. You reminded yourself not to forget to take your medicine. Thinking about getting sick and having to leave your child for a couple of days with them again makes you anxious, afraid that she’ll never want to go home to you again. 
You hurriedly went home, driving in the midst of the rain. You put the little doll on the chair, ready to surprise your baby girl when she comes back. You had to bear with the time, constantly checking your phone if your little girl and her dad are on the way to you. Your heart swelled at the thought. 
Though, you know that you’ll never be the one he comes home to, it’s still nice to think about. 
—--------------------------------
“She really called me Mama.” Naomi giggled as she kissed his daughter’s cheek. Satoru smiled, watching them play together warms his heart. It made him feel like he was staring at his family even if he knows that his daughter isn’t hers. He pursed his lips, remembering the look in your eyes at what you heard the child say.
He felt conflicted, not knowing how to react to all of it. He doesn’t want to embarrass his girlfriend by correcting her in front of you. But he also felt bad that he just watched you walk out that door on the verge of tears. Satoru had you memorized after all this time, it wasn’t a long time but he used to watch everything you do.
“I don’t think it’s a good idea, though.” Satoru sighed, shaking his head as he pushed a bit of Naomi’s hair away from her face. Her expression dropped as she adjusted the toddler in her arms. Satoru pulled her close to his side, hugging her waist as he thought about how to explain it to her without making her feel disheartened.
“I’m worried about how Y/N will feel about it, to be honest. I don’t know but it may worry her.” He kissed the side of her forehead before stepping away as he watches his daughter’s eyes look at them. He knows that she’s still too young but he feared that she’ll get confused by all of this. 
Like why is her father not with her mother, and why is he holding someone else?
He wondered if she’ll grow to hate him for giving up on their family. “Oh, Is that so…I thought we were fine already.” Naomi’s voice was quiet as she bit her lip, making Satoru rethink. “It’s not that, I just think that maybe that’s how she might feel.” Satoru took one of her hands, kissing it before rubbing his thumb on her soft skin. “No, I understand, I got too comfortable. I’m just a girlfriend, I shouldn’t have done that.” 
Satoru doesn’t want to make her feel like this, she’s just really attached to his baby. He knows that Naomi adores kids, they often joke around about it, so he could see why she’s excited about his daughter calling her Mama. Thinking about it now, maybe this shouldn’t be so bad. After all, she’s not gonna be just a girlfriend to him forever, right? Naomi is a great person, and Satoru thinks that it’s not impossible to have a future with her.
“Don’t say that. That’s just my assumption. She’ll tell if it’s not alright, I know. We’re co-parenting so we have to talk about those stuff.” Three squeezes to her hands made Naomi smile sweetly at him, her eyes as kind as the stars. “Yeah, discussions are important. I don’t want her to feel like I’m trying to keep her away from us.” The calmness in her voice comforted Satoru.
—-------------------------------------
After receiving a text from Satoru, you found yourself staring at the mirror, retouching your makeup like it’s gonna make him fall for you. Hopeless. Not long after, the doorbell rang and you dashed to the door. There, Satoru stood with Yui asleep on his shoulders. You took her bags, along with the teddy bear that she was hugging to her chest. Seeing her holding it again made you feel relieved.
“Are you feeling better now?” Satoru inquired, walking past you to put your kid in her little bed. You hummed in response, “She’s full, don’t give her any more milk. Naomi fed her before she fell asleep.” Her again. You thought as the small smile on your face dissipated. You’re just thankful that he didn’t take her with them here.
There was a moment of silence as the two of you watched your daughter sleep peacefully. A sigh escaped Satoru’s lips before he turned to you. He was about to say something, but closed his mouth, thinking. You took a deep breath, pursing your lips as you collected your thoughts. You started to rub your hands together, trying to get rid of the cold feeling on your fingertips.
Your communication issues with Satoru only worsened when he got a girlfriend. Seeing how he is with her made you doubt the importance of your words to him. It’s like if you get stuck in a room together with her and something happens, you’re almost certain that he’d accuse you first. You wouldn’t admit it but you yearn for him. You yearn for the way he acts towards her. You yearn for the things he does for her. 
You yearn for the things he so easily, willingly offer to her; things you had to beg for when you were still together.
“Satoru, I just want to ask…Since when did Yui start to call Naomi Mama?” You looked at the ground, somewhat embarrassed of your question but can’t pinpoint why. It just made you feel…weak and insecure. And you are that. But you can’t let Satoru see it. You don’t want him to feel even more sorry for you. You can see it in his and his girlfriend’s eyes whenever they look at you. They probably pity you and the state you are in. 
Alone. With no one to hold your pieces together but you.
“I don’t really remember. Look, I was going to mention that…” Satoru trailed, looking everywhere but you. He probably noticed your discomfort earlier. “I know it doesn’t seem right to you because she’s just my girlfriend but…” Here’s the “but” again. How come he can always find the good when it comes to her, even when she literally did you so wrong by letting your daughter call her Mama and even acting like one in front of you?
Ever since Satoru got a girlfriend, arguing with him started to feel like fighting in a war without any type of armor in your body. How are supposed to stand strong, when the fact that he’ll always be on her side was your weakness? There were times when you wanted to fight for yourself but you couldn’t bear to because you know that he was shielding her from everything, heedlessly deserting you.
“I didn’t really appreciate it. I mean… I-I just think she’s not in the place to—” You thought the words you chose to describe the situation were too risky when you were cut off by Satoru, taking his glasses off. You can’t read him but he’s looking at you with that apologetic gaze again. His face was filled with contrite and you can’t quite understand why. But like a mouse sensing danger, you wanted to run away.
“I…I’m thinking about proposing to Naomi.” It shouldn’t hurt. You told yourself again. You don’t have the right to feel hurt. This man disrespected you, hurt you, and made you feel so incredibly small yet here you are, wishing you were the one he wants to spend the rest of his life with. “I know she’s just my girlfriend now, but it’s bound to change.” You suddenly just wanted him to leave. “She…she’d like to ask for permission to let our daughter call her Mom. You know she treats Yui like she’s her—” 
“I don’t want to.” You whispered firmly through gritted teeth, cutting Satoru off. You don’t wanna hear it anymore. You can’t go through that again and you can’t let that happen again. “Yui is my daughter, and I don’t want her calling anyone else Mama.” You looked up at him with glassy eyes before turning away to walk out of the room, not wanting to startle the toddler from her slumber. Satoru was instantly on your tail, calling your name.
“She’s my daughter, too. Y/n, what is wrong? I know that you have your limitations and that’s why I’m here to talk about it with you, but why are you acting like this?” He walked closer to you, trying to catch your eyes. “I know it’s not just about this, I know you’ve been having problems with her but give a reason, at least. She’s been nothing but good to our kid. ” It’s getting hard for you to breathe as you tried to process your emotions and his questions.
You proceeded to the kitchen, hurrying to grab yourself a bottle of water before you collapse, but failing terribly when Satoru spoke the next sentence “Y/N, we all have to adjust, don’t be unfair to her, she doesn’t deserve it.” 
“And I do?!” You shouted at him, taking him by surprise and making him take a step back. 
“You think she doesn’t deserve any of that shit but I DO?!” You lamented, shaking your head in pain and disbelief. There were tears streaming down your face and no pattern of breathing can help you control it. You were able to keep it in when he shoved his new girlfriend in your face several months ago, but now it’s taking its toll.
You were about to get the clothes that he bought for your daughter on your way home from work but were met with a woman snuggled up to him on his couch. You hated him for allowing you to see them like that when he knows that you haven’t even processed your split yet because a month before that, he was saying that he could fix his shortcomings for you and his daughter. 
You remember how sick you felt in your stomach when he introduced her, saying that you weren’t supposed to see them like that. It’s revolting; how he thought that you were upset because of what you saw and not because he just went back on his words. Naomi kept her head down, standing in front of you as she muttered an apology before scurrying to Satoru’s room. 
Naomi was his father’s new assistant and unlike you, she got to finish her studies. Despite being classmates in high school, she was three years older than you due to the frequent relocation of her family. Regardless of her tough childhood, she was known to be a smart kid. No wonder his mother approved of her in such a short amount of time. 
You and Satoru were never perfect but it doesn’t mean that you were never happy with each other before. The issues overpowered your interest in each other, making it hard for the two of you to bounce back. You admit that you’ve been negligent of Satoru at a certain point of your relationship but it was only because you got tired of his ways.
He would come home late, making you stay up all night because he failed to reply when you texted him, asking him his whereabouts. He’d be out drinking with friends, and it wasn’t a problem but you just wanted him to at least let you know so wouldn’t be worrying to the point that you can’t even sleep.
His mother was overbearing. You got pregnant by someone’s son in a one-night stand and that’s all she paints you with. You were belittled and told that you can’t even take care of the child properly. Hell, was she so eager for Satoru to leave you and find someone better who achieved something in life.
Consequently, this negligence led to fits of jealousy from Satoru. This drove you to quit the job you used to have after a coworker of yours who only wanted to help became the subject of his suspicions. His mother saw you getting dropped off by your friend while she was babysitting your daughter. 
It was only because your car broke down and you don’t want to bother Satoru at work. You couldn’t really blame him for thinking that way because you know that he’s been feeling invisible to you which wasn’t true. You just don’t know how to deal with it anymore and you started to pull yourself away.
It got to the point where you couldn’t even communicate how you truly feel about him because it was overshadowed by your problems. You were arrogant enough to tell him that someone could treat you right and do much better and now, look at you; standing before him and his girl. Longing for him and eating the words you spitefully told him.
Pining so intensely for something you never had to the point where you physically ache.
The memory was tormenting, heart-rending, and traumatic to you. And now you get to watch them write their happy ending while you are here, left in the dust, drowning in the feelings that will never ever get recognized and will never ever be relevant. 
It hasn’t even been a year, and he’s already planning to marry her. He’s been nothing but better to her, yet, he couldn’t even change his ways for you and your child? Couldn’t he learn to truly love you after everything you endured just to be with him? You know that you have flaws, and chose some wrong steps and paths in your relationship. 
But you can’t bear to lose him like this. You know that you could have fought more for your relationship. He’d always say that you’d work things out. So, why did he stop? How could he stop choosing you so easily?
“How could you give her the world, yet refuse me the tiny bit of what I have left?” 
Your voice was small as you backed away, defeated. Satoru couldn’t move. From everything that has happened that morning, he could tell that you’ve been on edge. To Satoru, the only thing that connects you to him is his daughter. He refuses to believe that after all of that, you can still make it work.
At least, that’s the realization he came about when he met Naomi. She taught him that love isn’t supposed to be strenuous, it isn’t always about fighting. Within his tumultuous relationship with you, she came around and showed him that he’s seen. That his feelings are valid. He came to the conclusion that maybe he just wanted to love you because you have a child together. 
“Tiny bit?” He asked, frustrated that you just won’t let this go easily, irked that you always think you’re the only one having a hard time. If Satoru’s being honest, he’s just tired of it all. He just wants you to understand his point and get it over with. But now you’re crying in front of him and again, he doesn’t know what to do. He can’t even think of the right things to say or the right decisions to make. It’s like it’s all back to square one with you.
“You call it ‘tiny bit’ when I couldn’t even live my life because of you?! I’ve given everything, Y/N! I just want to be at peace with everything and I’m obviously not having it with you!” You couldn’t even breathe through the piercing ache in your chest from the daggers that are coming out of his mouth. Your hand reached over to your chest, grasping your shirt as his every word irreversibly pulverized your already wounded heart.
“I wish I never met you that night and I wish I never had Yui with you. You’re a thorn in my side, Y/N!” By the time he finished screaming at you, you were shaking like a leaf, grabbing a chair beside your table as your wide eyes stared at him in shock. Grief, mortification, and agony were plastered on your face, and only then did Satoru’s words sink into him.
“Y/N, I—” Before he could even form a proper phrase, a loud cry erupted from the other room. Yui. He watched as you quickly wiped away your tears, seeing the emotions mix inside your eyes until they turned into a weeping void with all the tears pooling inside them.
“I…I loved you, Satoru. And I hate that even now when you’re kicking me while I’m down for the sake of someone else, I still love you.” The crack in your voice had Satoru subconsciously moving closer to you, opening his arms to pull you into him but you were quick to flinch away, sniveling.
“Please, just-just go. Do whatever you want, just d-don’t take Yui away. I’m fine with it now, Satoru.” It’s almost as though something in you died when he spoke those words to you. You don’t know if he heard because you couldn’t even hear yourself. You could feel the beat of your heart in your chest and each one of them sends a burning ache to your body. “Just go, please.” You whimpered as you bit your upper lip, looking down on the floor. 
Satoru can’t take his eyes off of your fragile figure as you leaned on the kitchen counter, slowly walking back to your daughter’s room. He remained unmoving until you exited the kitchen area. It was only after a few minutes that he decided to go, not bothering to wipe away the tears that rolled down his face as he listened to your muffled cries behind the closed door.
Each sob was filled with anguish that Satoru knows he’ll never be able to erase.
—------------------------------------------------------
A few weeks later have passed yet Satoru still doesn’t know what to make of himself. He couldn’t focus on anything that he works on. He couldn’t even workout properly, he always ends up getting angry. It was a good thing that both he and Naomi were swarmed with tasks; they didn’t have time to interact any more than what their jobs would allow. If they did, Satoru isn’t sure if he’ll be able to focus on her. She still has time to visit every week, though. During those days, she spends her time with Satoru and sometimes, Yui.
He makes sure to free his time and himself completely when he’s with his daughter so he can give his full attention to her. Satoru picks her up from your house, same schedule as before. Sometimes it’s you, but other times, it was your mother. “All I asked of you was to never break her, Gojo.” were the first words she spoke to him. Satoru can’t look her in the eyes. Your mother was a kind woman, humble and unjudging. And to have her talking to him like that, Satoru was beyond ashamed.
He couldn’t give her a reason, or an answer. All he did was apologize. Like he should. Naomi was unaware of it all and the proposal that Satoru was planning for her was set aside due to all that had happened. He just doesn’t think it’s the right time to plan about it when his relationship with you is strained. Yes, you’re not together anymore but you’re still the mother of his child and he wants to be civil with you, at least.
Yui kept asking for you even when she was with him as if sensing that her Mama was hurting. She’s always carrying the new doll that you bought for her. Satoru once asked her if you cry and she would simply shake her head. He gets nothing out of it, of course, she’s just a kid. But who else could he ask?
Satoru has no idea what you have been doing. He knows that you go to work, but other than that, he’s clueless about the places you go to and why your mother started babysitting his daughter more during the past few days. Satoru thought that maybe you just can’t stand seeing him anymore and is refusing to face him whenever he picks his daughter up. You have every right and reason to despise him, after all.
So, now he stands on the other side of your door, wondering if he’ll get to see your face this time or be welcomed with the frowning face of your mother. He knocked three times, like he always does, adjusting the collar of his shirt. To his surprise, it wasn’t any of the two women he was expecting holding the door open for him. 
“Who are you?” A shirtless man with a muscular build stood before Satoru, a curious yet accusatory gaze scanned him like he was an intruder in his own woman’s home. He leaned on his tattooed arm against the doorframe, blocking the tiny view he has of the inside. It pissed him off, clenching his jaw for a few seconds before speaking.
“Who are you?” Satoru bit back, raising his brows in an attempt to intimidate the guy. He’s only a couple of centimeters taller than the stranger but he’s bigger. It wasn’t a big deal to him until the man opened the door wider. A short, deep chuckle escaped his lips before a smug smirk appeared on his face. 
Tilting his head, the man gave Satoru a clear look at the scratches adorning his nape and the purple and maroon marks on his jaw. It made Satoru’s blood boil, unreasonably so.
“Think you know who I am now?” 
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evilminji · 9 months
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Oh shit :D ?
I just remembered! (Thank you, historical fantasy section!) But like? Serving and protecting The King, especially a HIGH KING, is quite literally not just an incredible honor... but it can sometimes be a person's Life Ambition?
Specificly a WORTHY king.
Perhaps they were denied in life. Perhaps they FAILED. And in their dying moments struggle with all they were to LIVE. To PROTECT. Perhaps the PREVIOUS king was a great and worthy ruler... but their heir is...
Unworthy.
Maybe they are born to an age without Rulers. Power shifting between hands in hidden halls. Unclear and murky. All they want is for their loyalty to MEAN something. For things to be SIMPLE.
The universe is large. The Infinite Realms? Unimaginably larger.
And Pariah Dark was a BASTARD.
Who would willingly swear to him? Fools! That's who! Every warrior soul worth ANYTHING gets as far AWAY from his Realm forsaken resting place as they can. Hides. Lest they be dragged in to his infernal, gods forsaken, cess pit of a so called "army"! *disgusted spitting noises*
But what does this mean? It means every trained FIGHTER... got the hell out of dodge. Oh, sure, a FEW refused. Like Pandora and her people. But most? The farthest side of NOWHERE, several layers down! Some still GOING! Better to be decried as cowards then have ANYTHING to do with THAT(said with loathing)!
It also means they weren't where Pariah could get to them when he woke. Couldn't help. Couldn't fight. Couldn't be commanded to kneel. Nothing. They removed themselves completely. Planned on CONTINUING to remove themselves. Preferably to the farthest reaches of forever, far beyond the bastard's gaze.
But! The whole REALM INFINITE felt it? When that... that hissing, acidic, malicious undertone? SLAMS back and away, like somebody's knocked a parasite from their backs. Replaced by coolness and starlight. Delicate balance and blood on your teeth. The pounding in your chest of HOPE.
It flutters so small across their backs, inside their chests. Washing away the old.
The King... feels tiny. Young.
.......what are they doing? Running like this. Hiding away like that will change anything. How long... when did...
There are so many of them now. A veritable army of souls, of all Ages and People's. Every armor and crest imaginable. They'd been so.. so REPULSED by Pariah... nothing else had mattered but to get AWAY. Where even ARE they? What YEAR is it? Does any of that matter?
The King.
Their Obsessions whisper. Loyalty. Service. Protection. Honor. You have left you post! Abandoned your DUTY! What are you DOING!?
They are AGHAST. They turn around at once. The King! How could they have ABANDONED the King!? Who is guarding him if they are all HERE?!
Himself!?
(Yes. Danny is fine. He is eating the "Thank You for keeping us all from dying to whatever the FUCK that was!" tamales Paulina's mom pushed into his arms on his way back home. He didn't even try arguing. He made eye contact and knew he would lose.)
(Why does he feel like something really, really bothersome is headed his way?)
It's UNACCEPTABLE. Unthinkable! The King? Unguarded? Where assassination attempts and nefarious PLOTS could occur?! What if someone tried to steal his eggs!? Or attacked him while his exoskeleton was molting!? They aren't entirely sure which species he is yet, but there are SO MANY NEFARIOUS PLOTS OUT THERE!!
*panicked honor guards*
Just? Imagine becoming king. And thinking "well, aside from the skeleton army I have to figure out, at least I don't have to manage anybody!" Only to *WABAM!* your ENTIRE GHOST COURT shows up like a week later. Turns out they were hiding from your predecessor.
You have a whole ass honor gaurd. Who REFUSE TO LEAVE YOUR SIDE. You have Chefs. Who WILL cry if you send them away. The Literal Best In The Multiverse are all following you around... YOU, a RANDOM TEENAGE, with Excited Shoujo Sparkles in their eyes... because you punched a jackass really, REALLY hard.
There is no way to make this stop. Your friends are laughing at you. The interior decorator wants you to look at swatches. What are swatches and why are you being harrased by them at 1am, you wonder? If you are Mean(tm) they throw themselves upon the floor and blame themselves for their Wicked, Evil, King-Upseting Ways and you can't even TELL if your being played here.
It's like being bullied by house elves. Or Miette.
Your parents are too excited by all the New Research (at least the reveal went well?) To SAVE THEIR SON, and your sister is HELPING THE ENEMY (Traitor!), so now you're being bullied into eating vegetables and studying more.
Then? THEN!! WHO SHOWS UP?! Like... five WEEKS late?! The Justice League. Gee! GREAT RESPONSE TIME, GUYS! Reeeal snappy! But ya, JUST missed the guy!
.......YES HES BEING SARCASTIC!!!
@hdgnj @stealingyourbones
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floatmeintothesun-2 · 4 months
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Drunken Love
Pairing; Miguel O’hara x afab! Reader
Tags; grinding, lazy sex, smut, cumming in pants, word count 2.2k
Summary; Miguel really can’t keep his hands to himself when you’re sitting in his lap like this.
18+ MINORS/AGELESS BLOGS DNI
You’re intoxicating, Miguel reflects, watching you seat yourself on his lap with lidded eyes. He can’t get enough, you’ve got him utterly hooked. His hands settle on your waist, squeezing your hips and ass at equal pace.
He had a glass of alcohol in his hand a moment prior before it was set aside and forgotten in the haze that had consumed him. He can’t get drunk anymore — not since he was genetically altered but he feels light headed and dizzy  just from your presence. 
He tilts his head up to look at you, lips curving in a smile as he reclines back into his chair. One of your hands is in his hair, carding through dark brown strands. The other is on his cheek, your thumb smoothing over warm skin. 
“What’s a gorgeous girl like you doing here in my apartment?” He asks with a grin, pulling you closer to him. You smile back.
“Mm… I don’t know,” You hum, “I’m looking for my boyfriend. Have you seen him?” Your index traces a light path down his jaw leading down his neck. He can’t help but shiver, tilting his head a little as you reach his collarbone.
“Well, you’re in luck, pretty girl,” Miguel nearly purrs, palming flesh and sliding his hands underneath your top so he can feel your skin against his. “I’m right here.”
You laugh and fuck, he doesn’t think he’s heard a sound sweeter than that. You’ve got him wrapped around your finger and you know it. He sucks in a quiet breath as your hand slides down to his chest, tweaking one of his nipples playfully through his shirt. He bares teeth at you with no heat, content to let you do whatever you want with him.
You shift so that you’re properly straddling him and Miguel can feel himself already half hard under you. He holds you at the place under your breasts, wandering hands slipping under your bra and unclasping the hook in the back nimbly. You sigh, deep and low as large hands palm at your tits greedily. 
“Someone’s impatient.” You kiss the corner of his jaw, and he turns his head so he can catch your next on his lips. 
“Hard not to be,” Miguel breathes, trailing his lips from the corner of your mouth to your neck. And truly, it’s hard not to be. How can he possibly be patient when you’re on top of him like this? You look practically ethereal as the dim light from the overhead light shines down on you.
“Take this off?” You pull at his shirt – it’s old, a simple black tee that used to hang off him in his college years. Now, it’s tight against his skin, easily displaying hard lines of muscle, stretching across broad shoulders. He obliges your request, pulling it over his head, feeling the chill in the air soak into his bare skin before your warmth chases it away. 
Hands, smaller than his, flutter down his bare abdomen, feather light touches trailing down his ribs before rising to settle on his shoulders. Miguel peppers kisses over your face, moving his own hands so he can press you down in his lap. He pokes at your bottoms, a finger tugging at the waistband. 
“Take this off?” He mimics you, raising his eyebrows a little as you laugh.  
“Don’t wanna get up,” You reply, and he shrugs, grabbing greedy handfuls of your ass. You give him a look and —
Miguel hisses, low in his throat at the feeling of your body grinding down against his and suddenly his dick is much more than just half hard. Sticky pre seeps out of him and he swallows dryly, your heady scent swirling in the air. If he was any lesser man, he would’ve passed out by now. And also probably busted. 
“You’re a minx, pretty girl,” He rasps, clenching his jaw. Fuck, he can practically feel how wet your pussy is, can fucking smell your damn arousal through the air. It’s making him dizzy with need, he can barely think. Your arms loop around his neck leisurely as you lean in to kiss him – something he welcomes readily. 
“Would you have me any other way?” You tilt your head, coy. He almost misses your words with the way he’s focusing on your gorgeous body. 
“No. I wouldn’t,” He whispers, big hands forcing your hips down onto the hard shape of his cock. Making you feel how bad he wants you right now. His tip is pressing against your clit through the fabric and god, he’s so big, tenting through his sweatpants. You swallow back a moan as his hips twitch up, pressing against you in just the right angle. 
Your panties are practically soaked by now, needy pussy pulsing to have him inside of you. But you’re too impatient to get up and discard your undergarments, heat coursing through your veins like molten fire. His huge frame dwarfs yours easily but right now, it’s you who’s on top of him, you who’s making this 6 foot 9 inch man moan and hiss with every teasing dip of your hips over his straining erection. 
His breaths come in quiet growls, and he squeezes his eyes shut as you tease and tease and tease.
“Baby, please,” He nearly whines, obedient hands resting lightly over your waist. Your cat-like grin makes sparks of halfhearted irritation and warmth dance through his nervous system. He knows you’re just as desperate as he is and he kneads your plush thighs as if trying to entice you. 
You’re addicting and infuriating, Miguel thinks to himself. He wants to bend you over the kitchen counter and fuck you until you’re sobbing in pleasure and he can barely breathe through the haze of overstimulation. He wants you to keep him right here and make him beg for just a scrap of your attention. Mostly, he just wants you. 
You finally decide to grant him some relief, messily slotting your hips against his and a ragged hum escapes Miguel’s throat, low and quiet. The shape of his dick is defined through his sweats, pressing and twitching against you through the fabric. You can’t help but moan as he rubs his tented half against you, almost like a dog in heat. You have half a mind to tease him for it, but the way he presses up against you makes your head feel foggy. 
The edges of razor sharp fangs glide over the sensitive flesh of your neck as he peppers kisses and nips to your skin indiscriminately. It’s slow, it’s messy, his hips roll upwards underneath you, searching for that sweet friction. A particularly harsh bite has you hissing lightly and Miguel soothes it over with his tongue. It doesn’t bleed, but you’re sure it’ll leave a mark. 
And he had to leave it in the most obvious place ever? Bastard. You shoot him an unamused look and he just gives you a smug expression. 
“Something wrong, hermosa?” He coos, all cloyingly saccharine, and you roll your eyes. If someone told you that this man was begging for your touch three seconds ago, you wouldn’t have believed them. 
“Don’t act cute now,” You grumble and he laughs, a wonderfully soft sound. His hands drift to the small of your back, putting pressure and lazily grinding against you, keeping your pussy anchored over his dick through layers of fabric. It’s like a haze has settled over you both, something sweet and heavy and sticky all at once. It’s languid and mind numbingly good — it’s different from the way he fucks you. You might even call it domestic. 
Something about the way Miguel stares at you feels almost reverent. He looks so pretty here, mussed up hair and heaving chest. He’s warm and you can feel it in the way his thick thighs tense and the way his hard cut abdomen presses up against you. Sticky sweetness seeps into your limbs like molasses, and you can’t help but kiss him, all teeth and tongue. His low pleased hum vibrates through his chest and vaguely, you think he tastes something like wine and spice. 
He’s sloppy and hungry, quickly deepening the kiss as he leans closer. It’s not until you’re running out of oxygen that you tap his shoulder and he pulls away, a pink tongue darting out to wet his lips. You’re panting, kiss swollen lips shiny with saliva and he’s groaning, rolling his hips upwards. His clothed cock catches on your clit deliciously and he catches on quickly, making sure to aim for that one fucking spot that makes you see stars. 
“Shit — Miguel, feels so fucking good…” you gasp into his mouth and he groans. You sound so sweet when you moan and whine on his lap. He’s head over heels for you, he decides. You could sit on his face for hours, suffocating him between plush thighs, and he’d say thank you. He’s almost tempted to pull you to the bedroom right now just so he can beg you to do just that, but fuck, with the way his dick is throbbing, he might not make it that far. 
“Just like that, baby, c’mon,” He nips at your neck lightly and licks into your mouth greedily, “you want it? Want this fat cock? I’ll give it to you, I’ll give it all, j’st cum, baby, you can do it,” quick hands come up to palm at your breasts, squeezing stiff peaks and god damn, he knows how to use them.
Your back arches, pressing your tits against his bare chest and Miguel dips to litter marks around your collar bone and lower, humming in satisfaction as you thread a hand in his hair. You’re a mess, he’s panting and groaning, hair mussed up, dark crimson eyes squeezed shut. He might just be the prettiest man you’ve ever seen.
The thing that really does it for you is the way he says your name. Breathy and pleading, it makes your head spin, and you press a searing kiss to his lips as the knot that has been slowly building finally snaps. It’s filthy, sinful, and fuck, its everything you want. 
Miguel tenses underneath you, burying his face in the crook of your neck as he shudders and twitches. He sounds almost drunk from the way he’s slurring your name, honey sweet and desperate. He cums with a quiet grunt, staining his boxers with it, soaking the light gray of his sweats.
You slump against his chest and he hisses lightly as you brush against his slowly softening cock. A burly arm comes to loop around your waist, pulling you closer while you gently move sweaty strands of hair out of his face.
“Good?” He asks, and you hum in affirmation. He grimaces at the feeling of slick cum dripping down his balls. “We should get clean.”
“My thighs feel sticky,” You mutter, trying to gently extricate yourself from your boyfriend’s hold so you can walk to the restroom. He shoots you a look and sweeps you up into his arms easily, pressing an easy kiss to your neck. Instinctively, you hold onto him, leaning against his bare chest as he carries you to your shared bathroom. 
He glances at you as he pushes open the door with his foot, considering.
“Bath or shower?” Miguel tilts his head, looking remarkably composed for a man who just came in his pants a few minutes ago. 
“Shower,” You answer immediately, and he puts you down, turning to strip off his clothes and hearing you do the same. You turn on the water, setting it to both of your preferred temperatures and slip into the stall, sighing in relief at the warmth. Miguel joins you after a moment, swiping your body wash off from the corner. Technically, it’s his, but you use it so often that he just delegates it as a shared item. 
You say that his is better because it’s fancy. He doesn’t object. After all, he really doesn’t mind you smelling like him.
Squeezing some into his hand, he cleans you up, soapy suds washed away by the spray overhead as you do the same for him. You pay special attention to his pecs and ass and he just sighs like he’s annoyed. He’s not. Honestly, he doesn’t care — you can touch whatever you want. He’s all yours and he relishes that fact whole heartedly. 
Your hands trail down his chest and abdomen. He smothers a smile against your hair, pressing you up against the shower wall and hooking strong hands under your thighs. 
“Wanna go another round?” He asks, looking down at you, a grin pulling at the corners of his mouth. You card a hand through wet curls and he leans into it.
“Sure, why not?”
Needless to say, you don’t come out of the bathroom until much later, littered with marks and sore between the thighs. Miguel follows after you, looking utterly satisfied with himself, a towel wrapped loosely around his waist as you both enter your bedroom. It’ll be a pain to wear a scarf for the next few weeks but with the way Miguel practically drapes himself over you has you not caring. 
A problem for future you. For now, you’ll just snuggle under the covers and exchange sleepy kisses with your boyfriend. 
1K notes · View notes
floatmeintothesun · 5 months
Text
Drunken Love
Pairing; Miguel O’hara x afab! Reader
Tags; grinding, lazy sex, smut, cumming in pants, word count 2.2k
Summary; Miguel really can’t keep his hands to himself when you’re sitting in his lap like this.
18+ MINORS DNI
You’re intoxicating, Miguel reflects, watching you seat yourself on his lap with lidded eyes. He can’t get enough, you’ve got him utterly hooked. His hands settle on your waist, squeezing your hips and ass at equal pace.
He had a glass of alcohol in his hand a moment prior before it was set aside and forgotten in the haze that had consumed him. He can’t get drunk anymore — not since he was genetically altered but he feels light headed and dizzy  just from your presence. 
He tilts his head up to look at you, lips curving in a smile as he reclines back into his chair. One of your hands is in his hair, carding through dark brown strands. The other is on his cheek, your thumb smoothing over warm skin. 
“What’s a gorgeous girl like you doing here in my apartment?” He asks with a grin, pulling you closer to him. You smile back.
“Mm… I don’t know,” You hum, “I’m looking for my boyfriend. Have you seen him?” Your index traces a light path down his jaw leading down his neck. He can’t help but shiver, tilting his head a little as you reach his collarbone.
“Well, you’re in luck, pretty girl,” Miguel nearly purrs, palming flesh and sliding his hands underneath your top so he can feel your skin against his. “I’m right here.”
You laugh and fuck, he doesn’t think he’s heard a sound sweeter than that. You’ve got him wrapped around your finger and you know it. He sucks in a quiet breath as your hand slides down to his chest, tweaking one of his nipples playfully through his shirt. He bares teeth at you with no heat, content to let you do whatever you want with him.
You shift so that you’re properly straddling him and Miguel can feel himself already half hard under you. He holds you at the place under your breasts, wandering hands slipping under your bra and unclasping the hook in the back nimbly. You sigh, deep and low as large hands palm at your tits greedily. 
“Someone’s impatient.” You kiss the corner of his jaw, and he turns his head so he can catch your next on his lips. 
“Hard not to be,” Miguel breathes, trailing his lips from the corner of your mouth to your neck. And truly, it’s hard not to be. How can he possibly be patient when you’re on top of him like this? You look practically ethereal as the dim light from the overhead light shines down on you.
“Take this off?” You pull at his shirt – it’s old, a simple black tee that used to hang off him in his college years. Now, it’s tight against his skin, easily displaying hard lines of muscle, stretching across broad shoulders. He obliges your request, pulling it over his head, feeling the chill in the air soak into his bare skin before your warmth chases it away. 
Hands, smaller than his, flutter down his bare abdomen, feather light touches trailing down his ribs before rising to settle on his shoulders. Miguel peppers kisses over your face, moving his own hands so he can press you down in his lap. He pokes at your bottoms, a finger tugging at the waistband. 
“Take this off?” He mimics you, raising his eyebrows a little as you laugh.  
“Don’t wanna get up,” You reply, and he shrugs, grabbing greedy handfuls of your ass. You give him a look and —
Miguel hisses, low in his throat at the feeling of your body grinding down against his and suddenly his dick is much more than just half hard. Sticky pre seeps out of him and he swallows dryly, your heady scent swirling in the air. If he was any lesser man, he would’ve passed out by now. And also probably busted. 
“You’re a minx, pretty girl,” He rasps, clenching his jaw. Fuck, he can practically feel how wet your pussy is, can fucking smell your damn arousal through the air. It’s making him dizzy with need, he can barely think. Your arms loop around his neck leisurely as you lean in to kiss him – something he welcomes readily. 
“Would you have me any other way?” You tilt your head, coy. He almost misses your words with the way he’s focusing on your gorgeous body. 
“No. I wouldn’t,” He whispers, big hands forcing your hips down onto the hard shape of his cock. Making you feel how bad he wants you right now. His tip is pressing against your clit through the fabric and god, he’s so big, tenting through his sweatpants. You swallow back a moan as his hips twitch up, pressing against you in just the right angle. 
Your panties are practically soaked by now, needy pussy pulsing to have him inside of you. But you’re too impatient to get up and discard your undergarments, heat coursing through your veins like molten fire. His huge frame dwarfs yours easily but right now, it’s you who’s on top of him, you who’s making this 6 foot 9 inch man moan and hiss with every teasing dip of your hips over his straining erection. 
His breaths come in quiet growls, and he squeezes his eyes shut as you tease and tease and tease.
“Baby, please,” He nearly whines, obedient hands resting lightly over your waist. Your cat-like grin makes sparks of halfhearted irritation and warmth dance through his nervous system. He knows you’re just as desperate as he is and he kneads your plush thighs as if trying to entice you. 
You’re addicting and infuriating, Miguel thinks to himself. He wants to bend you over the kitchen counter and fuck you until you’re sobbing in pleasure and he can barely breathe through the haze of overstimulation. He wants you to keep him right here and make him beg for just a scrap of your attention. Mostly, he just wants you. 
You finally decide to grant him some relief, messily slotting your hips against his and a ragged hum escapes Miguel’s throat, low and quiet. The shape of his dick is defined through his sweats, pressing and twitching against you through the fabric. You can’t help but moan as he rubs his tented half against you, almost like a dog in heat. You have half a mind to tease him for it, but the way he presses up against you makes your head feel foggy. 
The edges of razor sharp fangs glide over the sensitive flesh of your neck as he peppers kisses and nips to your skin indiscriminately. It’s slow, it’s messy, his hips roll upwards underneath you, searching for that sweet friction. A particularly harsh bite has you hissing lightly and Miguel soothes it over with his tongue. It doesn’t bleed, but you’re sure it’ll leave a mark. 
And he had to leave it in the most obvious place ever? Bastard. You shoot him an unamused look and he just gives you a smug expression. 
“Something wrong, hermosa?” He coos, all cloyingly saccharine, and you roll your eyes. If someone told you that this man was begging for your touch three seconds ago, you wouldn’t have believed them. 
“Don’t act cute now,” You grumble and he laughs, a wonderfully soft sound. His hands drift to the small of your back, putting pressure and lazily grinding against you, keeping your pussy anchored over his dick through layers of fabric. It’s like a haze has settled over you both, something sweet and heavy and sticky all at once. It’s languid and mind numbingly good — it’s different from the way he fucks you. You might even call it domestic. 
Something about the way Miguel stares at you feels almost reverent. He looks so pretty here, mussed up hair and heaving chest. He’s warm and you can feel it in the way his thick thighs tense and the way his hard cut abdomen presses up against you. Sticky sweetness seeps into your limbs like molasses, and you can’t help but kiss him, all teeth and tongue. His low pleased hum vibrates through his chest and vaguely, you think he tastes something like wine and spice. 
He’s sloppy and hungry, quickly deepening the kiss as he leans closer. It’s not until you’re running out of oxygen that you tap his shoulder and he pulls away, a pink tongue darting out to wet his lips. You’re panting, kiss swollen lips shiny with saliva and he’s groaning, rolling his hips upwards. His clothed cock catches on your clit deliciously and he catches on quickly, making sure to aim for that one fucking spot that makes you see stars. 
“Shit — Miguel, feels so fucking good…” you gasp into his mouth and he groans. You sound so sweet when you moan and whine on his lap. He’s head over heels for you, he decides. You could sit on his face for hours, suffocating him between plush thighs, and he’d say thank you. He’s almost tempted to pull you to the bedroom right now just so he can beg you to do just that, but fuck, with the way his dick is throbbing, he might not make it that far. 
“Just like that, baby, c’mon,” He nips at your neck lightly and licks into your mouth greedily, “you want it? Want this fat cock? I’ll give it to you, I’ll give it all, j’st cum, baby, you can do it,” quick hands come up to palm at your breasts, squeezing stiff peaks and god damn, he knows how to use them.
Your back arches, pressing your tits against his bare chest and Miguel dips to litter marks around your collar bone and lower, humming in satisfaction as you thread a hand in his hair. You’re a mess, he’s panting and groaning, hair mussed up, dark crimson eyes squeezed shut. He might just be the prettiest man you’ve ever seen.
The thing that really does it for you is the way he says your name. Breathy and pleading, it makes your head spin, and you press a searing kiss to his lips as the knot that has been slowly building finally snaps. It’s filthy, sinful, and fuck, its everything you want. 
Miguel tenses underneath you, burying his face in the crook of your neck as he shudders and twitches. He sounds almost drunk from the way he’s slurring your name, honey sweet and desperate. He cums with a quiet grunt, staining his boxers with it, soaking the light gray of his sweats.
You slump against his chest and he hisses lightly as you brush against his slowly softening cock. A burly arm comes to loop around your waist, pulling you closer while you gently move sweaty strands of hair out of his face.
“Good?” He asks, and you hum in affirmation. He grimaces at the feeling of slick cum dripping down his balls. “We should get clean.”
“My thighs feel sticky,” You mutter, trying to gently extricate yourself from your boyfriend’s hold so you can walk to the restroom. He shoots you a look and sweeps you up into his arms easily, pressing an easy kiss to your neck. Instinctively, you hold onto him, leaning against his bare chest as he carries you to your shared bathroom. 
He glances at you as he pushes open the door with his foot, considering.
“Bath or shower?” Miguel tilts his head, looking remarkably composed for a man who just came in his pants a few minutes ago. 
“Shower,” You answer immediately, and he puts you down, turning to strip off his clothes and hearing you do the same. You turn on the water, setting it to both of your preferred temperatures and slip into the stall, sighing in relief at the warmth. Miguel joins you after a moment, swiping your body wash off from the corner. Technically, it’s his, but you use it so often that he just delegates it as a shared item. 
You say that his is better because it’s fancy. He doesn’t object. After all, he really doesn’t mind you smelling like him.
Squeezing some into his hand, he cleans you up, soapy suds washed away by the spray overhead as you do the same for him. You pay special attention to his pecs and ass and he just sighs like he’s annoyed. He’s not. Honestly, he doesn’t care — you can touch whatever you want. He’s all yours and he relishes that fact whole heartedly. 
Your hands trail down his chest and abdomen. He smothers a smile against your hair, pressing you up against the shower wall and hooking strong hands under your thighs. 
“Want to go another round?” He asks, looking down at you, a grin pulling at the corners of his mouth. You card a hand through wet curls and he leans into it.
“Yes.”
Needless to say, you don’t come out of the bathroom until much later, littered with marks and sore between the thighs. Miguel follows after you, looking utterly satisfied with himself, a towel wrapped loosely around his waist as you both enter your bedroom. It’ll be a pain to wear a scarf for the next few weeks but with the way Miguel practically drapes himself over you has you not caring. 
A problem for future you. For now, you’ll just snuggle under the covers and exchange sleepy kisses with your boyfriend. 
AN; this was supposed to be 500 words omg
2K notes · View notes
kpopfanfictrash · 4 months
Text
The Ten Days of Ex-Mas (M) (Pt. 2)
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Author: kpopfanfictrash
Genre:  Holiday / Second Chance!AU / Hockey!AU
Pairing: Jimin / Reader (F)
Synopsis: Three months following the worst break-up of your life, you finally feel ready to start moving on. The world, it seems, has other ideas when you pick up the phone and find your ex-boyfriend calling.
Jimin Park, star right winger of the NHL and (until recently), the love of your life, has a very large problem. Despite the courage he regularly shows on the ice, in his personal life, Jimin is kind of a coward. When you broke up this fall, he could barely admit it. Not to his neighbors. Not to his friends. Not even to his family, who are expecting him home for Christmas. In a desperate plea for more time, Jimin begs you to pretend you’re still dating – and to his surprise, you agree. Faced with a second chance, Jimin is determined not to squander it. If only fixing a relationship were as easy as falling in love.
Word Count: 44,416 (19K in part 2)
Author’s Note: Part of the Jingle All the Way collaboration with @leahsfavefics, @kithtaehyung, @yoonia, @cybrsan, and @sugaurora! Unfortunately, due to the new Tumblr text post limitations, this has to be published as multiple parts. THIS IS NOT THE START OF THE STORY. Please read Part 1 first, here.
Rating: 18+
NSFW Warnings: oral (F), multiple orgasms (F), fingering, sex in a semi-public area (brief), breast play, spanking, masturbation (M, F), dirty talk, mention of toys
A/N: all collab fics incorporate the phrase, "the holidays aren't so bad with you around."
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A/N: This is not part 1. Read part 1 here.
“Jimin!” Hana cries, plowing into his legs. “Y/N! We’re skates!”
Lifting your brows, you crouch to boop her red pom-pom hat. “Of course, you are!” you say. When Hana runs off, you stand and lean closer. “Do you think she meant they have skates, or that we’re pretending to be them?”
“Guess we’ll find out,” Jimin chuckles, taking your hand to cross the street.
You seem surprised but continue, falling into step alongside him. If pressed, Jimin could say he’s holding your hand because you’re around his family but truthfully, that’s not why. He’s holding your hand because he hasn’t touched you for twelve hours, crumbling something vital deep in his chest.
Jimin’s mom waves you over to where they’ve occupied several benches. “Welcome,” she says, gesturing to the group. “The girls picked out skates for everyone – correct sizes, of course.”
Stifling a laugh, Jimin looks at the skates. Of course, the twins picked them out since they’ve chosen only the most ridiculous concepts. Each year, a main Garland attraction is the infamous holiday ice skates. Imagine a Christmas staple, and there’s an ice skate for it. Snowmen skates wait for Jimin, complete with tiny carrot noses.
“How did you know my favorites,” you gasp, bending to reach for your candy cane skates.
“Cuz we’re smart!” Ari yells, wriggling free of Hoseok’s arms.
Jisoo grabs her by the waist, picking her up to sit down on a bench. Jimin takes you by the hand again, leading you to a semi-secluded bench. Glancing over your shoulder, you watch as he drags you away from his family.
“Sit,” Jimin demands, and your eyes widen.
Somewhat flustered, you obey. “Jimin,” you hiss when he kneels before you. “No one is watching us. You don’t have to…”
He lifts a brow. “I don’t have to do anything, Y/N.”
You fall silent when he begins unlacing your boots, setting them aside on the cold ground. Jimin doesn’t miss the way you shiver when his hand curls around your ankle, nor the look on your face when he scoots even closer.
“Jimin…”
Flashing a wicked smile, he looks up. “Yes?”
A lump moves in your throat when you swallow. “Nothing.”
“Nothing?” Brows lifted, Jimin leans forward, pressing his shoulder against your inner knee. He begins tying the laces, taking his time to savor the closeness. By the time he’s finished, you’re glowering darkly.
“Up,” you demand, switching places.
Jimin shouldn’t be turned on by how easily you walk in skates, nor by the bossy edge to your voice as you kneel.
“Is this what you wanted?” you ask, your gaze burning. Placing both hands on his knees, you lean forward. “To tease me?”
“Tease you?” Jimin looks you up and down. “Right now, I feel like the victim here.”
Pushing yourself to stand, you nudge him with your foot. “You can put on your own skates, Park. Last I checked, you got paid to do this for a living.”
“Usually, they pay me to play in the skates. Not just look pretty.”
Your lips tilt. “Are you calling yourself pretty?”
Wordless, Jimin tosses his hair as he stands from the bench. Eyes wide, you realize your gaze drops to his skates, already tied. Leaning in, Jimin brushes your arm with his palm.
“That depends,” he says lowly. “What do you think?”
Your gaze focuses on him. “Your looks haven’t changed that much since September, Park.”
His eyes darken. “Stop calling me that.”
“What – Park?”
Brows lowered, Jimin steps closer. “You sound like you’re about to scold me.”
You snort. “Scold you? Who do you think I am?”
“Stop changing the subject.”
“What even is the subject?”
“What about my looks has changed since September?”
You pause to survey him. “You… well. Your hair,” you admit.
Uncertain, Jimin reaches up to touch it. “My hair?”
“Yeah.” You nod, transfixed by his fingers. “It’s longer. It–” Cutting yourself off, your lips press together. “It looks nice, that’s all.”
Jimin hovers a second, wishing you’d continue but the moment is interrupted by your names being called. Turning his head, he spots Jisoo and Hoseok stepping onto the ice. Hoseok has both of Ari’s hands, while Jisoo has Hana.
Heart dropping, Jimin pieces two and two together. When you arrived on Thursday, the oddest expression crossed over your face at the twins. And later, while making cookies, you often were silent. Jimin chalked this up to the strangeness of your arrangement, but only now realizes the full implication. Ari and Hana must remind you of the false pregnancy, and the events which came after.
On instinct, Jimin takes your hand again. You glance down, surprised, but Jimin is already walking, pulling you with.
Although you stumble a little, you follow. “How do you walk in these things every day?” you demand, gesturing vaguely.
“We usually wear them on ice, not the sidewalk.”
“Hilarious.”
Arriving at the rink, Jimin removes his skate guards and holds out a hand. Handing them off to his mom, Jimin opens the gate to step onto the ice.
For a moment, the world fades. This is the reason he plummeted when he wasn’t sure if he could skate again. This feeling, this rush of freedom – Jimin has felt it on the ice ever since he can remember. Your hand is grounding, keeping him steady through the inner turmoil. Taking a deep breath, Jimin pushes off on one skate to bring you with.
Across the rink, Hoseok and Jisoo lead their daughters around. Seeing them, Jimin can’t help but smile. Jisoo was raised on the rink and can skate circles around most of their friend group.
“They’re so cute,” you sigh, following his gaze.
“Who? Jisoo and Hoseok?”
“I mean, sure,” you laugh, eyes crinkling. “But I was talking about Hana and Ari. No matter what your dad says, Hana is definitely going pro.”
Jimin sees a moment of realization cross your face. A few months ago, the idea of his dad disapproving would have crippled him. Now, Jimin feels sad, but he knows he’ll get through it.
Tightening his grip, he moves closer. “Want to know a secret?” Jimin says, skating backwards to face you. Both your hands end in his, letting him pull you.
“Obviously.”
Jimin grins, spinning you in a circle. “I got her lessons for Christmas with my old teacher. Just for fun, but I think she’ll enjoy it.”
“She absolutely will,” you say, smiling so wide, Jimin’s heart hurts. “Speaking of…”
Turning his head, Jimin spots Hoseok skate past with Ari. They wave as they go, Ari’s scarf flapping in the wind.
“So slow!” Hoseok calls, as Ari laughs. “Seems like that NHL thing really was a fluke, Park…”
Jimin’s brows lower, enough that you laugh and let go of his hand. “Go on,” you tease, skating backwards. “Catch up to them.”
His gaze lingers on you as you leave, watching you glide across the rink with ease. Turning around, you weave between patrons as the ends of your scarf flutter behind you. Jimin remembers the first time he brought you home for the holidays. Until then, you’d given him nothing but a hard time with his hockey fame. Pretending not to know the rules, the players or even the sport – although he often caught you Googling what certain terms meant.
The first time you came home, Jimin’s parents were the ones who suggested ice skating. Jimin was hesitant, thinking you didn’t know how, but once you stepped onto the rink, his jaw dropped. Although you aren’t a professional, you took lessons as a kid and somehow maintained your graceful ease. Somewhat embarrassingly, that was the morning he caved and broke his no-sex-in-the-childhood-home rule.
Body tightening, Jimin locks in on you as you skate away. Similar to seeing you wearing a new cosplay, watching you skate circles is enough to draw blood to a very specific part of his body. Pushing off with one foot, Jimin starts slowly around the edge of the rink. Several heads turn, but he ignores them entirely. Glancing over your shoulder, you notice him watching and laugh, purposefully crouching to gain momentum.
Lips twitching, Jimin adopts a similar stance and goes faster. He barely outpaces his slowest round at practice, but that’s fine. To everyone else, Jimin is practically flying. As one of the shortest players in the NHL, Jimin makes up for what he lacks in stride with his speed. Offensive positions require agility, something which happens to be his main strength. Wind cuts his face as Jimin makes a turn that would send lesser skaters sprawling.
Leisurely, he approaches you from the opposite side. Glancing over your shoulder, you frown, losing visibility.
“Gotcha,” Jimin says, grabbing around your waist to speak in your ear.
You yelp, twisting around to avoid tangling skates. “No fair,” you laugh, still in his arms. “You’re a professional. You cheated!”
“Which one is it, princess?” he teases, prompting a startled breath.
Licking your lower lip, you glance sideways and Jimin feels his body lock. Continuing to skate with his arms wrapped around you, he can barely decipher his train of thought. You face forward quickly, but not fast enough – Jimin knows that look. Your pupils are dilated, eyes wide with lips slightly parted. That look connects with his lower half in a way that makes skating distinctly uncomfortable.
“You can’t call me that,” you say under your breath.
Despite this, your hand tightens in his, not letting him go.
Jimin leans closer. “Call you what?”
“Any name other than the one chosen at birth.”
“Oh, I see. So, if I say Y/N.” Jimin dips his tone. “That’s fine?”
He feels your shiver, sliding his thumb along the side of your palm, and–
“Y/N!”
You start, jerking upright when Hana skates by holding onto Jisoo. Jimin falls behind you, somewhat embarrassed he let things go so far. As much as he wants to call you princess and get you to admit that you want him – he wants more than simply desire. Something like that happening would only muddy the waters.
Ari skates past as well, begging you to join, which you do with a dutiful nod. Jimin watches you go, skating to the edge of the rink and stepping outside. Pulling on guards, he clomps towards the hot chocolate stand to buy you a cup. While he waits, a familiar hat sidles up alongside him.
“Hi, mom,” he says, smiling downward.
Jimin’s mom wraps an arm around his waist and squeezes. A lump forms in Jimin’s throat, one he manages to swallow. The past year has been hard, forcing tough conversations to be held over the phone. Worse than losing his health, Jimin felt that he lost the support of his family.
“You two looked good out there,” his mom says, moving up in line.
Jimin lifts a brow. His mom never says something she doesn’t mean – a fact that he envies. Bringing your relationship up means she has something to say.
“Thanks,” he says, waiting for the rest.
“I hope we didn’t make you or Y/N uncomfortable last night. You know the last thing your father and I want is to pressure you.”
Shaking his head, Jimin moves forward. “You didn’t – don’t worry.”
“Mm.” Her lips thin. “What were you doing, going out late with Hoseok?”
Jimin’s eyes widen. Shit. Exactly like his mom, to lead with something soft, then go for the kill. A hockey strategy Jimin has employed often, with great success.
“We… I, uh…”
His mom pats him on the arm. “Every couple has their difficulties, Jimin. I’m not going to pretend every obstacle is surmountable – only you can decide that – but running away will solve nothing.”
Stunned by her accuracy, Jimin shakes his head. “I thought she wanted space,” he admits. This much, at least, is true.
“Space is good,” she agrees. “But only when asked for.”
The couple before them in line finishes paying and leaves. Somewhat dazed, Jimin moves up and orders three hot chocolates. Stepping aside to wait, Jimin turns to face his mom.
“That’s good advice,” he says slowly.
“I know.” She smiles. “That wasn’t what I wanted to talk about, though.”
Jimin lifts a brow. “No? Could’ve fooled me.”
She laughs. “No,” she admits, linking arms. “I wanted to check in on you, dear. You’ve seemed a little… well, off lately. It’s been a while since we last talked.”
Jimin can hear her concern, the utmost care she’s taking in having this conversation. His heart aches, knowing she must have rehearsed this talk often. Truthfully, Jimin didn’t mean to pull away from his family. It became almost second nature to avoid having an argument.
“Well,” Jimin says. “This season has been tough. I wasn’t sure how it’d be… being back on the ice. And I didn’t think you or dad would want to hear about that.”
Gripping his elbow, his mom turns him to face her. Her gaze has turned serious, an indent between her brows. “Jimin. I always want to hear about your day. Okay?”
He blinks several times.
“I’m sorry,” she exhales. “I know I wasn’t… I was scared, seeing you so badly injured last year.”
Jimin presses his lips together. “I know.”
“But,” she adds, fierce light to her gaze. “That’s not an excuse for making you feel this way. Your career will always scare us, Jimin.” She holds up a hand at the look on his face. “No, I want to be truthful. Your career will always scare us, but darling, I’ve watched you skate since you were three years old. I see your face on the ice. I’m sorry for asking you to give that up. It was selfish.”
Something rent apart mends in his chest. Before Jimin can respond, three hot chocolates are placed on the counter. Smiling, his mom accepts one and hands him the rest.
“Don’t feel like you have to say anything back,” she chides, guiding him towards the rink. “I only wanted to make sure you knew.”
“No – no.” Jimin shakes his head. “I’m trying more often to express how I feel. Mom… the way you and dad acted hurt me. For a while, it felt like everyone in the world was against me, and I didn’t know how to convince them. Or myself.”
His mom blinks several times. “I understand that,” she says quietly. “And I’m sorry, dear. I’m here for you, whatever you decide – I promise.”
“And dad?”
Lips twisting, she glances across the rink, where his dad sits on a bench. Not skating, simply watching Hana and Ari be towed around. Seeing this, Jimin understands what she means. His dad still has a long way to go.
“It’s okay, mom,” he murmurs.
She frowns. “No, it’s not. But he’ll come around, Jimin – I know it.”
“Yeah.” Releasing his breath, Jimin looks across the rink and catches your eye.
You grin widely, hand in hand with Ari as Jimin smiles. Something Dr. Nygard once said comes to mind. He told Jimin it was normal to want the attention of others, but it wasn’t healthy to shape one’s entire reality from it. For a long time, Jimin only believed he was good if other people said so. Only thought he could want something when other people agreed.
The moment you asked if you could take a break, all Jimin heard was you didn’t want him. Rather than stay and fight for what he believed in, he left and now, it’s up to him to convince you things are different. Being without you cast things in perspective. No – Jimin doesn’t need your approval to live the life he wants.
But the life he wants to live has you in it.
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“I can’t believe you didn’t bring pain meds this weekend,” you huff, digging around in the endless void you call a purse.
Sheepish, Jimin shrugs. “My tailbone felt better. And then, I don’t know… sitting for hours on a flight didn’t help.”
Stunned, you glance upward. “You’ve been hurt since the flight, Jimin?” you ask, failing to keep your anger in check. “Why are you only telling me now?”
Amused, he crosses both arms. “Y/N,” Jimin tsks. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d think that you cared.”
Simultaneously annoyed and aroused, your gaze darts towards your purse. Yanking free a bottle of ibuprofen, you shake out two pills. “Here,” you insist, thrusting them forward. “Take these and be quiet.”
Partly, your dismay stems from this being your fault. Jimin mentioned he was injured outside the house, but you were too mad to hear and made him sleep on the couch. And now, you’ll be the reason for Chicago’s losing streak. You can already hear the disparaging Twitter comments.
“Be quiet.” Jimin accepts the pills to throw them back, dry. “Thanks, Y/N.”
You stare, horrified. “That’s disgusting.”
“You get used to it.”
“Nope,” you say as you turn away. “I don’t think I would.”
Jimin chuckles from behind, catching up when you push open the door to the shop. Once everyone had their fill of ice-skating, you went with Jimin’s family to a lovely place for lunch. Afterwards, everyone broke into pairs for late Christmas shopping. It seems everyone is missing one gift or another, resulting in a need for covert alliances. Jisoo went off with her mom, while Hoseok went off with their dad and the twins.
The fact that you ended up alone with Jimin hasn’t escaped you. Briefly, you wondered if Jimin’s mom was behind this to give you some privacy but banished the notion. If this were the case, she likely would have just said so. The thought makes your face heat as you enter the shop.
Things today have been… different when it comes to Jimin. First, there was his apology in the car and then, the whole skate-tying incident. Merely the memory makes you shiver, recalling the feel of his hand on your ankle. Not to mention his cryptic phrasing, insisting he should have stayed – last night. Or possibly more.
Frustrated, you glance around the stationary shop. For once, you wish Jimin would just say what he means. Then again, you suppose two can play at that game. You weren’t exactly honest when you asked for a break.
Covertly, you glance sideways and find Jimin’s cheeks reddened. Infuriatingly, he looks even better than the day before. Darkly, you wonder if he sold his soul to a witch or is involved in some sort of Dorian Gray situation.
Turning around, Jimin catches you staring. “What are you thinking?” he asks, moving closer.
Rather than fan his ego, you ask something that’s been bothering you the past hour. “I saw you talking to your mom at the hot chocolate stand. What was that about?”
Jimin stiffens slightly, and you stifle a sigh.
Six months prior, Jimin would have brushed aside the question. In the spring, when his arguments with his dad were at their worst, you tried to distract him, but nothing succeeded. Jimin didn’t want to talk about anything, but in every conversation, his mind was elsewhere. You shouldn’t be surprised this is still true but somehow, you hoped.
“Hockey,” Jimin answers, and your face jerks up. “My mom said she was always going to worry about me playing, but she apologized for asking me to give it up. I think…” He pauses. “She may have been giving me her blessing to re-sign? Not that I need it,” he adds, a bit thoughtful.
“Jimin,” you gasp. “That’s amazing!”
“I know, right?” He smiles. “There’s still my dad, but it means so much to me that she said that. And… I mean, I can’t wait around for them to approve of everything, can I? I need to do what’s best for myself.”
Slowly, you nod. “You do.”
He meets your gaze. “I wanted to thank you, actually.”
“Thank me?”
“Yeah. You told me that, and I didn’t agree. I just… I wasn’t ready to hear it. In a way, when you left, it forced me to examine some hard truths about myself.”
Again, your heart sinks. You’re glad Jimin has his therapist and they’re helping to change his outlook. On the other hand, it sounds as though your leaving was an uptick in his life.
“Ah,” you say faintly. “I see.”
Jimin cocks his head. “When you said you wanted a break, all I heard was that the last person to believe in me no longer did. I know that’s not fair,” he adds, seeing your face. “But that’s how I felt. It was easier to fall, to hit rock bottom… than to pull myself out.”
You consider this – and him – for a long moment. In September, you really weren’t in a position to listen. The rapid elation and depression of thinking you were pregnant, coupled with fear from a year of anxiety, resulted in a potentially harmful reaction. Jimin deserved more than what you gave.
“I shouldn’t have come to you like that,” you say quietly. “It wasn’t fair of me to just… spring that on you without explanation. I should have asked you to talk. I’m sorry.”
“I don’t blame you, thinking I wouldn’t listen.”
“Maybe,” you say. “If I could go back though, I’d do things differently.”
“Me, too.”
For a while, you stand there and let the words sink in. Frequently since the break-up, you imagined what it would be like to see Jimin again. You wondered if he’d be angry, whether he’d ignore you or cast blame for what happened. Rarely did you imagine he’d apologize, or that he’d taken steps to address what happened this fall.
And maybe that was another mistake you both made – assuming the other person couldn’t change or wouldn’t want to.
Then, another thought occurs that makes your heart sink. Jimin’s mom is fine with him extending his contract. The entire reason you came here was to lessen the difficulty of two pieces of bad news at once. With one in the open, it’s not necessary to continue the charade.
For a moment, you debate whether to say something and instead, you turn smoothly and pluck a card from the pile.
“Look at this one,” you say, holding it up to the light. “Do you think Ari would like it?”
Glancing at this, Jimin tilts his head. The card is covered in glitter, to the point where the pictures and words are rendered obsolete.
“I think it’s perfect,” he says with a laugh. “Look, there’s another glitter one for Hana.”
Selecting them both, you head for the cashier. Jimin diverts to check out a large stack of board games in the back for his uncle.
“You check out,” he says, waving you onward. “I’ll meet you at the register in a minute.”
“All right,” you say, turning away.
Bypassing the colorful pens near the register, you place both cards on the counter. “Can I have a bag?” you ask as they ring you up.
The cashier nods, setting to work and you drum your finger against the counter. Outside, it’s started snowing. You can’t help but smile since it never seems to stop snowing in Garland for long. Hopefully, everything will clear up for tomorrow’s Christmas Eve party. Jimin’s family never misses, barring illness or high water.
Behind you, the bells above the door chime.
“Y/N?” A familiar – deeply grating – makes you go stiff. “Is that you? Oh my gosh!”
Smile frozen, you slowly turn. Vivian Wu shuts the door with one hand, casually unwinding a red scarf from her neck. Her hair is luscious and sleek, billowing over her perfect pea coat. When she walks towards the register, you notice cashmere gloves and boots that seem untouched by the salt on the roads.
Continuing to force a smile, you nod. “Hi, Vivian,” you say. “Yep, it’s me. Y/N.”
Coming to a stop, Vivian tilts her head. As the daughter of the former mayor and a politician herself, she’s practically royalty in a small town like Garland. Vivian also happens to be Jimin’s ex-girlfriend, dating him for three years in high school before they broke up when he was drafted. A fact Vivian never really accepted.
Her smile turns simpering. “How nice to see you,” she says, her tone suggesting the opposite. “Are you visiting the Parks for the holidays?”
You nod, suddenly glad for the charade. “Jimin and I are only here for a few days, unfortunately. Are you attending the Christmas Eve party tomorrow?”
“Wouldn’t miss it. The Parks are such a wonderful family. It’s a shame you only get to see them once a year.”
Although your stomach twists, you remind yourself it’s not worth it. Vivian only acts this way because she’s not dating Jimin – but then again, neither are you. Your heart sinks, realizing you might be looking at your future. Vivian will be thrilled to discover you’re no longer together. You never learned why she disliked you, only that she’s the only other girl Jimin dated seriously.
Your very first visit, you were introduced to her at the Christmas Eve party. Jimin warned you his ex-girlfriend would be there but failed to mention how beautiful – and vindictive – she was. Apparently, the break-up was Jimin’s idea and Vivian loathed having a total loss of control.
That night ended in a harried fight between you and Jimin, becoming the first time he ever said he loved you. Remembering that night, you can’t help but smile – a gesture that widens when Vivian scowls.
“It’s a shame,” you sigh. “I’m sure they appreciate having you looking out for them, though.”
Vivian sniffs, unable to find the insult. “Of course. Anything for Jimin. Speaking of” – she leans in, her Chanel perfume tickling your nose – “I’ve been watching his games and haven’t seen you lately? Is everything okay?”
You instantly stiffen. Despite what you told Jimin, you genuinely hadn’t thought many people would notice. Of course, Vivian did.
“No,” you say sweetly. “Just busy with work.”
“That’s a shame,” she says, her voice implying that, if it were her, Vivian would make herself available, no matter the cost.
You can’t help but bristle, though the scenario is moot. Neither of you are dating Jimin, so there’s nothing to compare. Still, even when you were together, Jimin never expected you to attend every game. That was his job, not yours, he would joke all the time. Both of you were adults with careers.
Tossing her hair, Vivian nods at your hand. “And I’m surprised, Y/N – no ring? Jisoo and Hoseok got engaged after what, two years? And you’ve been dating Jimin for…?”
“Four years,” you say stiffly.
“That’s right.” Her frown deepens. “Four.”
Your tongue is in danger of bleeding from how hard you bite. Vivian’s words have little to do with you, and more to do with the circumstances, but you can’t help but feel frustrated. And hurt.
Smoothly, an arm slides around your waist. “There you are,” murmurs Jimin, pulling you close. He brushes a kiss to your hair, glancing at Vivian. “You can blame that on me, Viv,” he says easily. “Haven’t found the perfect ring yet. None big enough. Or expensive enough.”
Your lips twitch. “Exactly,” you sigh, laying a hand on his chest. “He keeps proposing and I keep saying, ‘nope, try again.’”
Jimin chuckles, nuzzling into your hair. Vivian glances between you, looking vaguely nauseated. You can’t say you blame her.
“How nice,” she mutters.
“Anyways.” Glancing around, Jimin grabs your bag from the counter. “We really should get going. It was nice seeing you, Vivian.”
“You, too,” she huffs, brushing past to the board games.
As soon as she’s gone, your smile drops. “Thanks,” you exhale, slipping out from his arm. “I… well, I wasn’t sure what to say to her.”
Jimin catches you around the wrist.
You hesitate a long moment, then turn. Two days ago, the rules of the game were clear. No kissing with tongue. Jimin sleeps on the couch. And no need to pretend when no one else is around.
Gaze drifting upwards, you find yourself unable to decipher his expression. Slowly, Jimin pulls you closer to casually fix the scarf around your neck.
“Let’s head home, okay?” he murmurs.
You nod, not trusting yourself to respond to him with words. Outside, on the street, Jimin comes to a stop. Exhaling briskly, he turns sideways to face you.
“I just…”
Dropping your wrist, Jimin shoves a hand through his hair.
“Jimin, it’s okay,” you say, stepping closer. “I don’t blame how she acted – really. Being on the other side, like this…” Lamely, you shrug. “I guess I understand how Vivian feels. That’s all.”
Jimin stares at you, wide-eyed. You think that must be it, and attempt to walk past, but he grabs your wrist again.
“Y/N,” he says sternly. “You are nothing like Vivian. Okay?”
You blink, glancing down at his hand. That’s twice in two minutes he’s touched you like this. Gaze snapping upward, you frown.
“Am I?” you demand. Stepping closer, you stand nearly nose-to-nose. “We’re both your exes, Jimin. I can’t imagine how much it would hurt to watch you parade someone else around town. God, just thinking about you with someone else drives me crazy. I’d be an asshole to future me, too.”
Dipping his head, Jimin inhales. “That’s not going to happen,” he murmurs into your ear. “I wouldn’t be worried about that, if I were you.”
“What does that –”
“Y/N! JIMIN!”
Adorable interruptions seem to be your curse this weekend. Tiny arms crush your knees as, looking down, you find Hana grinning.
Bending, you scoop her onto one hip. “What’s this?” you gasp when she hands you a bag. “Did you buy me a Christmas present all by yourself?”
“Mhm,” she says proudly. “We got you new gloves to wear when you watch Uncle Jimin play.”
Hoseok groans as he arrives. “Girls, that was supposed to be a secret. Remember? Y/N was going to unwrap the gloves on Christmas.”
Ari frowns, tugging on Hoseok’s coat. “But then the present would tell her, not us.”
You can’t help but laugh as Jisoo and her mom walk up behind you.
“What’d we miss?” Jisoo asks, taking Hana.
“Hoseok was explaining the concept of presents,” says Jimin.
“Oh, good. Any success?”
“No,” Hoseok grumbles.
Everyone laughs, and Jimin’s dad flips his keys. “Are we all set?” he asks. “I thought I’d make hot chocolate back at the house.”
“Yeahhh!” yell the twins, immediately taking off.
Snow starts to fall as you leave the town square. More holiday music plays on the drive, and you find yourself dutifully humming along. Despite what you said, there are several noticeable differences between you and Vivian. You might both be his exes, but Jimin only asked one of you home for Christmas.
And only one of you has the opportunity now to make things right.
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By Saturday evening, Jimin regrets asking Hoseok for help. He might mean well, but Jimin’s brother-in-law is the least covert person on the face of the planet. Indeed, he’s done more to detract from Jimin’s goal than to add to it. All day, he’s tried to create alone time for you and Jimin with mixed results.
At dinner, Hoseok leaves a chair open next to Jimin – only for Ari to claim it. Afterwards, the family gathers to watch a movie and once again, Hoseok tries to set him up on the sofa. Unfortunately, Hoseok miscounts, and Jisoo is forced to squish between Jimin and the armrest. Little romance can happen sandwiched between you and his sister.
That’s not to say no romance, though. Ever since the stationary store, you seem to have forgotten your rule about physical contact. While watching the Grinch, you curl into Jimin’s side, holding his hand under a mountain of blankets. Jimin strokes his thumb over the back of your hand, trying and failing not to let his mind wander.
He can’t stop thinking about you and Vivian, knowing the situation is his doing. When he broke up with Vivian, he did it over the phone and barely gave her answers to the questions she posed. He didn’t know how to admit that he wasn’t in love, so instead, he made excuses about distance and hockey. It’s no wonder Vivian hovers now, waiting for you to make any misstep.
The thought of you returning to an ex is enough to make Jimin go wild. His arm tenses on the sofa, despite knowing there’s no reason for him to be mad. Still, it’s all he can think about when the movie ends and you get ready for bed. Bringing his stuff down the hall, Jimin lets you use the bathroom within his room.
The door remains shut when he returns, so Jimin busies himself with making the couch comfortable. He’s debating adding a third pillow when the bathroom door opens, and you step outside.
Jimin nearly drops the holiday pillow he holds. Honestly, he should receive awards for his self-control this weekend. Once again, you’ve decided to clothe yourself – or not clothe yourself – in the skimpiest nightgown known to man. Pink lace skims your generous curves, something you seem oblivious of while crossing the room.
Jimin’s jaw clenches. “What time do you want to wake up tomorrow?”
Gaze skipping past him, you land on the sofa. “You’re not seriously planning on sleeping there?” you demand, folding your arms over your chest.
He forces himself not to stare at your delicious cleavage. “This feels like a trick question.”
“Jimin!” You throw up both hands. “You’re injured! I feel bad enough you had to take painkillers this morning.”
“Oh. Well, don’t feel bad,” Jimin says, bending for the pillow.
“Jimin!”
“What?” He half-laughs as he straightens. “There’s only one bed in this room, and my parents would know if you slept anywhere else. This is fine, Y/N.”
Chewing your lower lip, you glance down. “Unless…”
He waits. “Are you offering to sleep on the couch?”
Your gaze snaps upward. “No.”
A tinge of awareness spreads down his spine as Jimin slowly glances between you and the bed. “Are you…” Jimin hesitates, not wanting to break the fragile truce between you. “Are you offering to break rule number one?”
“Technically, you were the one who offered to sleep on the couch,” you point out. “All I said was we didn’t have to pretend while we were alone.”
“Y/N.”
“Alright, fine!” you huff. “I don’t want to sleep in the same bed. But I’m… retracting that rule, for the good of humanity. Only the bed part,” you warn, shifting your weight.
Seeing you slightly flustered wakes a sleeping beast in his chest. Jimin takes a step closer, realizing you’re not immune to his proximity.
“Are you sure?” he asks, coming to a stop. “I don’t want to take advantage of the situation. I can sleep on the couch, Y/N, and be fine. I promise.”
“Oh?” you scoff, turning around. “And have me be blamed for injuring the ‘best offensive player in the NHL?’ No thanks.”
Jimin stares at your retreating backside. “Y/N Y/L/N,” he says, slowly following you towards the bed. “Have you been watching my games on TV?”
Your fingers freeze on the comforter. “I… I’ve seen a few,” you say, evasive as you pull back the sheets. Slipping beneath the covers, you pointedly avoid eye contact.
Unable to contain his grin, Jimin folds his arms. He doesn’t miss the way your gaze darts towards his biceps, lingering longer than is strictly necessary.
“How many?” Jimin demands, moving closer.
Gaze snapping upward, you scowl. “Enough to know you’re doing disgustingly well. And that every person with half a brain has a poster telling you so on the other side of the glass.”
Coming to a stop, his brows sketch upwards. “You’ve seen the posters?”
Jimin has seen the posters but then again, he’s the one stepping onto the ice every night. Some of the content has been downright suggestive, which it seems you know from your perturbed expression. Jimin knows it isn’t healthy to savor your jealousy – on the other hand, he’ll take anything he can get when it comes to you. Jealousy implies there’s something to be jealous of.
“They’re creative,” you mutter. “I’ll give them that.”
Jimin’s grin widens. Crossing to the opposite side, he pulls back the covers. “I’ve kept track of you, too,” he admits as he joins you.
Startled, you turn over to face him. “You did?”
“Yeah.” Turning off the light, Jimin rolls sideways. “I liked your last outfit. Sundry Sydney?” he says with a snort. “The sticker was brilliant.”
“Some people thought it wasn’t slutty enough.”
“Sundry Sydney is more than a pleasure bot,” Jimin says, quoting you word for word. “She can do everything – or anything, as she later revises.”
You laugh, delighted. “You remember.”
“Of course.” Jimin softens. “I remember everything when it comes to you.”
In the moonlight, he watches your features change. Hesitance follows want in a way that makes his heart ache. Jimin did that. He put this space between you and, almost unthinking, he shifts closer.
“Sorry,” Jimin murmurs when his knee brushes your shin.
You blink. “It’s okay.”
Jimin is aware of each time you inhale, the rise and fall of your chest. The last time he slept next to you, he took it for granted. Now, he memorizes every single detail – your lashes on your cheeks, the weight of your body, the scent of your conditioner from across the pillow. If this is the last night Jimin can lie with you, he wants to remember.
Slowly, the sound of your breathing lulls his eyes shut.
Then next time they open, Jimin only feels heat. Warm, silken heat as he opens one eye and is immediately accosted by the sight of your bare shoulder. Stiffening, Jimin realizes his arm is draped over the curve of your waist. Your face nestles in his chest, fingers curled neatly into the fabric of his t-shirt.
Worse, your nightgown has ridden upward during the night, and Jimin can feel your bare thigh pressed to his. Exhaling softly, he tries to pull back. Under no circumstances can you wake and find him draped over you like the worst kind of leech. You let him sleep in the bed, not sleep with you, which is a crucial difference.
Unfortunately, his attempt at removing his arm only succeeds in rolling you closer. Jimin pauses, reevaluating as your curves press to his. When a mumbled sigh leaves your lips, he nearly gives up.
There’s only so much a person can be expected to ignore. Pressed to your soft skin, memories of past mornings come pouring back. If you were dating, Jimin would be figuring out ways to wake you up with his tongue. As it is, all he can do is close his eyes and pray for his hard-on to die.
“Jimin,” you mumble, pressing closer.
His eyes open. The movement brings your thighs flush together, and there’s no mistaking now, that was his name on your lips. Staring downward, Jimin wonders what you’re dreaming of, and whether or not he’s made an appearance.
Mumbling something, your eyes open. When your gazes connect, Jimin expects you to recoil, waits for the moment you realize where you are and withdraw.
Instead, you blink in a sleepy haze. Tentative, you move your hand higher and – Jimin holds his breath – lightly stroke your thumb down the center of his chest. Jimin hardly dares move as your gaze drops to his lips. Slowly – so, so slowly – you shift your hips forward and part your thighs.
Exhaling roughly, Jimin’s fingers find your thigh to drag over his waist. His hard cock fits snugly against your warm core.
“Oh,” you whimper.
Losing all sense of composure, Jimin tightens his grip and rolls his hips against you.
“Oh,” you moan, your head tipping back.
Dipping his chin, Jimin drags his nose up the heat of your throat. Open-mouthed, he ghosts over the place where your neck meets your collarbone. Panting, you roll your hips as his grip on you tightens. Each line of your body melts against his, driving him crazy.
Moving lower, Jimin brushes the silk hem of your nightgown. Your breath catches when his thumb slips beneath, drawing teasing circles against your inner thigh. One of your hands entwines in his hair, tugging in a way that makes him see red.
“Ah, fuck,” Jimin groans. Grasping your ass with both hands, he rolls on his back and brings you with.
Surprised, you land on top of him. “Jimin – oh,” you breathe when he thrusts upward, pressing his cock against your underwear.
Gaze somewhat hazy, you push yourself upright. Jimin moans at the sight of your thighs spilled to either side, your delicious breasts barely contained by the silk. Not looking away, keeping your hands on his chest, you slowly begin to move your hips. Jimin’s hands slide up to frame your waist, helping you get yourself off on his cock.
It won’t take long, he realizes with some shock. Whatever dream you had got you halfway, based on the way your thighs tremble above him. Lips parting, you moan his name and rock your hips faster. Gripping you tightly, Jimin thrusts upward. His fingers slip down your thighs, edging towards your center, when –
The doorbell rings downstairs.
Instantly, you freeze, your chest rising and falling. Jimin opens his mouth, but before he can utter a single word, you swing your leg off him.
“I – sorry,” you blurt, scooting to stand. “That… shouldn’t have happened.”
Jimin’s mouth shuts. No, probably not, but he also can’t bring himself to regret what just happened. Unlike you, it seems.
“I’m… just going to change,” you rush, practically fleeing into his bathroom. The door slams shut behind you, leaving Jimin alone in the bed.
Wearily, he collapses. “Fuck,” he mutters.
The shower turns on, and his imagination runs wild, replaying the past five minutes. Groaning, Jimin rolls over to stiffly stand. Yanking a sweater and jeans from his closet, he heads for the other bathroom to take care of himself. It barely takes a minute before he comes against the shower wall, chest heaving to stare at the water droplets.
With a clear head, Jimin can feel the full weight of dread in his chest. He moved too fast. Even with you instigating, Jimin shouldn’t have pushed things as far as they went. If he knows you at all – and Jimin thinks that he does – you’re probably freaking out in a separate shower. He needs to assure you as soon as possible that he wants this. Well, he wants you. Not just the physical parts.
Exhaling deeply, Jimin finishes showering and turns off the spray. Toweling himself dry, Jimin dresses as fast as he can to head downstairs. He’s nearly at the kitchen when a hand grasps his elbow, yanking him sideways and shoving him in the front closet.
Stumbling slightly, Jimin turns around and finds himself face-first with Hoseok. Flicking the light switch, Hoseok shuts the door and exhales.
Jimin looks past him. “What are you doing?” he asks, faintly alarmed. “Is everything okay?”
Shaking his head, Hoseok folds his arms across his chest. “No – definitely not. Your dad knows, man.”
“Knows what?”
“He knows,” Hoseok says with a pointed look. “He knows you’re planning to extend your hockey contract.”
Jimin’s heart sinks to the floor.
Coming to his senses, he shakes his head. “How?” Jimin demands. “How does my dad know?”
“Not sure.” Hoseok’s lips twist. “I think he went into town this morning, and some of his buddies told him. Apparently, news of the extension leaked online.”
Jimin is utterly still, already coming up with choice words for his agent. He knew this could happen, despite his request to keep this quiet. Sometimes teams leak the news to increase the pressure on players. Other times, another team in the league does it to spur a trade. Jimin hoped he’d have until the new year but apparently, the choice has been made for him.
“Well, fuck,” he mutters.
Hoseok just nods. “Yeah. I heard your mom and dad talking about it when I came downstairs.”
Jimin pauses, glancing at the door. “Have you just… been waiting out in the hall for me?”
“Yeah. I kept pretending to forget things in our room. Jisoo may or may not have caught on.”
“Great.” Jimin decides to push past this. “Did he… I mean, how did my dad seem?”
Hoseok frowns. “Quiet. I don’t know. He went into his office and didn’t come out until your mom started breakfast.”
Shit. Running a hand through his hair, Jimin exhales. “Alright,” he says. “Well, I guess there’s no point in putting things off.”
“Probably not.”
Nodding, Jimin turns to pull open the door and Hoseok’s hand lands on his shoulder. “Yeah?” Jimin asks, turning around.
“Just letting you know that I’m here for you,” Hoseok says, stepping into the hall. “I may be married to your sister, but that doesn’t mean I don’t care about you.”
“Thanks, Hobi,” Jimin says quietly.
Squaring his shoulders, he follows him down the hall and into the kitchen. All voices cease. His mom’s spatula clatters against the bowl, and Jisoo falls silent at the kitchen table. Even you turn to face him, a mug of coffee in hand.
Jimin moves forward. “Hey,” he says tentatively. “Good morning.”
“Morning, Jimin!” says his mom, shooting a look at his dad.
Jimin’s dad pushes himself up from the table. “Jimin, can we talk?” he asks, gesturing towards the door. Based on his tone, this isn’t so much a request as a statement.
Although his stomach twists, Jimin manages a nod. “Sure, dad.”
He leaves the room, not looking behind to see if Jimin follows. Taking a deep breath, Jimin follows. When he nears the door, he feels a hand on his elbow. Gripping him tightly, you turn Jimin to face you.
“Hey,” you murmur. “Whatever your dad says – I’m here, okay? I believe in you, Jimin. No matter what.”
There’s steel to your voice, making him believe every word. No hint of weirdness from this morning remains, unraveling an unknown knot in his chest.
“Thank you,” Jimin rasps, gaining the strength to follow his dad.
The door to his dad’s study is as familiar as Jimin’s childhood, known as the only place off-limits to play in. Entering now, Jimin shuts the door and turns around.
His dad sits on the edge of his desk, hands clasped, and face lined. Jimin steps closer, about to plead his case but his dad holds up a hand.
“I think it’s best if I spoke first,” he says quietly.
Jimin stops, then nods.
Exhaling lowly, his dad drags a hand down his face. For the first time, Jimin notices moisture in the corners of his eyes when he looks up. “I heard this morning your contract is up for extension.”
Jimin decides honesty is best. “It is, yeah.”
His dad swallows, and then nods. “When my friends told me… I told them they must be mistaken. I said you would’ve said if that was true, and then they showed me the article…” Steadying himself, his dad continues. “I spent a lot of time this morning thinking about this past year.”
“Oh?” Jimin finds his voice. “What, specifically?”
His dad’s expression shifts. “Jimin, I’m sorry. I never… I never wanted to create a relationship where you couldn’t tell me things. Of course, I don’t want you to get hurt on the ice” – his voice strengthens – “but I know you. I know my son, and you don’t start things you don’t finish. You worked hard this past year to prove everyone wrong – to prove me wrong, and I couldn’t be prouder.”
His voice breaks slightly and, hearing this, Jimin rushes forward. Pulling his dad into a tight hug, Jimin lets out a sigh that sounds more like a sob. They stay there like that, their first hug in nearly a year as Jimin slowly exhales.
For so long, he’s wanted to hear those words from his dad. They feel good, but oddly enough, it feels even better to know he didn’t need this. Jimin has worked hard this fall to divorce self-approval from others. It will always take effort to maintain, but progress has been made, and that makes Jimin happier than anything else.
Pulling back, Jimin’s dad smiles. “We can go back now,” he laughs. “I know your mother made waffles. I just wanted you to know how proud I am of you. And you can talk to me about the contract if you want. There’s no need to keep things from us any longer.”
“Thanks, dad,” Jimin says.
His dad nods once, pulling open the door to gesture at the hall. As Jimin follows him out, you’re the first person he thinks of. Your face, saying you’d support him no matter what. This morning when you sighed his name into his t-shirt. Jimin recalls all the seconds, minutes, days he wanted you by his side this fall and knows he needs to tell you what he wants.
Even if you break his heart, Jimin needs you to know that it’s yours.
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Something has changed since this morning.
Well, obviously something has changed. You woke up with your body flush against Jimin, one of your thighs flung over his delicious ass. You nearly came just from dry humping him, already close from the dirty dream you were having – about Jimin, no less. Something has changed though, and that something is you – because you’re no longer concerned about what might happen. About what hurt might befall you if you confess and it fails.
You want Jimin. You love Jimin, you never stopped, and you need him to know that. You just have to figure out how.
That’s proving to be the hard part. Jimin returned with his dad at breakfast, looking relaxed for the first time all trip, and his mom immediately suggested wrapping the gifts. You helped the twins wrap all morning, glitter getting everywhere, and once lunch ended, you needed to get ready for the Christmas Eve party.
Trying to cut down on time, you got ready down the hall – which proved to be a mistake, since it meant you didn’t see Jimin until going downstairs. He went all out this year, and part of you wonders if he did it on purpose. His hair has been slicked, styled away from his face in a wholly devastating manner. He’s wearing a taupe suit he once wore for an interview, a dark turtleneck beneath hugging his pecs in a way that’s distracting.
You only drove two cars tonight, and somehow you ended up in a van with Jimin and his parents. Not that you mind their company – you love Jimin’s parents, but his outfit is rated NC-17. For twenty minutes, you’re forced to sit next to Jimin and not say how good he looks in that suit.
Even at the party, your attention is immediately monopolized by neighbors and friends. Forcing a smile, you nod at the appropriate times in conversation, but your attention is elsewhere. It’s not anyone’s fault, but they just can’t compete with your ex-boyfriend. Slash pretend boyfriend. Slash man you want to be your boyfriend.
An hour into the party, you excuse yourself for the bathroom, shutting yourself in a stall to lower the lid and sit down. From there, you pull out your phone and scroll through the texts.
Namjoon: you did WHAT?! [7:14 PM]
Yoongi: they dry humped, Namjoon [7:16 PM]
Namjoon: Yes, I ‘m aware – my exclamation was one of shock, not confusion [7:17 PM]
Namjoon: what does this mean?? [7:17 PM]
Yoongi: Isn’t it obvious? They’re getting back together. Why else would she fly halfway across the country for Christmas? [7:18 PM]
Scowling darkly, you text them both back.
Y/N: excuse me, I never said anything about getting back together [7:21 PM]
Namjoon: you didn’t need to – Yoongi is right, Y/N [7:21 PM]
Yoongi: per usual [7:22 PM]
Namjoon: you said when you left that you were scared to get hurt because you still had feelings for him [7:22 PM]
Namjoon: well, this is you, having feelings [7:22 PM]
Namjoon: and possibly getting hurt [7:22 PM]
Your scowl only deepens.
Y/N: I’m not going to get hurt [7:23 PM]
Yoongi: … has he said anything about getting back together? [7:23 PM]
You stare at the screen several moments before you respond.
Y/N: no… not exactly [7:24 PM]
Yoongi’s ellipses blink, then disappear and are replaced by Namjoon.
Namjoon: look – no one is saying he won’t ask you, okay? Just… maybe you should talk before dry humping him again. Make sure you’re both on the same page about what this all means [7:25 PM]
Yoongi: what Joon said [7:25 PM]
Yoongi: also – where are you? Hasn’t Jimin noticed you’re glued to your phone? [7:25 PM]
Y/N: no. I’m texting you from the bathroom, smartass [7:26 PM]
Namjoon: go back out there and have fun [7:27 PM]
Y/N: consider it done [7:27 PM]
Returning your phone to your purse, you use the bathroom and freshen up. Once you return to the party, you take a deep breath and scan the crowd.
This year’s Christmas Eve party is at the local ski lodge. The main lobby has been decorated within an inch of its life, the focal point being a gargantuan Christmas tree. Glass windows at the back overlook the ski slopes, butter-yellow light disappearing to shadows.
A waiter walks by with a tray of champagne, and you snag a glass for something to do with your hands.
“Y/N!”
A familiar voice calls, but before you can turn, Jungkook wraps you into a hug. Jungkook Jeon is both Jimin’s childhood friend and his NHL faux rival. Being from the same town, the media love to compare them at every turn – something that’s become a fun rivalry. The last time you hung out, his hair was much longer. Tonight though, he’s wearing all black with a sharp undercut.
“How have you been?” Jungkook grins, pulling back. He’s careful not to mess up your hair or dress, for which you’re grateful.
“Good,” you say with a laugh. “What about you? I hear the Kraken are leading the division – you must be happy.”
Jungkook’s smile disappears. “Not the conference, though.”
You can’t help but laugh, knowing his perfectionism rivals only Jimin. “You’re too hard on yourself.”
“Someone’s got to be. And besides,” he adds, glancing over your shoulder. “It’s not like we have the best offensive player in the league,” Jungkook calls in a sing-songy voice.
A familiar arm wraps around your waist. “Did you two watch the same special, or something?” Jimin gripes, brushing his lips to your cheek. “There are so many good players, calling anyone ‘the best’ is kind of pointless.”
“I believe they totaled your points,” you say, much to Jungkook’s amusement.
“I leave you alone for five minutes,” Jimin sighs with a shake of his head. “And of course, Jungkook swoops in to steal you.”
“Can you blame me?” Jungkook winks, drinking from his champagne. “Look at Y/N! If he ever messes up, Y/N, give me a call,” he jokes, and you feel Jimin stiffen.
“That won’t be necessary,” you say, leaning your head on Jimin’s shoulder.
He relaxes ever so slightly, squeezing your waist with one hand. Jungkook grimaces at this, trading his nearly empty champagne glass for a full one.
“You two are annoyingly cute,” he says, but he grins. “Seriously, though, you’ve been putting in work, Jimin. It’s impressive.”
“Thanks.” Jimin nods, toasting his glass.
“Have you seen Tae and Seokjin?” Jungkook asks, standing on tiptoe. “I keep getting cornered by moms wanting me to date their daughters, and I could use some high ground.”
You can’t help but laugh as Jimin jerks his thumb. “Alcove off the balcony. Everyone is gathered there – I was just coming to get Y/N.”
“Perfect,” Jungkook says as he leaves. “I’ll meet you there.”
Once he’s gone, Jimin shakes his head. Taehyung and Seokjin are two of their closest high school friends. Seokjin is currently single, but Taehyung got married early this year. Unfortunately, you couldn’t attend their wedding, but the ceremony looked beautiful, and you sent a gift.
Setting down his champagne, Jimin grabs your hand and tugs you into a corner. Turning to face you, his cheeks flush slightly pink.
“Hey,” he murmurs, looking you up and down. “Have I said how beautiful you look tonight?”
Heat stirs in your belly. “Not yet, no.”
“Well, you do,” Jimin says, his gaze dark.
Admittedly, you were a bit unfair in packing this dress. Your original intention in buying it was to wear New Year’s Eve and post jealousy-inducing photos on Instagram. Instead, you’re wearing it here with Jimin on your arm. Silky and emerald, the dress clings like a second skin, dropping in the back to a point just above your ass. Slightly impractical, but you borrowed a coat from Jisoo.
Jimin’s fingers ghost over the silk. “You deserve to hear it again,” he murmurs, his voice husky. “You’re being kind of unfair to everyone else at this party.”
“How so?”
“Poor Jungkook will have to find someone else.”
Your upper lip twitches, stepping closer. “Is that what you’re worried about?” you coo, sliding a hand up his chest. “That I’ll take Jungkook up on his offer? Not interested,” you say, allowing your gaze to linger. “You, on the other hand – that suit is designed to ruin hearts.”
“Only hearts?”
“Mm.” Softly, your voice drops. “Why? Were you planning on ruining something else?”
“Only if you asked nicely.”
Your eyes widen, stunned and Jimin smiles. His hands grip your body, cedar and black pepper scent wrapping around you and doing its best to make you come undone.
“Come on.” Taking your hand, Jimin turns away. “Let’s go and say hi to my friends. Everyone was asking earlier where you were.”
Slightly dazed by his former implication, you nod and follow. Jimin leads you through the crowd, bypassing everyone who attempts small talk. By the time you reach the alcove, Jungkook is already seated.
“What happened to you two?” he asks, smushed between Taehyung and Seokjin on the couch. “Making out in a corner? Couples are the worst,” he mutters to Taehyung before realizing who he’s talking to. “Oh. Right. Never mind.”
Taehyung’s wife, Alya, laughs from her armchair. “No comment. We may have been making out in a corner earlier.”
A lone strand of hair falls over Taehyung’s forehead. “Guilty,” he says, raising his glass.
Seokjin pokes Jungkook in the side. “If you hate couples so much, why are you sitting here,” he groans. “This is a two-person sofa.”
“Exactly!” Jungkook says. “It’s weird for you and Taehyung to sit together, since he’s married. I’m actually saving you.”
Settling onto an armchair, Jimin pulls you down with him to sit on his lap. His arm snakes around your front, pulling you backwards to rest.
“Anyways.” Jimin looks around. “How is everyone?”
Hoseok and Jisoo appear from the hall. “Oh, thank god,” Jisoo says, sitting between you and Alya. “This area was a complete sausage fest the last time we swung by.”
“Hey!” Seokjin cries. “I offered you a drink.”
“You offered her your drink,” Hoseok says drily, sitting next to his wife. “Doesn’t count.”
Jisoo leans over her armrest. “Y/N,” she hisses. “Do you have a tampon? They didn’t fit in my purse, and of course, my body waited until now to announce we’re not pregnant.”
You stifle a laugh. “Yes, of course,” you say, handing her your purse. “Left inner pocket – go wild.”
“Thanks.” Flashing a smile, Jisoo stands from the chair and disappears down the hall.
Jimin holds you against him, his thumb lightly stroking the ridge of your hip. Your entire body melts, perception heightened at each point he touches.
“So.” Jungkook turns towards Taehyung. “What did you get Alya for Christmas, Tae? Aside from the wedding, obviously.”
Alya laughs and sips her champagne. “Go on, tell them.”
Taehyung turns red. “It’s embarrassing!”
“What is?” Jungkook asks, glancing between them.
“It’s not.” Alya shakes her head. “Taehyung was so excited about the gift he gave it to me early. This morning, he surprised me by having our wedding bands engraved. I wanted to do it last year, but it didn’t fit in our budget. Anyways, he borrowed my band to clean it and got it done! I didn’t suspect a thing!”
“That’s amazing,” you say. “I love that idea.”
“Thanks, Y/N.” Taehyung smiles.
“What about you, Jimin?” Seokjin jostles Jungkook to face him. “What did you get Y/N this year? What is it – four years?”
Jimin tenses slightly, so you jump in. “Oh, we decided not to do gifts this year,” you hasten. “There’s been a lot going on, and we –”
“I got Y/N a gift,” Jimin interrupts. “But it’s a secret until tomorrow.”
Surprised, you crane your head sideways to see him. “You got me a gift?”
He nods. “Yeah. Is that alright?”
“Mhm.” You shift in his lap. “I, um… actually got you something, too.”
Tightening his grip on your waist, Jimin keeps you still. “Oh?”
“You’ll just have to wait and see.”
You bought Jimin a gift months ago, and never returned it. When you were packing, you decided at the last minute to throw it inside – along with this dress and the skimpy night clothes.
“I want to know!” Seokjin blurts. “Just whisper it in my ear, Y/N. I won’t tell.”
You laugh, facing forward. “Sorry, Seokjin. That’s confidential. Mr. Kim” – you nod at Taehyung – “may not respect the sanctity of Santa Claus, but I’m not risking getting coal in my stocking.”
Softly, Jimin laughs, nuzzling your shoulder with his lips. It hasn’t escaped you that he stilled your hips to conceal his reaction to you on top. Something which distracts you more than it should.
“Get off,” Seokjin groans, pushing Jungkook upward. “I swear, you make this party worse every year.”
You grin, watching their antics as Jungkook walks off. Taller and heavier than Jimin, you know he only stood from the seat because he wanted to. Wandering to a free armchair, Jungkook flops down.
“Where’s your Christmas spirit?” he asks, waving his glass of champagne. “I was just about to tell you the holidays aren’t so bad with you around.”
Alya and Hoseok both laugh, and Taehyung shakes his head. Conversation then devolves to the Seattle Kraken, and Jimin’s fingers dig into the silk at your waist.
“Did you mean that?” he murmurs, lips at your ear. “Did you actually get me a present? Because it’s fine if you didn’t. I sprung this trip on you, and we’re not – well, you know…”
“I know,” you say back. “But yes, I got you a gift. Actually.” You pause. “I bought it for you a while ago and held onto it.”
“Ah.” Jimin pauses. Slipping his thumb beneath your chin, he turns you to face him. “Y/N. I just wanted to say –”
“Hey, Y/N, someone’s calling you,” announces Jisoo, walking into the room. Reaching into your purse, she pulls out your phone and frowns. “Who’s Mike?”
Your stomach drops through the floor.
Jimin’s body tenses beneath you, and you fight for a way out of the growing panic. Worse, everyone else seems to have heard, since all gazes lock on you. Struggling to breathe, you stand abruptly and snatch your phone.
“No one,” you blurt, grabbing your purse from a blinking Jisoo. “I mean, Mike’s a client. I should probably take this call outside.”
Before they can respond, you grab your phone and rush off. Brushing past Jisoo, you ignore her look of concern. Loudly, your heels click on the wooden floor. Whispers rise in your exit, but you ignore them, face burning as you turn your phone over in your hand.
Reaching the foyer, you stumble to a halt and glance overhead at the mistletoe. Purposefully side-stepping this, you see one missed call. In addition, there are several missed texts from Yoongi and Namjoon, but these you ignore.
Fingers trembling, you swipe open the text from Mike Davis.
Mike: hey, Y/N! I was doing laundry and found your Ventra card in my pocket. I think I grabbed yours by mistake. Want to meet up and exchange in the new year? [8:10 PM]
Mike: you know, I had a really great time meeting you the other night [8:13 PM]
You grip your phone tighter. He can’t be serious. The date ended so poorly, you were surprised the bartender didn’t film and put it on TikTok. Mike can’t actually want to hang out again. Orthink reaching out to you on Christmas Eve would be a good idea.
Brow lowered, your fingers punch the keyboard.
Y/N: Hey, Mike. You can keep the Ventra card, no worries [8:25 PM]
Deleting his number, you exhale in relief and turn around – only to run into Jimin, who stands right behind. Close enough to have seen every word on your phone.
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Jimin’s fists clench, having read both the texts. There’s no reason to be jealous, he reminds himself with zero success. You aren’t dating, so it’s perfectly reasonable for you to text another guy. The fact that this Mike guy hasn’t come up is none of Jimin’s concern. And yet.
“So.” Voice cold, Jimin tilts his head. “Mike is…?”
He pauses for you to complete the blank, knowing you won’t say just a client.
“He’s…” Shifting, you avoid eye contact. “Someone I know.”
“Please.”
Your expression shifts, meeting his gaze. “Well, what do you want me to say?” you demand, stepping closer. “Tell your friends a client called me. They’ll buy it, it’ll be fine.”
“It’s not fine,” Jimin growls. “And I could care less what my friends think.”
Bewildered, you stare. “I don’t understand. That’s literally the entire reason you asked me to come here this weekend. So you wouldn’t have to admit we broke up.”
Jimin’s heart flatlines. “Is that really what you think?” he demands, reaching out. Catching your wrist, he pulls you even closer. “You thought I was so terrified of explaining my contract to my family, I couldn’t possibly tell them we broke up, as well?”
Your brows furrow deeper. “That’s what you told me, so, yes. That’s what I thought.”
“Right. And is it serious?”
“Is what serious?”
“This guy – Mike. Are you two serious?”
Your jaw hangs open a second before it snaps shut. “Are we – no, Jimin,” you say, the words dripping with derision. “We’re not serious. You and I broke up only three months ago! Do you really think I managed to move on so quickly?”
“I don’t know,” Jimin admits, even as his head spins. “I didn’t–”
“I mean, god,” you exhale, ripping your hand from his grasp. “I go on one date, and somehow, I’m the bad guy. Never mind that you’re the one who wanted to break up,” you add, whirling around to jab him in the chest. “You” – a second prod – “were the one who asked to break up!”
Closing his hand around your finger, Jimin tugs you forward. “I know,” he says hoarsely. “I know I messed up, Y/N. I know I have no right to be jealous, but I am. I’m jealous, and I’m wrong, and I don’t even fucking care because I miss you, Y/N. I know you’re right here, but I miss you.”
Something in your gaze breaks. “I miss you, too, Jimin.”
“I know I didn’t fight hard enough to keep you back then. I should have, and I can’t say how much I regret it.” Sliding his hands up your arms, Jimin grips your elbows. “I don’t care if you went out with one guy or a hundred. I asked you to come here this weekend because I wanted you. I was too afraid to ask you outright, so I used my career as an excuse.”
“An… excuse?”
Gripping you tighter, Jimin exhales. “I mean, everyone knows. My parents know I’m extending my contract, and they’re fine with it. I still don’t want to tell them we broke up.”
“Well, sure.” Your gaze darts across him. “Because you don’t want to spoil Christmas – right?”
“That’s not why.”
“Then, why?”
Before he can lose his nerve, Jimin slides his arm around your waist and pulls you flush against him. You inhale when your chests touch, the silk of your dress rucking beneath his palm.
“I think you know the reason,” he rasps, his gaze finding your lips.
“All the same” – somehow, your fingers curl into hair at the base of his neck – “I’d like to hear you say it.”
Bending, Jimin’s lips skim your throat. “I told you I don’t care what my family thinks. I just want you, Y/N.”
Inhaling sharply, you turn your head. Your lips briefly touch, then you still.
Jimin hesitates, his brain short-circuiting before he connects. Springing into motion, he slides both palms to either side of your face and kisses you deeply. Walking you backwards, he only stops when your spine hits the wall. Reaching lower, Jimin grabs your wrists with one hand to yank overhead.
You stare upward, eyes lidded, as your chest rises and falls. Jimin nearly groans, sliding his knee between your legs to widen your stance.
“God, you’re perfect,” he breathes, crushing your mouth with his.
All he knows is your scent, wrapped around him. The feel of your mouth, the curves of your body arching against him. Jimin loses himself in the moment – in you – to the point where nothing else seems to matter.
Releasing your wrists, Jimin grasps the hem of your dress with one hand to drag it upward. Inch by inch, your bare thigh is revealed to his touch.
“Oh,” you gasp, your head hitting the wall.
Taking advantage, Jimin kisses roughly down your exposed neckline. Each time you inhale, it reminds him of your chest against him. Withdrawing, Jimin glances down and nearly curses. Whatever bra you have on does little to conceal your hardened nipples, easily visible through the silk of your dress.
“Mm.” Jimin exhales, running a thumb over the tip. “Can’t have you returning to the party like this, can I?”
Your thighs clench. “People definitelywouldn’t suspect we broke up.”
Again, Jimin circles your nipple, making you moan. “Sorry,” he murmurs. “Like I said, though – this isn’t about the people out there. This is about you. What do you want, Y/N?”
Jimin holds his breath as he waits for an answer. Really, this is what it comes down to.
Your grip on him tightens. “I want you to take me home right now, Jimin.”
“Fuck, yes,” he breathes.
Grasping you by the hand, Jimin tugs you into the hall. You giggle, stumbling as you fix the strap of your dress, and he can’t keep a stupid grin from spreading over his face.
“We’re leaving now,” Jimin says, bringing you towards the exit. “Otherwise, I’m going to drag you into the bathroom and fuck you like that.”
Your heels dig into the floorboards, and he turns to look at you, concerned.
“Oh.” You blink innocently. “I’m sorry, was that supposed to be a threat?”
Jimin goes still, consumed by images he’d rather not face. Visions of your panties pulled down, bent over his knees while he fingers your dripping pussy. Or your hands, curled around a doorframe while he lowers himself to drag his tongue up your slit. Or pressed against a wall, your panties pushed aside for him to –
“Alright – enough,” Jimin growls, grabbing your hand.
You laugh when he pulls you onward, bringing you to the lodge doors. Reaching the front, Jimin pauses long enough to hand the valet his ticket. While you visit the coat closet, he pulls you close and runs his nose down your throat.
“Do you have any idea how crazy you make me?” he murmurs, low in your ear. “Any idea just how many times I’ve jerked off in the shower this trip?”
“How sad,” you say, turning to face him. “Pray tell, what did you think about?”
Sliding his hand over the curve of your ass, Jimin presses you closer. “Lots of things,” he exhales. “Your pretty lips around my cock. Finger-fucking you slowly, making you take it. How wet you were beneath those ridiculous excuses for nightgowns.”
Your laugh is throaty. “I brought those specifically for you, you know.”
“Mission accomplished,” Jimin growls. Outside, he sees the valet arrive and releases your waist. “Now, let’s go.”
Slipping both arms into your coat, you follow Jimin outside to the car. He helps you in, shutting the door and traveling to the passenger side. Shoving a hand through his hair, he attempts to regain his composure. The two of you need to get home safely – that’s top priority.
Of course, by the time he sits down and glances over, all thoughts of safety fly out the window. You’ve left your coat unbuttoned, enough that he sees each sinful line of your body. Suddenly, his top priority is to get you home – now.
Shutting the door, Jimin puts the car in drive and pulls from the lodge. You exhale, somewhat breathless as you shift to face him.
“This is going to be fast,” you admit, a bit breathy. Jimin’s hands on the wheel tighten. “You said you’ve been jerking off in the shower? Well, I haven’t had any alone time. You’ve just been edging me for three days.”
“Don’t say edging,” Jimin groans. “I’m trying to concentrate on getting you home.”
“Oh?” Tilting your head, you lean closer. “Do you find that topic distracting?”
“Yes,” Jimin huffs, and then pauses. “Actually… I think you could use a little more distraction. Don’t you?”
He doesn’t miss the way your fingers still, your breath hitching beside him.
“Maybe,” you say.
Jimin glances in your direction. “Spread your legs.”
Without breaking eye contact, you spread your legs until the silk is stretched tautly over your thighs.
“Pull up your dress.”
Casually, you grip the hem to tug upward. Jimin tries not to look, watching the road, but the position is torturous. As soon as you come to a stop light, he turns.
Your thighs press against the edge of the seat, silken dress hitched over the top of your thighs. Jimin exhales, unable to see what he wants, but the shadows and skin are more than enticing.
“Touch yourself,” he instructs, and desire flares in your gaze.
Arching slightly, your hand inches lower to dip beneath your dress. Jimin keeps his eyes on you, watching and waiting for your reaction. When he hears the slip of your finger, your lips slowly part as your eyes fill with lust.
“Oh,” you exhale, and Jimin’s body tightens.
“That’s it,” he breathes, listening to your finger drag upward. “How wet are you, baby?”
“So wet,” you groan, eyelashes fluttering as you spread your legs further.
“No.” Jimin’s gaze drops to your hand. “Press your thighs together. Keep touching yourself.”
The light turns green, spurring him onward as the night changes. He watches you obey in the corner of one eye, legs pressed together with your hand trapped between them. Head hitting the headrest, your chest rises and falls with the motion of your fingers.
 “That’s it, baby,” Jimin murmurs, switching lanes to go faster. “You’re doing so well. I want you to come once for me before we get home. Okay?”
Your eyes open. “You want me to come?”
“Just once.” Jimin lowly chuckles. “I know you, baby. I know you can come at least twice more tonight.”
“Fuck,” you groan, your need evident.
The record number of orgasms Jimin has given you in one night is five, but that was only one time. Jimin thought it’d be fun to see how many times he could make you come with only his tongue. Five, it turned out – or rather, that was the point you frankly begged for his cock.
A few minutes away from home, Jimin relents. “Alright,” he exhales. “Spread your legs again.”
You instantly obey, thighs spread as you groan, your fingers slipping lower.
“Can you stretch yourself for me, baby?” Jimin murmurs, the words low and thick. “Keep that other hand on your clit, now.”
Adding another hand, you arch on the seat. Every ounce of blood in Jimin’s body rushes towards his cock, enough to make things painful as you near the house. You push a finger inside, releasing a moan that makes his grip tighten.
“That’s it,” Jimin exhales, driving as carefully as possible over the dirt road.
“Ah,” you gasp when he hits a bump, jolting your fingers deeper.
Jimin clenches the wheel. “You liked that?”
“Yeah,” you whisper, glancing at him, your expression almost shy.
Fuck. Jimin does his best to angle the car, creating more friction as you rub your clit. He does his best to remain facing forward but is distracted every so often by the sight of your hips moving against the seat.
Throwing out a hand, you grasp his lower arm. “Jimin,” you groan, your head hitting the headrest. “I’m so, so close.”
Pulling to a stop in the driveway, Jimin puts the car in park and throws off his seatbelt. Shoving open the door, he goes to the passenger side. Your eyes widen when he yanks open your door, unbuckling you and dragging your hips to the edge of your seat.
“Eyes on me,” Jimin directs, gripping the seat on either side. “Just keep touching yourself like a good girl, Y/N. I know that pussy is so pretty and wet. Can’t wait to lick it clean later. Can you spread yourself wider? Add another finger?”
Your thighs fall on either side of his waist, enough for Jimin to know you can feel how hard he is. The dress continues to cover your waist, and he doesn’t lift it higher. Doesn’t so much as touch you, just keeps his gaze trained on yours.
“I need your fingers,” you whimper, and Jimin feels you grip his wrist, guiding his hand in between your slick legs.
“Shit,” he exhales, feeling how wet you are.
The slick core of heat, your hips arching against him, breaks his last scruple. Keeping his gaze steady, Jimin slowly slides two fingers into your perfect cunt. Relief washes over your face, your lips parting as fresh arousal coats Jimin’s hand.
“God,” he murmurs, twisting his fingers to pull out. Slowly, he pushes back in and watches you hiccup. “You really did need my fingers, didn’t you, baby?”
“Yes,” you whimper, scrambling to sit straighter. Pulling him closer, your thighs widen. “I need you inside me.”
“In what way?” Jimin muses, stretching you as he pulls out.
“Want your cock, Jimin,” you groan, your chest heaving.
Pushing aside your coat, his free hand yanks down the strap of your dress, revealing what can barely be construed as a bra. The tiniest silk triangle barely covers your nipple in a flimsy excuse for support.
“You’ll get my cock,” Jimin promises. Lowering his head, he sucks your nipple – silk and all – between his lips. “Want to taste you first.”
“Jimin,” you moan.
“Patience.” Yanking your hips closer, he leans over you on the seat. Using this angle, he works his fingers deeper as your body tightens. “Like that, yeah?” Jimin murmurs, brushing your g-spot. “Want to come like this?”
“Please,” you whimper, spreading your thighs.
Jimin loses himself in the haze of your body, the tight slick of your heat while he finger-fucks you. Each thrust of his forearm has your breasts bouncing, your tiny scrap of a bra doing nothing to hide the movement.
“Once we get upstairs” – Jimin thrusts harder – “I want this dress on the floor. I want you dripping wet and naked, ass in the air so I can push my cock inside you.”
“Jimin!” you gasp, your entire body shuddering.
“And then,” he adds, low in your ear, “I want you to ride me. Need these tits in my mouth, your ass bouncing on my dick as you come again.”
You cry out, head thrown back as you come apart. Continuing to thrust his fingers, Jimin slows his movement as your breathing lengthens. Slumping against him, you hold tight with both arms.
As gentle as possible, Jimin slips his fingers from your body to fix your dress and coat. Shifting your weight from the seat to his arms, he shuts the door with his heel and starts to walk up the drive.
Stirring, you look around. “Oh,” you exhale, seeing the front porch. “Are we home already?”
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Jimin stops to stare at you in his arms. “Did you… think I just pulled aside on a random highway?” he asks, equal parts puzzled and amused.
Sheepish, you feel your face heat. “Maybe?”
“Fair enough.” Jimin chuckles and keeps moving. “You should know, though – I wouldn’t risk anyone else seeing you like that.” He pauses. “Unless you wanted them to.”
You squirm in his arms, somewhat embarrassed by how much you like the prospect. Seeing this, Jimin’s eyes gleam and he leans closer.
“Seems like you might want that,” he murmurs.
Unable to articulate, you nod and watch his lips curve.
“Noted.”
Reaching the front door, Jimin bends to set you down. Once inside, he strips from his coat and boots, turning around to face you.
God, just looking at him is enough to make you weak. He just gave one ridiculously satisfying orgasm – it should be too soon for another and yet, your traitorous body feels barely sated.
“Was I not clear?” Lifting a brow, Jimin walks closer. “I thought I said I wanted you naked.”
You lift your chin. “Wanting is different than getting.”
“Oh, I think you want that, too.”
Fuck. You absolutely do, but you know Jimin enjoys being teased, so you lift your chin in the air to walk past him. “Well?” you demand, placing one hand on the railing. “Are you coming?”
You let your coat drop to your elbows, stepping out of your heels to head upstairs. Jimin groans from behind, and you hear his footsteps follow.
Entering the bedroom, you drop your coat on the couch and turn. Jimin stands framed in the door, several buttons on his jacket already undone. He doesn’t come any closer, and you lift your thumbs to slip under the straps.
“Was this what you wanted?” you ask, innocently slipping them down your shoulders.
Jimin moves forward. Coming to a stop, he replaces your thumbs and casually tugs. The dress slips from your shoulders, catching on your chest, and he motions you to turn.
Obeying, you watch in the mirror as Jimin steps closer. He meets your gaze head-on, slipping a hand around your stomach to mold himself to you from behind. Finding your zipper with his other hand, he tugs down.
Both of you watch the dress fall, silk pooling at your feet to leave you naked. Well, mostly naked. A red, silk thong remains, along with your bra. Really, just two triangles of silk held up by thin straps. Your breasts spill around the materials, creating a tantalizing visual his gaze is locked on. Jimin fingers the clasp of your bra, then releases.
“Actually,” he says, his voice husky. “I want to play like this.”
Before you can fully digest his words, Jimin walks around and grasps your hand. Leading you to bed, he sets you down and urges you backwards.
“That’s it,” he murmurs, nudging your ankles apart. “Just like that.”
Releasing you, he takes a step back to run a hand through his hair. You stare upward, propped on your elbows, your chest rising and falling. Jimin stares like you’re something to be savored, then devoured. His gaze traces your body, starting at your ankles to work his way upward.
He takes in your spread legs, dripping pussy visible beneath the scrap of silk. By the time Jimin finds your breasts, your nipples are painfully hard, and he groans, reaching down to palm his cock. Your breath catches, seeing how hard he is in his pants.
“Jimin,” you moan, sliding one foot lower. “I want you.”
Lowering his knee to the bed, Jimin plants a hand on either side of your head. “Patience,” he murmurs, brushing his lips to yours.
You curl around him, fingers tangling in soft stands of his hair. His fully clothed body presses against you, nearly nude, and you shiver. The feel of his suit against skin is intoxicating. Jimin pulls back to nip your lower lip, grasping you by the waist to pin you fully.
Thrusting forward, he allows you to feel how badly he wants you. His achingly hard cock grinds against your center, and you arch beneath him.
“Jimin,” you pant, tightening your grip in his hair.
“Ah – fuck,” he groans, helplessly rutting between your spread thighs.
Your hands fumble, slipping beneath his suit jacket to cast this aside. Jimin sits up, helping you shed his dark turtleneck. Thrown to the ground, he lowers his mouth, eagerly flicking your chest with his tongue. You moan, hands fisting his hair to anchor him. Tugging the other silk cup down, Jimin switches to suck a hardened nipple.
“Get rid of it,” you pant, reaching underneath to unsnap your bra. Jimin grins, tossing your bra on top of his pile of clothes. Swiftly returning, he bends to lick and suck at your breasts.
Your hips roll beneath him, desperately searching for your release. Jimin knows how sensitive you are, knows you can come like this, but doesn’t seem inclined. Instead, he sits back and runs a hand through his hair.
You nearly come at the sight – Jimin, shirtless with mussed hair and reddened lips. Pushing yourself upward, you struggle to undo the first button of his pants.
Chuckling, Jimin replaces your hands with his. “I need these on,” he says, scooting backwards. “I need something to keep myself from coming.”
“But I want you to come,” you protest as Jimin lowers himself to his stomach.
“And I appreciate that.” Turning his head, his breath touches your knee. “But I’ve spent three months fantasizing about what to do if I ever got to touch you again. First things first.”
Lowering yourself to your elbows, your entire body throbs at the sight of Jimin between your thighs. He looks at you, reverent, before slowly dragging his thumb down your aching center.
“Oh,” you inhale, opening further.
Gaze dark, Jimin pulls the fabric of your panties aside. Your face burns, hearing your wetness, but all that dissolves at the first sweep of his tongue.
“Fu-ck, Jimin,” you groan, head tipping back.
He takes his time, working you open with long, tender strokes. No man has ever eaten you out so well, and you doubt anyone ever will again. As though driving this point home, Jimin switches from tender licks to sucking hard on your clit. You moan, helplessly splayed beneath his torture.
“Jimin,” you gasp, hands fisting in sheets.
Shifting closer, Jimin nudges one leg over his shoulders and grips your ass with both hands. Pulling you into his mouth, he devours, licking up and down in a way that’s obscene. A half-sob climbs in your throat, your back arching when he adds a finger.
“That’s it, Y/N,” Jimin pants, lifting his head. “Such a pretty pussy. Can you come for me, baby?”
“Y-yes,” you gasp.
Jimin lowers his mouth, adding a finger while slowly sucking your clit. Staring down your body at him, you feel your thighs tremble. Jimin’s shoulders flex while eating you out, his hips grinding into the sheets to get himself off. Imagining his cock pushing inside tips you over the edge, and you break apart. A wave of pleasure sweeps through you, seeing stars as Jimin curls his fingers.
Muscles limp, you collapse on the mattress. When your eyes open, your thigh is still flung over Jimin’s shoulder. Grinning, he pushes himself upward, taking your leg with him. Turning, Jimin presses a soft kiss to your calf.
“Fuck,” you groan, one arm flung over your face. “That was even better than I remember. And trust me, I’ve thought about that a lot.”
“Oh?” Jimin gently sets your leg down. “Do tell.”
You peek at him through your fingers. “Take off your pants.”
Jimin drops his hands to his belt. “Tell me” – he undoes the buckle – “in explicit detail” – he pulls the length through the straps – “what you thought about.” The belt is dropped on the floor.
Your tongue swipes your lower lip. “I thought about a lot of things.”
“Be specific.” Shoving his pants and briefs down, Jimin lingers at the point where his hips are exposed. “When you touched yourself, did you think of me?”
“Yes,” you whisper.
“Mm.” Jimin tilts his head. “What about when you used your toys?”
You whimper, spreading your thighs on his bed. “Yes.”
“And were they good enough? Did your pretty pink dildo stretch you as nicely?”
“No,” you whimper, watching him stand.
Still looking at you, Jimin pushes his slacks to the floor. Your heart pounds when his length is released, so hard it seems painful. The head of his cock glistens with pre-cum, the thick veins prominent. Wrapping a fist around himself, Jimin places one knee on the mattress.
“Take your panties off,” he rasps, and you hasten to obey.
Once they’re removed, you’re left naked before him. Gaze glinting, Jimin inclines his head. “Turn around. Lay on your stomach.”
Heat throbs between your legs as you do so, glancing over your shoulder. Jimin positions himself behind you, kneeling over your thighs with his cock in his fist.
“I’ve thought about this for so long,” he exhales, slipping two fingers into your pussy. Arching your back, you squirm to get closer. “When you come, I want to see you, but right now…”
You feel the head of cock nudging your thighs apart, getting wet with your slick. Leaning over, Jimin pulls open a drawer on his nightstand to retrieve a condom. Pulling this open, he rolls this onto himself and pushes between your thighs.
Each messy thrust rubs his cock against your clit, making you push your ass backwards. Jimin smacks your ass swiftly, then makes a low noise and rubs it.
“God, I missed you,” he exhales, pushing himself into your cunt.
You moan, burying your face in your arms to lift your ass higher. Jimin is thick, even more than you remember, and you feel your walls stretch with a pleasant burn. He pauses a few inches in to gently tug your hips upward.
Keeping your chest to the bed, he lifts you almost to your knees. Leaning forward, Jimin slips an arm underneath you to play with your clit. From behind, his hips slowly thrust in and out a few inches. Stretching you, yet barely sating the edge of your desire.
“Jimin,” you groan, turning your head to capture his mouth.
His fingers nudge your clit, tongue slipping past your lips as his cock gets even deeper. Each time he slowly thrusts and withdraws, you accept him a little more. Buried halfway, Jimin draws leisurely circles around your throbbing clit.
“More,” you moan, pushing back.
Jimin chuckles, retreating to grip your hips with both hands. He thrusts in slow, easy motions to work himself deeper. By the time he bottoms out, your hands are fisted in sheets.
“Fuck,” you exhale, thighs spread to accommodate him inside you.
Jimin stays there a moment, thumbs drifting over the shape of your ass. “Y/N,” he mutters. “You’re so goddamn perfect.”
Leisurely, he withdraws until only the head of his cock remains. Jimin thrusts forward slowly, making you feel every inch of him. Moaning, you bury your face in the sheets, and his hand comes down again.
“Louder,” Jimin demands, gripping your waist. “Don’t hide from me, baby. Want to hear you.”
Head thrown back, you pant as he sinks into you fully. All you do is take it, breathless and eager while he slowly fucks you. Casually, Jimin pushes your hips down so you lie flat on the bed. One foot on the mattress, he adjusts himself to push inside you like that.
“Oh,” you moan, toes curling.
Thighs pressed together, your clit rubs the sheets, making it messy and tight as he moves inside you. Gripping your ass with one hand, Jimin anchors himself to fuck you in slow, rolling movements. You arch underneath him, gaining friction but when you clench tighter, Jimin pulls out.
A strangled sound leaves your throat. “Excuse me,” you blurt, rolling sideways to face him. “I was enjoying that.”
“Oh, I know.” Jimin grins from the spot where he kneels. His cock is hard, glistening with evidence of your arousal. “But what I really want is to have you on my lap.”
A shiver runs down your spine. Turning over, you arch your back and watch Jimin’s eyes glaze. He reaches for you swiftly, helping you onto your knees. Seating himself against the headboard, Jimin arranges your body over his thighs.
Hovering above him, you grasp his shoulders. “Is this what you wanted?’
“Fuck, yes.” Jimin drinks in your body. His fingers swipe through your cunt, teasing as he bends to suck a hard nipple between his lips.
Spreading your ass with one hand, his fingers stroke up and down your aching pussy. Arching against him, you present your chest further as your grip on him tightens. Jimin slips a finger inside you, casually fucking like that until you moan.
“Jimin,” you whimper. “Please.”
Moving to grip his cock, Jimin positions himself at your entrance. “All you had to do was ask,” he says, guiding your hips.
The head of his cock pushes inside, then stops, waiting for you to take over. Greedy, you seat yourself in a single motion. One second, you’re empty and the next, you’re full of his cock. Jimin swears, gripping you tightly as you inhale. Chest pressed to his, you stay there, pussy throbbing as you grow accustomed to his girth.
“Fuck – Y/N,” Jimin chokes out.
“I thought you wanted this?” you tease, lifting your hips to swivel. Jimin’s eyelashes flutter when you start riding him, rising and falling on the length of his cock.
Thighs spread, you grip his shoulders to move up and down. Jimin groans, lowering his head to tease one of your nipples. He continues this while you fuck him, sucking and releasing with a lewd pop. Needing him deeper, you start to bounce up and down. His cock soothes a tight ache inside you, stretching your body like he was made for it.
Breathless, you press closer, curling your fingers into his hair. Jimin responds eagerly, widening your thighs to grip your ass with one hand. Tightly entwined, you move against him until he takes over, slamming your hips down again and again.
“Jimin,” you pant, your legs trembling. “I need more.”
“More?” Jimin pants, his expression truly fucked out. “Alright, baby.”
Lifting you off his cock, he ensures the condom is snug and positions himself on his knees. “Lie down,” Jimin demands, and you hasten to obey.
Settling on your back, you spread your thighs for Jimin to move between. Gripping your ankles, he lifts your legs upward. Pushing them towards your chest, he exposes you fully.
“So pretty,” Jimin murmurs, dragging his fingers through the slick of your folds. Switching your ankles to one hand, he lowers them to his shoulder and positions his cock at your entrance. When he pushes inside, you moan at the tightness. “Yeah, that’s it,” he coaxes, getting deeper. “You take me so well, baby.”
“Better than other girls?” you pant, the words out of your mouth before you can stop them.
Jimin goes still, then gently parts your thighs. Wrapping your legs around his waist, Jimin leans forward until your lips brush.
“What other girls?” he murmurs, thrusting into you slowly. “Y/N. You don’t seriously think I had any interest in fucking other girls while we were apart?”
Your heart hammers as you try – and fail – to squash your insecurities. With everyone else, you have no trouble saying what you want. With Jimin though, you’re aware he could crush you with a single word. It’s harder when the stakes are as high as they are.
“I wouldn’t be mad if you did,” you whisper. “We were… broken up, and –”
Jimin bends, rolling his hips to shove his cock deeper. Your words break on a moan, legs encircling him tighter.
“I don’t want to hear that again,” Jimin says, low in your ear. “You are the only person I want, Y/N. The only one in my bed. The only pussy wrapped around this cock. The only one coming beneath me,” he murmurs with another hard thrust.
Your thighs start to shake, but you fight to keep present. Hips lifting, you match him thrust for thrust as your fingers curl in his hair. Jimin moves faster, pounding you into the bed hard enough to see stars.
“I don’t care if you slept with someone else,” he says hoarsely, reaching between you. You tremble when he circles your swollen clit. “I just want you thinking of me from now on.”
“Y-yes, Jimin!” you cry out, not sure what you’re agreeing to, but knowing you don’t want this moment to end. You don’t want this to end when the weekend is over.
His mouth crushes yours, tongue sweeping forward to match every thrust. Jimin’s scent is all around you, within you as you begin to lose track of where you end, and he begins. Your focus narrows, becoming nothing but pinpricks of building pleasure. Jimin’s cock pounds into you harder, hands grasping, breath mingling as you come undone.
Gasping his name, you clutch him tight as your pleasure explodes. Jimin coaxes you through it, keeping his fingers on your clit to ride out the tremors. Once you’re slumped, fully sated, Jimin releases the hold he had on himself. Nearly withdrawing, Jimin slams his cock forward to fill your still-spasming cunt.
You cry out, thighs widening as he lets you have it. Fucking you with full abandon, Jimin hammers your g-spot in a punishing manner. Nearly as swift as the fall, you feel your climax building. This time, your body feels beyond your control, practically weightless beneath the force of his cock in your pussy. It’s all you can do to stay conscious when another orgasm rolls through you.
Jimin groans when you come, feeling your walls flutter around his thick cock. Burying his face in your neck, Jimin thrusts deeper to release. Clasped tightly around him, you feel the warm pulse as he fills the condom. Bittersweet, you wish this wasn’t there, so he could play with his slick. Breathless and panting, the two of you lie there until Jimin withdraws.
Gathering his strength, he sits back on his heels. Removing the condom, Jimin ties this in a knot and tosses it in the trash. When he heads for the bathroom, you stretch out both arms, feeling limp.
And happy.
By the time you and Jimin trade places, your eyelids are drooping. Exiting the bathroom, you find the lights off and Jimin already in bed. You attempt to grab his t-shirt from the floor and are met with a loud throat clear.
“What are you doing?” Jimin huffs.
Straightening, you find him already in bed, the sheets pulled down beside him. Jimin looks pointedly at that side, then at you.
“I was trying to wear your t-shirt to bed,” you say, slipping between the sheets to face him. “It’s Christmas Eve, I’ll have you know. December in Washington. Brr.”
Moving closer, Jimin slips an arm over your waist. “There,” he murmurs, pulling you towards him. “Use me to warm up.”
For this, you have no retort. In the back of your mind, a voice whispers you should talk to him, that there are important things to discuss, but everything fades in the warmth of his arms. Eyelids so heavy, you can barely keep them open, you fall asleep.
For the first time in months, you sleep through the night.
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You wake the next morning with a start.
Eyes wide, you stare at the wall and feel Jimin’s arm on your waist. Rather than joy though, panic claws at your throat. There were so many things you should have asked him last night. So many things you should have said instead of immediately falling into bed with your ex.
As quietly as possible, you slip free of his arm and stand from the bed. Grasping a sweatshirt and jeans, you tiptoe down the hall to swiftly get dressed. Gripping the bathroom counter, you stare at yourself in the mirror and try to sort through your feelings. Twice, you pull out your phone only to hesitate, setting it down.
Today is Christmas, meaning Namjoon and Yoongi will be with their families. Dr. Germain, your therapist, is on vacation, although you know she would respond to an emergency. This could hardly be considered an emergency, though. This is just you, acting rashly and – your heart sinks, knowing this was exactly the opposite.
You want Jimin. You’ve wanted Jimin since the night you broke up, but were so near-sighted last night, you didn’t stop to ask if he wants the same. Abruptly, you turn and open the door to the hall. Heading downstairs, you sort through the facts.
Jimin apologized for this fall. He said he regretted not staying. He said he thinks of you often, and that he hadn’t been with anyone else. If this were last year, you might read between the lines and assume he still wanted you. This isn’t last year, though. Current you has experience with expecting Jimin to do one thing, and he does another.
Dragging a hand down your face, you stop by the kitchen for coffee. The only way you’ll be able to sort through this before opening presents is with massive amounts of caffeine.
Gazing outside, you see freshly fallen snow and wonder if it’d be crazy to go for a walk. Once your coffee is full, you pad down the hallway and slip on your boots. Your coat is halfway zipped when a throat clears behind you.
Whirling around, you nearly drop the mug as Jisoo appears.
“Oh my god,” you blurt, one hand on your chest. “You scared me. I didn’t realize anyone else was awake yet.”
“Are you kidding me?” she laughs, walking closer with her own mug. “Two three-year-old daughters on Christmas? They’ve been up since the crack of dawn.”
Nervous, you laugh as your hand falls. “Ah, right. Is Hoseok keeping them in their rooms?”
Jisoo shakes her head, coming to a stop. “They fell back asleep – Hoseok, too.” Curious, she glances past you at the door. “Going for a… walk?”
“Thinking about it.”
“It’s below freezing.”
“Yeah. I thought it might help… clear my mind.”
Her brows furrow, pensive enough that you nearly curse. You couldn’t be more obvious that you and Jimin are having trouble. There’s no other reason to be up this early, trying to escape into the wilderness rather than face your ex.
Plaintive, she takes a sip of her coffee. “You know, I know you two are broken up.”
Well, fuck. Someone will have to scrape your jaw from the floor. Stunned, you stare as Jimin’s sister takes another long sip of coffee.
Seeing your face, Jisoo steps closer. “You stopped talking in the group chat,” she explains softly, patting your arm. “And Jimin… well, he seems slightly better now, but we all saw how he was after the injury.”
“I don’t… we, we’re not,” you fumble, the words dying.
“It’s okay. I get why you didn’t want to tell us. Why he didn’t want to tell us.”
At this point, it’s too late to make any denial. Jisoo has already seen the truth in your face. You suppose the important part is she hasn’t told their parents – although part of you wonders if his mom knows, as well.
“It’s been a long year,” you admit finally, your voice cracking.
“Oh, Y/N.” Setting down her mug, Jisoo pulls you into her arms. “There, there,” she exhales, rubbing your back. “I’m sorry I brought that up. I just thought… well, I thought you might want to talk to someone not my brother.”
“Thanks,” you whisper.
Patting your arm, she pulls back. “So, do you? Want to talk?”
“I…” You trail off. “It’s complicated. We broke up last September, but Jimin asked if I’d help him break the news of his contract to your parents. Things have been different this weekend, but I don’t know if Jimin is on the same page as I am. I want to get back together, but… he’s the one who asked to break up.”
Jisoo’s eyes fill with sympathy. “You should talk to him.”
“I know,” you exhale. “I know, and I will. I just… I can’t stop thinking about the last time we had a serious conversation. How badly that went.”
Understanding crosses her face. “I get that, I do.”
“He seems different. But it’s only been three months. Jimin is playing hockey so well – he seems to have his shit together, and I’m just a mess. What if I want to get back together, and he says no? Maybe this whole thing – the holidays, the hot chocolate – was just a way to say goodbye.”
Jisoo’s gives you a look. “Y/N. Listen to me – I know my brother. I knew within two seconds that you’d broken up. And I’m equally certain he still loves you – partly because my husband is a terrible secret keeper.” She shakes her head. “Apparently, Jimin asked for Hoseok’s help to win you back.”
You blink. “That… that can’t possibly be –”
Footsteps clatter downstairs, and you both turn your heads.
“Y/N,” Jimin blurts, slipping a little. His sweatpants are only half on, hopping wildly to avoid Hana’s toy on the landing. “Thank god. I thought you left,” he admits, rushing forward to grab both your arms.
Jisoo pointedly clears her throat.
Jimin glances sideways, then does a double take. “Have you been there the whole time?”
Rolling her eyes, Jisoo grabs her coffee and turns. “Merry Christmas, Jimin. Go and make up with your girlfriend.”
He watches her leave, then shakes his head, and looks back. “Are you okay?” he breathes, scanning your frame. “I woke up and you were gone. I thought…”
Putting two and two together, your eyes widen. “You thought I left.”
Jimin seems a bit queasy, but he manages to nod.
Taking another step closer, you grip his elbows. “Jimin, no,” you say. “My suitcase was still there. Didn’t you see?”
“Oh.” He blinks. “I didn’t notice.”
Oddly enough, his panic gives you the courage to speak. “I wasn’t leaving. I just wanted a walk. You know… clear my head. Think about what happened last night.”
“Are you… having second thoughts?”
“Second thoughts?” you say in disbelief. “Jimin, we never discussed a first thought. You weren’t clear about what you wanted.”
“I wasn’t clear?” His brow furrows. “Y/N, I said I didn’t want anyone but you. That you were the only person for me. I apologized for September and said that I’m trying to change. What else could I have meant?”
Your heart hammers against your ribcage, but you push on. “I know,” you admit, voice catching. “It’s just… well, I thought I knew what you’d say in September, and I turned out to be wrong. I was scared, and I asked for a break, but you agreed.”
Sudden understanding dawns on his features. Jimin’s hands slide up your arms to cup your face, his gaze gentle.
“Y/N, no,” he murmurs. “I was wrong. I shouldn’t have left. I just… didn’t want to hear what you were saying, which was that our relationship had problems. You wanted to fix those problems, and I ran away. I’m not running now, though.” Determination flickers in his gaze. “Y/N, I want to stay. Whether that’s as your boyfriend, fiancée, husband, or something else entirely – I don’t care. I just want you.”
Hearing him say this, your heart swells. Unbearable lightness spreads through you, and you take a step closer. Jimin pulls you against him, hands finding your back as he lowers his head.
“I’m sorry I scared you,” he murmurs. “I should have been clearer last night. I was, uh, a little distracted.” Jimin huffs out a laugh.
“I’m sorry you woke up and found me gone,” you whisper, tightening your grip. “I just… didn’t want to assume, and I was scared.”
Jimin shakes his head. “It’s not assuming, Y/N. I love you. I never stopped loving you. And I will never stop,” he adds. “So, you might as well get used to this.”
“I never stopped loving you, either. I –”
Jimin cuts you off, crushing your mouth to his. Bending at the knees, he lifts you over one shoulder and heads for the stairs. You yelp, smacking his shoulder but Jimin doesn’t stop.
“Jimin,” you laugh. “It’s Christmas! We should –”
“Celebrate our relationship at least once before everyone else gets up? Yes, agreed.”
Breath catching, you briskly nod. “Yes, yes. Good point. That.”
Laughter rumbles in his chest, carrying you down the hall and for the rest of the morning – until the twins bang on your door – you lose yourself in blissful certainty. Jimin is yours, and you’re his.
With no end in sight.
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Seated beside you on the loveseat, Jimin plays with your fingers, entwined in his lap. With his other arm, Jimin brings you closer to brush a kiss to your temple.
Smiling, you face him. “What’re you doing, Mr. Park?” you lowly scold. “You do know we’re not alone, right?”
Jimin lowers his nose to your hair. “More’s the pity,” he murmurs.
Heat flushes through you, but he sits back in his seat. The Christmas Eve party this year is at the ski lodge again, and all of his friends have gathered in the same spot. Tonight though, you sit beside him with a ring on your finger. Jimin barely made it to the playoffs before he proposed.
Thumb brushing over the stone in the center, Jimin can’t help but smile. From far across the room comes the sound of Jungkook booing.
“We get it,” he calls, hands cupped over his mouth. “You two are disgustingly happy. Get a room, why don’t you?”
“We will,” you call back, snuggling into Jimin’s side. “Later.”
Seokjin laughs and elbows Jungkook’s ribs. “You’re only annoyed because you’re the only single guy left.”
Jungkook pouts and sits back. “True. What’s that all about? Why’d you have to bring a super cool, amazing date to the party this year?”
Seokjin’s date, Nova, laughs. “Thanks? I’m going to take that as a compliment.”
“You should.” Jungkook nods, then faces you and Jimin. “But seriously, you two seem very happy and I’m glad for you both.”
Jimin blinks. “What’s the catch?”
“No catch.” Jungkook casually crosses his arms. “Your current level of happiness will make it all the sweeter when I kick your ass in the playoffs this year, Park.”
When you snort-laugh, Jimin gives you a look. Said look makes you squirm against him on the sofa, though no one else seems to notice.
“Yeah.” Drily, Jimin looks at Jungkook. “Because that worked out so well for you last year.”
“Ohhh,” Hoseok calls, entering the room with Jisoo on his arm. She’s noticeably pregnant, with a due date next month. “He got you there, Kook. Remember when you lost and now, you and Jimin are tied for Stanley Cup wins?”
Jungkook stares at him blankly. “Hm, no. Don’t recall.”
The entire room laughs, conversation shifting to topics other than the NHL. Squeezing Jimin’s thigh, you snuggle closer and rest your head on his shoulder.
“I am, though,” he murmurs.
You glance upward. “You are what?”
“Happy.” Jimin meets your gaze. “Happy you gave me a second chance. Happy to choose you, again and again.”
Breath hitching, your fingers tighten in his. “Easiest choice I’ve ever made.”
© kpopfanfictrash, 2023. Do not copy or repost without permission. Author’s Note: thank you so, so much for reading! HAPPY HOLIDAYS to anyone who celebrates!
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eiightysixbaby · 6 months
Text
i love it loud
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word count: 6.5k+
pairing: rockstar!eddie munson x fem!reader
summary: you get invited to corroded coffin’s halloween party with your best friend chrissy. you don’t anticipate on having much fun, but that changes when you meet eddie…
cw: 18+ ONLY - SMUT. alcohol consumption, a rogue billy tries to hit on reader, use of petnames, use of y/n (like maybe a few times), oral (f receiving), fingering (f), unprotected p in v - he pulls out tho!, brief description of reader’s costume but no mention of body type/etc.
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You didn’t want to go to this party. Not really. Your best friend had insisted you come with her, because arriving alone would, in her words, be social suicide. Being invited to Corroded Coffin’s Halloween party was a big deal, she’d said, even though you know she was only invited because she’s been going out with the drummer. Of course he’s going to invite his girlfriend.
You hadn’t even had a plan for a costume, and with only a couple day’s notice you didn’t have the time to prepare something good. The stores were all picked over as far as Halloween costumes go, and so you went with the most basic, half-assed option you could’ve possibly selected.
You’re dressed as a cat.
It feels silly, it feels low-effort and stupid and basic, but here you are with your fluffy tail and soft felt ears, black high heels and whiskers painted on your face. A pink nose to top it all off. You did think you looked good, you had to admit, but it definitely wasn’t the costume you would’ve preferred. You awkwardly adjust your stockings as you step up to the front door of the large house, feeling horrendously out of place.
You glance at Chrissy beside you, her hippie costume bright and colorful - an extreme contrast to your all black attire.
“Okay, just texted Gareth that we’re here,” she says, slipping her phone into her bag. “Don’t look so thrilled,” she says sarcastically, pouting at you.
“Sorry I’m not exactly excited to be at a party where I know no one,” you say.
“You know me and Gareth,” she replies, looking at you like she’s confused.
“I barely know Gareth. And don’t act like the two of you won’t be running off to bang the second you get a chance,” you smile at her, knocking shoulders playfully.
“Listen… his friend Eddie, the lead singer, is super hot. Maybe you’ll get more than you bargained for tonight.”
“I don’t know, Chris. There’s going to be a million girls at this party, do I really want to be another notch on some rockstar’s belt?” you ponder.
She doesn’t get the chance to respond before the front door is swinging open in front of you. The figure on the other side is… Peter Criss. More like, Gareth dressed as Peter Criss. Fully outfitted in leather and silver studs, hair spray painted black with white and black cat makeup on his face. You laugh a little as you take him in, and he shoots you a teasing glare.
“Hey ladies,” he greets, pulling Chrissy in for a quick kiss. “Y/N, I’m so glad you decided to come.”
“You know Chris always gets what she wants,” you reply with a laugh, and he laughs with you, agreeing.
He steps to the side, ushering you both into the large foyer of the house. It’s decked out in Halloween decor; bats on the walls, fake cobwebs, hairy toy spiders with light-up red eyes. There’s orange and purple string lights hung about, and you’re honestly impressed with the detail. The house is clean, aside from the stray cup or plate left behind from the current party guests, and the decorations are carefully placed.
“Holy shit, you guys really did it up for the party,” you say, eyes wandering to every corner.
“Oh yeah, that’s all Eddie. He loves Halloween. It was his idea for us to dress like KISS,” Gareth says with a playful eye roll.
“Don’t complain, you look so good in that outfit…” Chrissy says, trailing a finger down his chest.
“I’ll have to give you the official house tour,” he says to your friend. “You coming too?” he asks you, but you shake your head.
“Think I’ll get myself a drink,” you say, sticking out your thumb in the direction of the kitchen.
“Sounds good. There’s stuff on the counter and a bar out back by the pool, you can go wherever you’d like,” Gareth says with a smile, and it’s genuine. “Make yourself at home, say hey if you see the other guys around! You can’t miss ‘em, they’ll be dressed like me,” he adds, and you laugh, waving them off as Chrissy tells you to text her if you need anything at all.
You wander into the open kitchen, pleased with the selection of liquor that awaits you. If you’re going to be spending the night alone, you might as well get pleasantly drunk, you think to yourself. People are scattered throughout the room, talking with their circles of friends and acquaintances. There’s a couple different punch bowls filled with various concoctions, each one labeled with the contents. You take your pick of the poison, scooping the liquid up with a ladle and filling your cup.
You scrunch your face as you take the first sip, lips pursing as you adjust to the bite of the alcohol. You glance around the kitchen, taking note of even more decorations as you slink into a corner alone. They seem to fill the whole house, seeping into the living room and the dining room, any area that you can see. Gareth had said it was all Eddie’s doing, and you find yourself growing more curious about the man in question. You really didn’t know anything about Corroded Coffin, didn’t care much to do any research, you only knew what Chrissy told you.
You know that Grant, the rhythm guitarist, has rich parents, and that his dad bought the house for the band to live in while they’re recording their album. Chrissy always says Grant’s the nerdiest of the bunch, insanely smart and very friendly. You know that Jeff, the bassist, is apparently a sweetheart, a bit shy but would give you the shirt off of his back, and you know that Eddie…. well, you know that he’s supposedly “super hot”. Other than that, you’re drawing a blank. Chrissy hasn’t said much about him at all, now that you really consider it. Maybe he’s an introvert and doesn’t come around often, or maybe he’s a complete dick. He is a rockstar, after all. And there’s plenty of pretty women in his house right now, so… you can gather a few assumptions, to say the least.
You don’t get much more time to ponder the subject before you hear loud, raucous laughter coming in through the sliding doors to the backyard. Two figures stumble in, but in the dim light you can’t get a good look right away.
“I was made for lovin’ you baaaabyyyyyy!” a voice booms, and you don’t need more confirmation that it comes from another member of the band.
“How many times are you gonna sing that tonight?” the other voice counters, and you finally see two unfamiliar men walking towards the kitchen, dressed like other members of KISS.
The annoyed voice comes from the stand-in Gene Simmons of the evening, a frizzy black wig on his head and the signature makeup on his face, making him stand out. He sticks his tongue out obnoxiously at the other man, eliciting a laugh from him. Your eyes flit over, then, to the taller figure. Your attention is immediately grabbed — he’s intriguing right away and you aren’t quite sure why. Tall, slim, with a head of shaggy hair that diminishes his need for a wig for the costume. He’s dressed like Paul Stanley, a black star around his eye, surrounded by a face otherwise full of white makeup. He’s not wearing a shirt, at all, just a thick black studded collar around his neck and leather pants. Chunky heeled boots are on his feet, making him appear taller than just about everyone else in the room.
And if he’s dressed like the singer of KISS, then you can only assume this is Eddie. The singer of Corroded Coffin.
“Oh fuck off, Jeff. Have a little fun! It’s Hallo-fucking-ween, dude,” presumably-Eddie says, leaning into Jeff’s space.
“Sorry my idea of fun isn’t listening to your drunk ass sing KISS songs, Ed,” Jeff says, and the nickname gives you confirmation that this is, in fact, your guy.
Eddie just so happens to look up in that moment, his eyes falling upon yours unintentionally. He smiles at you, genuinely smiles at you, all while playfully rolling his eyes at Jeff’s comment. You giggle into your plastic cup, feeling like the two of you are the only people in the room for a moment. He gives you a teeny little wave, the slightest wiggle of his fingers, and you feel your heart rate increase as you return it. What is wrong with you? You were going to blame the alcohol, for the time being.
The moment is gone as soon as it came, Eddie’s attention getting redirected. You watch in fascination as they pour drinks for themselves, easily greeting the other partygoers who come up to them, eager to talk to the hosts. There’s a swarm of girls around Eddie in thirty seconds flat, and your heart deflates, much to your own dismay. Why should it bother you? He doesn’t even know you, and you don’t know him. Chrissy’s implication that you might hit it off with Eddie tonight is letting you get too in your own head, you decide, trying to shake it off.
You scoff, watching as a girl dressed like a devil leans on the counter into Eddie’s space, pressing her breasts together as much as she can. Her fake fangs are exposed as she laughs too loud at something he says, her bright red lipstick accentuating her mouth. You want to internally criticize her and her basic costume, before you’re reminded of your imitation of the most basic furry friend to ever grace Halloween.
As if on cue, someone comes up behind you and yanks on your tail, making you jump. Your drink sloshes over the rim of the cup at the sudden motion, splashing against the front of your outfit. You spin on your heel, met with the face of an unfamiliar man, which really isn’t saying much since almost every face here is unfamiliar.
“Can I help you?” you snark, flattening your lips in a straight line.
“Woah, calm down, pussy cat. Don’t have to bring the claws out,” the man says, smirking at you as if he has genuinely no clue why you’re bothered.
He reaches one arm out, flattening his palm against the wall behind you and leaning his weight on it, towering over you. He smells like cigarettes and booze, and you watch as his tongue pokes out to wet his lips.
“If you don’t mind,” you snap. “I really need to go wash the liquor out of my costume. Asshole,” you mutter the last part, ready to make your exit when the stranger grabs your arm.
“Going so soon? I thought we’d make friends,” he smiles at you, blue eyes piercing down at you as you grow wildly more uncomfortable.
“I’ll pass,” you emphasize, stomping the heel of your boot down onto his foot.
He yelps in pain, releasing your arm and allowing you to speed-walk out of the crowded kitchen. You can see various pairs of eyes on you as you scurry out, and you can hear your victim cursing you out through the bass coming through the stereo.
You high-tail it out the back door, heels clicking aggressively on pavement as you push through more people surrounding the pool. You finally stop to calm yourself down when you find a lull in the crowds, a spot where you can be relatively alone. You silently thank yourself that the stranger didn’t follow you, but what you didn’t realize is that someone else had.
You exhale, bringing your drink to your lips and taking a swig. Your now-wet top clings to your skin, aggravating you, but the last thing you want to do is wander back into the house in search of the bathroom.
“H-hey, um, are you alright?” a voice rings out directly behind you.
You jolt just slightly, not expecting company. Turning to face the other person, your eyes first land on those big, black platform boots. Eddie had followed you. Your gaze trails up his figure, leather pants and studded belt and bare torso, until you meet his eyes for the second time this evening.
“Sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you,” he says, “I just wanted to make sure you were okay. I saw what happened in there and, uh, to be honest I don’t even know why we keep inviting Hargrove to these things—” Eddie rambles, as if Hargrove is a familiar name to you, as if he’s nervous to be around you — like he isn’t the star-studded host of this party.
“I’m okay,” you reply, cutting off his sentence, smirking a little. “Thanks for checking on me.”
“Oh, yeah, of course. I know these parties can get crazy, but… I always want to make sure everyone’s safe,” he says, his gaze softening as he says the last part. “I’m Eddie, by the way,” he introduces, holding out a hand for you to shake.
You immediately notice the big, silver rings adorning many of his fingers, your eyes lingering on them for maybe a second too long before you remember he’s waiting for you. You extend a hand, grasping his and shaking it.
“Y/N,” you reply. “I, uh, I’m here with Chrissy.”
“Oh, you’re Cunningham’s friend!?” he asks, lighting up at that. Excited as he says it as if you’re the celebrity here, not him.
You nod, smiling at him now.
“Damn, and she already ditched you to go screw Gareth, I’m assuming?” he jokes, and you laugh, feeling lighter by the second. Forgetting your less-than-pleasant encounter from moments ago.
“Yeah, how’d you know?” you say sarcastically, smiling wider when he snorts.
There’s a pause, you can feel him staring at you as you take another sip of alcohol. “Well, I’m a little offended she didn’t tell me that she had such a beautiful friend,” he says, and you feel your cheeks grow warm at his forwardness.
You duck your head, avoiding his eyes as your face scrunches in a shy smile. “Ah, there’s the rockstar charm,” you say, loving the sound of his laugh that comes in response.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” he playfully asks, cocking his head as he leans forward to meet your gaze.
“How many other girls have you used that line on tonight?” you counter, playful but keeping a safe distance.
“Ouch, sweetheart. You really take me for that much of a player?” he stumbles back, clutching his chest as if he’s been wounded. Your eyes linger maybe too long on the tattoos littering his torso, the slight smattering of hair on his pale skin.
“Well, you are parading around your own party shirtless. Seems like a tool move to me,” you smirk, finishing off your drink with one last sip.
“Darling, you’re dressed like a cat. I don’t think you can come for my costume right now,” he flashes his perfect teeth at you, unable to contain his smile at your banter.
There’s a moment of silence, you staring out across the yard at the bright lights of the city down below, stretching vast and far. Then he speaks up again.
“I mean it. I think you’re really beautiful.”
“Thank you. You’re very pretty,” you say honestly, letting yourself give in to his flirtations.
“Is it the makeup? Am I gonna have to wear this every time I see you now?”
You giggle. “Every time? Are there going to be more times, mister rockstar?”
“I mean, I’d love to take the time to get to know you outside of a party setting, if that’s okay with you,” he smiles bashfully, and you can only assume he’s blushing under all of that makeup.
“Yeah. I think that’s okay with me,” you reply.
Conversation flows easily with Eddie, the less-than- pleasant encounter with the stranger and the spilled alcohol on your shirt long forgotten. He tells you about his life before the band started to make it big, how he always dreamed of being a rockstar. He shyly told you about how he used to parade around his home as a kid, playing his little guitar and singing songs he made up until his uncle was begging him to quiet down and go to bed.
You confess that you really didn’t know much about the band, other than things Chrissy had told you, and you apologize although he tells you it’s absolutely not necessary.
You both end up sitting in the grass side-by-side, talking so much you don’t even remember making the choice to sit, it just happened. There’s a lull in the conversation, his eyes searching yours before glancing down to your lips. He moves just slightly closer, his breath hitting your face with each exhale. You feel yours catch in your throat, anticipating his next move.
You don’t get the chance to see what that move is before the girl in the devil costume from the kitchen approaches. She instantly has her hands on Eddie, grabbing his arm with a red-gloved hand and pulling him to stand. “Eddieeee, come on! You have to come play spin the bottle with us!” she pleads, her voice too whiny to not be part of an act.
“I- uh,” he stumbles, looking at you with an emotion you can’t place.
The girl moves to stand in front of him, putting her hands on his chest now, starting to push him backwards. “Come on, it’s no fun if you don’t play,” she continues, her shrill voice grating in your ears.
You don’t like how close she’s getting, how unafraid she is to be touchy with him. Who even is she? Are they friends? Are they more than friends? She’s pushing him further away from you by the second, not once acknowledging your presence. You scoff, looking to the side, avoiding Eddie’s gaze.
Before Eddie can really do anything, he’s being shoved fully away from you. You don’t see the way he desperately looks to you for an out, simply bothered by the fact that this girl won’t leave him alone.
You wonder if you were right, if he called you beautiful just like he calls every other girl beautiful. You didn’t want to believe it, but, he’s about to go play a game with a bunch of drunk people where the whole point is to kiss each other, so. It’s not looking great for you.
You’d be lying, though, if you said your curiosity wasn’t peaked. You find yourself bored watching partygoers splash around in the pool, and you can’t shove down your internal need to find out what mister rockstar and the devil girl are up to inside. Your feet are carrying you before you can decide against it, leading you back inside, back through the kitchen where you pour yourself another drink, and then to the living room where you find a large group sat in a circle.
You hang back, just slightly, not wanting to make it too obvious that you’re watching the game, even though you aren’t the only one who came to spectate. To be completely honest, the first few spins you witness aren’t very exciting. You don’t know any of these people, so what should it matter to you if they kiss? You’re about to step away when the circle erupts with various ‘Ooooh’s and whistles.
“Come on, Eddie! You gotta do it!” a now very drunk Jeff screams.
To your absolute horror, Eddie had spun the bottle, only for it to land on the little bitch whose name you still don’t know in the devil costume. Eddie looks at the girl, who is very clearly eagerly awaiting a kiss from the singer of Corroded Coffin, but then he looks up at you.
You didn’t think he’d realized you were there, didn’t think he saw you lurking, but he looked at you too pointedly for it to have been an accident.
You swallow, suddenly feeling awkward amongst the silence of the room. Everyone’s watching Eddie, expecting him to get his kiss over with and move on. He stands finally, stepping forward. You almost want to look away, not interested in watching him lock lips with someone that isn’t you. But you can’t look away, not when he bypasses the anonymous girl and heads right for you.
“Um, I’m right here!” she says, her tone snarky and honestly annoying enough to make you want to slap her.
“Yeah, well I’m not kissing you, Tina,” Eddie says. “Spin the bottle. What are we, fourteen?” he asks, eyes still locked on you as he stands merely a step away now.
Your heart thumps in your chest, every bit of your nervous system attuned to him. Your mouth hangs slightly open, not knowing what to do or what to say.
He steps even closer, closing the distance between you. “I want to kiss you, that okay?” he murmurs, letting one hand rest so gently on your waist.
You want to laugh in Tina’s face. You want to point and laugh and rub it in, but that wouldn’t be the appropriate response here. You need to kiss Eddie, sooner rather than later.
You just nod, a smile playing on your lips. He leans his face closer to yours, hovering by your ear to whisper, “I’m sorry, about her. She’s… a friend of a friend who always ends up at our parties. Trust me, I have no interest there.”
The reassurance really isn’t necessary, you barely know Eddie after all, but it’s extremely appreciated. You feel your heart flutter a little, smug and satisfied all in one. And then his lips are on yours, not giving a damn who’s watching, not a care in the world for what anyone might say.
His lips are soft, warm against yours and the way he cradles the back of your head in his hands makes you weak at the knees. Your noses brush before you pull away, and the two of you giggle in unison like you just shared some exciting secret with each other.
Tina is dumbfounded where she sits on the carpet, watching you. You swear steam would be coming out of her ears if this was a cartoon. You give her a little wave and an all-too-fake smile before Eddie grabs your hand to lead you away.
Not a single word is spoken as he pulls you out of the living room, you’re silent until you reach the stairs to go up to the second floor.
“So you really don’t have history with Tina?” you playfully ask, pressing the issue just to be a pain, and he groans.
“Ugh, god, no. Like I said, she always ends up at these things and she’s all over me. But the funny part is, we went to high school together. She bullied the crap outta me,” he explains, and you can’t help but laugh. “Spread some nasty rumors on social media…” he shakes his head, smirking at the thought now.
“Of course,” you roll your eyes, “Now where are you taking me, rockstar?” you grab his waist once you’ve reached the top of the stairs, pulling him closer to you.
“To my room, because there’s no way I can handle any more interruptions tonight,” he says, his hands finding your hips, pressing his forehead to yours for a moment.
Another kiss is ghosted over your lips, open-mouthed and teasing, leaving you chasing after him when he pulls away and starts to walk down the hallway. He opens the dark wood door, gesturing for you to enter first.
The second he’s inside with you, his mouth is on yours, your back pressed to the wall as his hands grip your waist. He fumbles with the light switch behind you, providing a dim glow throughout the room. He wastes no time slipping his tongue past your lips, licking inside of your mouth and groaning when your tongue meets his. Your noses brush and you’re sure his makeup is getting smeared on your face, or vice-versa, and the thought makes you smile into the kiss. His lips work their way down to your jaw, nipping and mouthing at the skin before residing on your neck, sucking till it stings.
You hiss, arching your back into him, hands grabbing at his bare shoulders as your nails dig into the skin.
“Shit, sweetheart,” Eddie breathes, hands grabbing your face as he brings you in for another heated kiss.
He starts to walk backwards, guiding you with him towards his bed. His boots are kicked off of his feet carelessly, and you toe off your heels in tandem. He reaches the mattress, falling back onto it and scooting backwards until he’s fully on the bed. You follow his lead, straddling his lap and letting your hands roam his bare chest. He watches you like you’re an ethereal being, eyes big and round and completely full of desire. His hands wrap around to grab your ass beneath the fabric of your skirt, filling his open palms with the soft flesh and squeezing.
Your hands waste no time in finding their way to the zipper of his pants, tugging it down after undoing the button.
“Need these off, Ed,” you say, sounding more whiny than you’d wanted. Your face gets hot at the smirk he gives you in return.
“Oh, so we’re desperate now, huh?” he says, the cocky rockstar demeanor coming out in full-swing. It makes you embarrassingly flustered, your cunt throbbing for him.
All you can do is nod, your hand trailing over the bulge that waits for you beneath fabric.
“Fuck,” he curses under his breath, starting to shimmy his pants down his thighs.
You remove yourself from his lap, letting him undress — your mouth practically watering when his cock springs free and smacks against his stomach. He’s fully naked for you now, given that he already wasn’t wearing a shirt. All that’s left is the studded choker around his neck, and it makes you drool.
“Like what you see, baby?” he asks, a smug little grin on his face as he watches the way you take in his entire body.
You already noticed the tattoos on his chest and arms, but now you’re noticing the ones on his thighs. He’s unreal, so unfairly gorgeous and captivating. He’s perfectly sculpted, a sharp V carved into his pelvis that simply leads your eyes down a path to his perfect cock. It’s big — long and not too thick, veiny with a pink, leaking tip. He must catch your intrigued expression, because he laughs, a devious little sound that tells you he can’t have any pure intentions.
“Why don’t you lay down so I can get you ready to take this cock?” he purrs, slender fingers stroking up and down one side of your body.
You shudder at his touch, moving to lay down on his bed. You pull your shirt off before you do, leaving your black, lacy bra on display for the man beside you. Your tits rest perfectly in it, and Eddie’s sure to get an eyeful. His hands gently hold your hips once you’re situated comfortably, partially laying down with your back propped against his many fluffy pillows. He leans down, letting his lips graze over your jaw, your cheek, your nose, before finally pressing to your mouth. He brings one hand up, pulling your cat-ear headband off of your head, deciding it can’t be very comfortable to have on for hours at a time. It makes you breathe a little laugh into the kiss, remembering how silly you must look with your painted on whiskers and nose.
He doesn’t give you much time to dwell on it, his mouth pulling off of yours and starting to travel down your neck. He kisses your shoulders, your collarbone, sucking on the most sensitive bits of skin and making you whine as you wriggle beneath him. He finds his way down to your breasts, hands sliding your bra straps down your shoulders as you arch your back for him, giving him room to unhook the clasp that sits at your spine. His lips immediately attach to one of your pert nipples, sucking and swirling his tongue around the small bud. One of his large hands cups your other breast, the cold silver of the rings on his fingers a sharp contrast to your searing skin.
He switches after a moment, sucking the opposite nipple into his warm, wet mouth. Something akin to a growl leaves his mouth when your fingers tangle in his hair and tug, and it spurs you on to keep going. His lips unlatch themselves from your breast, his mouth moving down down down, trailing kisses everywhere it goes. Your cunt throbs when his mouth approaches the waistband of your tight little skirt, his eager hands hooking beneath the fabric and beginning to yank it down, along with your underwear.
He peppers kisses lower and lower on your body, his mouth following close behind the clothes that he pulls off of you, covering every inch of skin as it’s exposed to him. He discards everything onto the floor, definitely tearing your stockings in the process of ripping them off of you. Your mind is a blur as he hastily attaches his lips to your clit, slipping one finger inside of you with complete ease. You weren’t expecting all of the stimulation so suddenly, your body writhing on the mattress as he sucks your sensitive clit into his mouth.
“More, Eddie, need more,” you pant, knowing you’re probably being greedy but knowing all the same that he won’t deny you what you want.
He hums against your cunt, immediately adding a second finger inside of you. He curls the digits, collecting your sticky wetness and groaning at the filthy noises that his movements make. Your hands tug harder on his hair as you throw your head back onto the pillows, cursing at how good he feels. Going in, you had no idea how tonight would play out, but you certainly didn’t expect to be hooking up with the frontman of Corroded Coffin. Your head spins at the thought of how many other people would probably die to be in your position right now, and it only makes you more turned on.
“Want one more, baby? Need to make sure you can take my fingers before you take my cock,” he purrs, smirking up at you.
“Yeah, please, I can take it,” you reassure him, and he slips a third finger in.
His fingers are thick, no doubt about it, and they stretch you so deliciously you feel like you could cry. The silk sheets beneath you feel cold against your skin, easing the heat that floods your entire body. You grip them with one hand, the other still in Eddie’s hair as he flicks his tongue back and forth over your clit in the perfect rhythm. He doesn’t dare change his pace, not with the way you’re moaning his name like a siren song, drawing him more and more into you.
You’re rapidly approaching your release, that much he knows, and he wants to send you free-falling over that edge. The way you suck his fingers right in practically makes him drool, he can’t get enough. Loud, shrill moans of his name leave your mouth as he curls his fingers into that perfect soft spot inside of you, and Eddie couldn’t care less if the whole damn house can hear you.
“Gonna cum, Eddie, ohmygod—” you’re cut off mid-sentence, the air stolen from your lungs as you come undone for him.
You squeeze around his fingers, soaking him as your body trembles. He pulls them out of you, slowly bringing them to his lips, making sure your eyes are on him. He sucks the digits clean of your juices, humming contently around them. You ache for him, your body desperate to have him even though it’s only been seconds since he’d been pleasuring you.
He moves to hover over you, reattaching his lips to yours in a heated kiss. It’s somehow gentle and rough at the same time, a weird but enticing juxtaposition. He tastes like you and it drives you crazy as your mouths clash together, all teeth and tongues.
“Fuck, baby, hold on. Let me get a condom,” Eddie says, nearly breathless as he pulls away.
“No— want you to fuck me raw,” you mewl, reaching out to stop him as he goes to stand.
“Baby…” he says, looking at you with uncertainty. He never goes without a condom, and certainly doesn’t want you to feel pressured to forgo one.
“Please, Eddie. Just pull out,” you plead with him, and you honestly can’t believe your nerve right now. Begging the famous rockstar you just met to fuck you raw, as if you have all of this power over him. What you don’t know is that Eddie already wants to give you anything you ask for.
“Okay, alright, sweetheart. Whatever you want,” he says, leaning down to kiss your forehead before positioning himself on top of you.
He lines his cock up with your entrance, and you can feel the way you throb for him. You know you’re even more soaked than before, and you hardly worry about whether or not he’ll fit.
“You ready?” he asks sincerely. Big brown eyes searching yours for your approval.
“Mhm,” you hum, letting your eyes flutter closed when you feel him start to press in.
Moans leave each of your mouths in unison as he sinks inside inch by inch. Your nails dig in to the skin on his back, dragging down when he bottoms out inside of you. He hisses, breathing heavy as he tries to gain some composure. You feel so good around him, too good, and it takes all of his focus to not bust immediately.
“Please move, need you to move,” you whine, looking up at him with your big, pleading eyes.
He nods, “Okay, baby. Gonna give it to you so good, yeah?”
He starts thrusting, slowly at first, dragging his cock almost fully out of you before rutting back in. The air is forced from your lungs, your mouth open in a silent moan. His movements stay slow like that for a little while, giving you the friction you need but still teasing. Moans leave your lips as he slowly pushes himself all the way in, letting you fully feel the way he stretches your walls to fit him.
He starts to speed up then, setting a steady pace as he fucks into you harder. He does it so well, filling you to the brim and making you clench around him. You can feel every vein and ridge on his cock, the pleasure making your body erupt in goosebumps.
“Shit, feel so fucking good, sweetheart,” Eddie pants, his hips smacking against yours roughly. “Wanna try something different?” he asks, waiting for your approval which comes without hesitation.
He pulls out of you, making you wince slightly. He stands at the side of the bed, coaxing you to move towards him. You oblige, scooting right to the edge of the mattress. Strong hands grip your legs, hoisting your feet up onto his shoulders, exposing you perfectly to him. You feel more vulnerable like this, and it makes you antsy as you wait for him to slide back in. When he does, you see stars. The angle is perfect, his cock hitting spots it couldn’t before. You watch as he throws his head back, the muscles in his neck prominent as he clenches his jaw, a guttural groan escaping him.
“You’re so damn beautiful, so fucking gorgeous,” he says, looking back down at you with sincere eyes. “How’d I get the most perfect girl on the planet?”
And then he bends down, your legs still hooked over his shoulders, your body practically folded in half now. You nearly scream out his name, the lewd sounds of his balls slapping against your skin filling the space. He leans down to kiss you, his lips and firm against yours, muffling your pretty noises. He pulls away, letting out a smug little chuckle at the way you instantly moan for him, noticing the tears pricking in the corner of your eyes.
“Gonna cry for me, baby? My cock feels so good you’re gonna cry about it?” he teases, watching your brow furrow in concentration as you get closer and closer to release.
“You’re very — fuck — very fucking modest,” you choke out, trying and failing to bite back your whimpers.
He laughs again, burying his face in the crook of your neck. “You know you fucking love it,” he murmurs, teeth biting at your earlobe before he pulls away. “I can tell you love it, cause you’re suckin’ me in like you were made for me.”
You let out a whine at his words, pinching your eyes shut in pure ecstasy as he continues to split you open. “Fuck, Eddie, don’t stop,” you plead, your body jolting with every harsh thrust he gives you.
He grunts as he fucks you faster, watching in awe as your tits bounce on your chest. He can feel how soaked you are for him, can see your cream pooling around the base of him when he sheathes himself fully inside.
“You gonna cum for me again, sweetheart?” he rasps, leaning down to kiss along your jawline.
All you can get out is a wobbly “Uh-huh,” nodding your head to the best of your ability. His fingers dig in to the meat of your thighs, a dull ache from his harsh grip barely noticeable in the back of your mind. One hand moves from its spot on your leg to reach down and play with your clit, the pad of his thumb rubbing quick circles over it.
Your back arches off the mattress, your legs shaking as you cry out his name. A few more deep thrusts and you’re plummeting over the edge for the second time tonight, your cunt tensing up around him over and over. The way your walls flutter around his cock brings him dangerously close to release, and he pulls his cock out quickly before he’s pumping it in his fist. All it takes is a few strokes before ropes of his cum are covering your body, splattering over your bare chest and stomach.
You let your legs drop from his shoulders, aching as you stretch them out. You feel like you’re made of rubber, limbs wobbly as your feet drop to the floor.
“Holy shit,” is all you can say, staring up at his ceiling as he chuckles at you from the side of the bed.
“You’re so damn perfect,” he says, shaking his head with a sweet little smile. He stretches, muscles flexing as he raises his arms to the ceiling, cocking an eyebrow at you when he catches you staring.
“Says you…” you reply, pulling the sheets up to hide your face, suddenly shy.
“Let me get you cleaned up, yeah?” he asks, holding out his arm for you, pulling you up when you take his hand.
When you step out of the shower with him, after your body has been cleaned and every inch of your skin has been kissed by his soft mouth, he gives you his big clothes to put on. You change and brush your hair, letting his hands hold your waist as he tries to invade your space to kiss you even more. You can’t help but admire his face, even more gorgeous now that his Halloween makeup is washed down the drain.
You both shuffle out of the bedroom carefully afterwards, trying to gauge how much the party has died down, only to be met with a laugh from the opposite end of the hallway.
Your head shoots up, seeing Gareth and Chrissy stepping out of his room, looking wildly similar to you and Eddie; costumes off, makeup off, a few extra hickeys on Gareth’s neck. Chrissy’s mouth hangs open, her eyes flitting from you to Eddie and back again.
“I told you!!” she shouts, giggling before Gareth takes her hand, pulling her down the stairs with him.
You try to bite back a smile, heat creeping up to your face.
“What exactly did she tell you, sweetheart?” Eddie smirks down at you, pulling your body to his. His cocky expression gives you the hint that he already has an idea.
“Shut up, rockstar.”
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moondirti · 16 days
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(first time doing a ask bare with me)
pretty please a continue of the house distribution thing. the fic where she does military housing to afford rent. just a continuation please 🙏🏽
feel free to skip if your mind is just blank with ideas for it x
simon riley / afab! reader • part one cw: dubcon, intoxication, spanking, wedgies, degradation, dacryphilia, very mild puppy play (mostly just pet names)
"Well, aren' you a sight."
Much like the lamplight, his voice is low. Mocking, almost. You'd think he were amused if it weren't for the dangerous way his eyes assess your sorry state, raking the lines of your bare legs to the way your dress wraps tight around your chest. It almost escapes you that he's maskless at first, so entranced by the glint of his pupils, the shadowed irises that pinch a deep, very primal nerve in you.
His lips curl into an uneven sneer, scar dissecting the bottom and running down to his chin. You wipe your nose with the heel of your hand, giving your best attempt at an apathetic shrug.
"I had fun."
"Did'ya now?" He laughs humourlessly. "Mus' have different ideas of fun, me and you. Can' see the fun in getting pissed out'f my mind, worryin' the people in your life by stayin' out s'late."
Spite flares, fear slinking back your throat to make room for the petulance that froths on your tongue like venom. It completely poisons his admission to the fact that he'd been worried, turns it into something pathetic and hypocritical. You storm closer. Wild. Angry.
"That's fucking rich coming from you. What is your idea of fun, then, Lieutenant? Tormenting women who open up their home to you? Walking in on them in the bathroom, pissing all over the fucking seat? Does it grant you satisfaction to make people so uncomfortable that they'd rather be anywhere but with you?"
His jaw tenses, a "careful, pet." grunted under his breath, but he makes no move to stop you. Just continues sitting on your couch, legs spread, simmering. Waiting for you to tire out.
"Shut the fuck up. Oh my god. Oh my god. I can hardly be at bloody peace in my own house anymore! You're- You're... A fucking nightmare, Riley! So excuse me if I went out and enjoyed myself when I haven't been able to do so in weeks!"
By the end of your little tirade, you're an even worse mess than you had been before. Flyaways stick to your sweaty temple, mascara rims your blown eyes. Your panting does nothing to calm the frantic race of your heart, which beats at your ribcage like doldrums to war. You can feel the effects of it everywhere; your pulse, hot and quick, at your eyebrow, your wrists, the arch of your foot.
Riley stands. Your lip trembles.
You're so close now that your gaze is level with his chest. Tall. You'd forgotten how tall he was. Or how wide. Or dangerous. His biceps – bare given his tight-fitted t-shirt, tree-trunk large and enough to crush watermelons – tense, and all-too-suddenly, you find your jaw clutched in a bruising grip. He jerks your head up so your eyes meet his.
"Simon." He mutters. "But you don't get to call me tha', or anything at all but Sir."
"Letmegomff–" You're rendered mute when his thumb and forefinger press your cheeks together, but that certainly doesn't stop you from whining.
"Y'wanna know my idea of a good time?" Purely rhetorical, of course. Aside from not being able to answer him, it doesn't matter what you want. There's a clear direction this seems to be heading towards – someplace where the hand pawing your ass continues lower, or where the length in his pants fits down your throat. Someplace not unwelcome by you, despite the way you thrash and cry in his arms. "It's putting foul things like you in their place."
He shucks your dress over your ass, the fabric bunching around your waist, and hooks a fist in the waistline of your soaked panties. Your mind is so foggy, influenced by shitty tequila and the subspace Simon bullies you into embracing, that you don't process the cause of your pain immediately. Don't correlate it to the way he pulls upward, your underwear bunching into a tight line that cleaves between your ass-cheeks and rubs abrasively against your poor clit. Don't– can't confront it until the force literally picks you up off the floor, toes barely touching the ground, held up by a wedgie and the grip around your jaw alone.
Tears spring to your lash line, tracing miserable treks down your cheeks. His thumb swipes what it can away, pushing the salty water into your mouth, and stays there while you lap at his calloused fingertips.
"There we go. Look at you, brainless mutt. Jus' need something on your cunt and something in your mouth to keep you quiet, hm? Happy to hang li'e this for hours, I bet."
Your muffled yell is met with another laugh, thumb pushing deeper into your mouth to shut you up.
"Shh, I know. Still need'ta be taught a lesson. I haven' forgotten." The stitches on your panties begin to tear, the rips loud and relieving, especially when you start to sag back down to the floor. Simon doesn't take it with any kind of urgency, though he cocks his head at the way you blink up at him, lashes fanning in rapid succession. An unspoken, desperate plea. "Was gonna hold out, get you sobered up for your punishment. But you're practically itchin' for it, aren' you?"
He puppets your head into an enthusiastic nod, which he meets with a faux huff.
"Course you are." The forbearing quality of his tone is promptly betrayed by the way you're manhandled over his lap. Pivoting one hand opposite to the other, he's able to sit on the couch and get you thrown over his thighs in a mere matter of seconds. "Normally I'd make y'count, but I figure you're too far gone for that. Jus' try to keep your wailing quiet."
Your underwear gives in with a final tug, ripping from the soaked gusset to become nothing but a flimsy piece of fabric around your hips. Simon swipes the tattered remains off your raised bottom, taking longer than necessary to smooth over the area. It's all the indication you need to what's coming – his rough palm teases the nerve endings below your softer skin, bringing them to frenzied life. Preparing them to hurt.
When he breaks away, you hold your breath.
The air behind you whistles as his hand comes down.
A sharp, resounding crack fractures the baited silence of the room. Your mouth flies open. Searing pain roars across your backside like wildfire, worsening every second it's exposed to open elements. Your scream is belated, thunder to the lightening, tearing from your throat only after the initial shock subsides.
A series of lighter blows land on alternating cheeks, two fingers returning to gag you through the onslaught. Unlike his thumb, these reach the very back of your tonsils, prompting wet gags as they fondle with your throat. Drool dribbles from the corners of your lips, slicking your chin with lipstick-tinted fluid.
"Fuckin' beautiful when you're not givin' an attitude, puppy. All stupid and submissive, cunt droolin' on my lap."
You groan, choke, then cry some more when his spanks grow incrementally harsher again. Gratefully, they're never in the same place twice. He beats the top of your thighs, your lower back, the sides of your hips. Your cheeks especially, which start to emit a steady kind of heat the longer he keeps it up.
Eventually, as a matter of coping, your brain starts to consider the cruel sting as pleasurable instead, sending little bolts of pleasure directly to your clit every time his hand comes down on your ass. It swells, fattening up with blood, pressing tighter against the steady mass of his thigh. Inadvertently, you start rutting against it to find more of the same relief, humping his leg like the dog he's making you out to be.
It doesn't escape his notice, of course.
His foot pushes one of your flailing ankles outward so that your legs are spread, pussy made vulnerable to his scrutiny. The next slap is thus aimed straight at your fluttering hole, slick doing nothing to affect his deadly precision. When it lands, it lands exactly where he meant for it to, and introduces you to a whole other degree of pain that has you seeing stars. You're openly bawling around his fingers now, vision so cloudy you can't tell light from dark.
"Didn' like tha', did you?"
"Nngh– nmmph!"
"There's more where it came from, pup. Best listen to everythin' I say from now on, then, 'less you wan' your little hole beat black 'n' blue."
Simon stresses his point by tracing the seam of your cunt, collecting the lubrication there to smear across the hotspot at the top. Presses into it. Grants you a little gratification, as if to say: and here's what you can have if you behave.
"You gonna be a good pet?"
This time, he withdraws his fingers from your maw. Expects a response, even though it takes you ages to recover from the lack of oxygen. You swallow the saliva pooling behind your teeth, inhaling ragged gasps that make your lungs ache.
He pinches your clit when you take too long. Lightly, but it's enough.
"Yes! Yes, s-sir. I'll be good."
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messylustt · 10 months
Text
dazed but not by the blood — hobie brown. longer name. cleaning hobie’s wounds and he can’t stop touching you.
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he would have climbed through your window, his face littered with small cuts, a more prominent indent running through his eyebrow. you wouldn’t hear him at first, your head nodding along to the beat of a song, blasting through your headphones. breathing a fraction heavy, hobie would notice you, legs up and bent to your body, in a wooden chair. your fingers would tap away at your computer as you softly hummed.
he would step closer, a small side smile edging his lips as he leaned closer to your covered ear. moving your headphones aside he’d whisper. “i hope that’s not that monkey band you’re listening to.” your eyes would widen as your heart would drop to your stomach in fright, swiftly spinning in the chair to face a smug looking hobie.
but your words of scolding would die off upon seeing his facial injuries. your hand would reach out, gently touching a cut making him slightly wince. “hold on.” you’d whisper, getting up off your chair as you rushed to a cupboard, retrieving a small first aid kit. you tilt your head behind you, gesturing to the couch, as you take out alcohol wipes and plasters. hobie would understand, jumping slightly down onto the couch, as his legs spread comfortably.
his head would rest back, as he’d shut his eyes for a moment. but when you’d shift closer, kneeling in front of hobie and gently grabbing his face, his eye would open. at first he’d stare at your face, taking note of all the little details he’d always thought suited you so well. you wouldn’t notice his gaze at first, focusing on a cut by his cheek as you’d dab and wipe, teeth biting down on your bottom lip. at this hobie’s gaze would dart down, his eyes taking note of the redder colour you created by your bite.
when you’d tilt your head, hobie’s gaze would follow. catching sight of your tied up hair, strands falling out randomly. “ya hair looks nice tonigh’, babe.” he’d teasingly smile, his hand subtly reaching up to touch a loose lock. you shake your head, thinking his teasing is the truth. but he meant it. you did look really good, pretty in a way that made hobie’s finger tap at his leg.
“real pretty.” you were used to his almost ‘flirty’ words. he’d always acted like this. you had thought that it’s just his personality, when in actual fact every word he had said was every bit true, to the point that his hand — right now — started to shift from rubbing your hair between the pads of his slightly calloused fingers, all the way to your neck.
he’d just lightly tap your skin, feeling your pulse beating. in all honesty you hoped he couldn’t feel it quicken. you began to shift to the deeper cut on his eyebrow. “you know, you could make this into a feature.” you say, trying to distract your mind from hobie’s wandering fingers. they had begun to draw patterns along your bare collarbone, making a small shiver run up your spine.
“hobie?”
“yeah, luv?” but his tone sounds distant, his gaze focused on the top of your chest, your skin now beginning to litter with goosebumps. you gulp, finally moving to the last cut — one that dragged down his lip. you had to shuffle closer. and as you did, hobie’s thighs widened, leaving you room to kneel between his legs.
your hand held his chin, directing his face how you needed as you dabbed his cut lip. “stop smiling. I can’t touch you up when you do that.” you say. but then you feel two large hands languidly slip around your waist, making it unintentionally arch. his cold rings dragged across your skin, making your breathing hitch. hobie noticed the sound, now purposefully slipping his hands under your shirt to slowly rub along your lower back.
“hobie.” you say, a slight warning to your tone. what was he doing? “shh, keep working.” he said. he leant further back, partially bringing you with him, as you had to lean a fraction over his body to reach his cut lip. “i don’t have to help.” you muttered, seeing hobie’s amused expression.
his hands had moved so that they slid inside your back jeans pockets. he wasn’t moving, having found the position — with you nearly draped over him — rather comfortable. “hobie.” you feel like you’ve said his name too many times, but it’s hard for you to touch him up like this. he tilted his head. “mm…so…pretty.”
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© messylustt.tumblr please don’t steal, copy or translate my work onto other platforms.
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suashii · 1 year
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୨♡୧ YOU TURN ME ON LIKE A LIGHT SWITCH — things you do that unintentionally turn them on.
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featuring. itoshi rin, shidou ryusei, nagi seishiro, michael kaiser.
warnings. f!reader, established relationships, fingering, breast play, oral (m!receiving), a little bit of subby kaiser. all characters written 18+.
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₊˚ପ⊹ ITOSHI RIN
waking up without you in bed is a rare occurrence for rin. it's normal for him to rise before you and your absence would have worried him if it weren't for the noise coming from the kitchen. he tosses the comforter aside, swinging his legs over the mattress before pulling a pair of sweats out from his dresser. after the elastic is tied neatly, he starts toward the kitchen where he's sure he'll find you.
sure enough, the refrigerator is open and most of your figure is hidden behind the door. the sound of his approaching footsteps makes your head turn. you greet him with a smile. "good morning, rin."
"morning," he returns.
"want some coffee?" you ask, closing the door of the fridge with your hip. the action warrants rin a good view of you. to his surprise, you're wearing his dress shirt from last night. only a few buttons in are clasped in the middle, leaving your collarbone and the top of your chest on display. the shirt just barely covers your ass and he can see a peek of your pink, lacey panties beneath the garment.
"earth to rin. coffee?" you ask with a laugh, sparing him a glance from your place in front of the counter. you can tell his mind is elsewhere when he still fails to respond and, instead, walks over to stand behind you. your task becomes much more difficult when his arms wrap around you, lithe fingers dropping to toy with the hem of your panties.
the cool feel of his fingers creeping between your legs makes you shiver and causes you to think of the night before when they were buried in your cunt and rubbing sweet circles against your clit. you don't remember how many times he had you come undone on just his fingers before he pulled out his cock. you abruptly clear your throat in a weak attempt to concentrate on the topic at hand. "still waiting for an answer, rin."
he hums against your neck, pressing himself closer to you, effectively trapping you between the counter and his body. it's impossible to ignore the feel of his erection against your ass and any intention you have to focus on breakfast is out the window. "coffee can wait, i want you now."
₊˚ପ⊹ SHIDOU RYUSEI
steam seeps from the bathroom as you open the door, soft hums filling the silence of your shared bedroom while you grab the bottle of lotion from your vanity. a dip at the end of the mattress draws shidou's magenta eyes up from his phone, to your mostly naked figure. other than the short, fluff towel wrapped around your torso, the expanse of your skin is on display.
that much catches his attention but the water dripping down from wet hair is what keeps it. small drops of moisture roll down your neck and over the top of your breasts before soaking into the fabric of the towel. it makes shidou imagine what lies beneath the cloth, makes him wonder if your nipples are hard and what they'd feel like between his fingers. the thoughts make the blood rush down to his dick, a smirk curling the corners of his lips upward.
you're smoothing lotion on your legs when he meets you at the edge of the bed. there's a look in his eyes that screams no good but you try to pay him no mind, rubbing the moisturizer into your skin. though, it's difficult to ignore him when his arms wrap around your waist and his lips latch onto your neck.
you lightheartedly attempt to swat him away but your efforts go unnoticed as your boyfriend continues to leave a trail of kisses up your pulse. a large hand comes up from your midsection to paw at your tits.
"ryusei." his name is meant to come out firmly but your voice is a lot more breathy than it was supposed to be. you clear your throat before continuing. "cut it out, i just showered."
"i'll make it quick," shidou breathes against your skin. it makes the hairs on the back of your neck raise and chips away at your resolve. you can feel his smile against you as he speaks his next words. "and i'll even pull out."
₊˚ପ⊹ NAGI SEISHIRO
it never takes long for nagi to get ready and he's usually able to waste time on his phone while you finish putting yourself together. though, today, his phone sits on the bedside table hooked up to the charger and a cloud boredom lingers over the snowy-haired man's head. with a sigh he turns from his spot on the bed so that he's facing where you're sat at your vanity. quietly watching you should make the time go by faster.
he isn't particularly knowledgeable about makeup, but he silently follows each of your movements, watches you pat what he thinks is blush onto your cheeks and paint your eyelashes with mascara. he doesn't think much of it, that is, until you get to your lips.
his own part as you glide the applicator along the plump of yours, leaving a shiny gloss in its wake. it reminds him of the way your lips look when they're smeared with his precum only moments before you take his aching cock in your mouth.
the thought alone makes his pants feel tighter. it makes him wish the two of you were doing something else right now—that your lips were sticky with something that wasn't lipgloss. he wants to feel the warmth of your mouth around him, feel your tongue trace over each raised vein.
you catch sight of nagi's blank stare in the reflection of your mirror. returning the brush back to its tube, you rub your lips together before asking, "penny for your thoughts?"
"what?" he blinks?
"you're staring, sei," you tell him, meeting his eye in the mirror. "does my makeup look bad? is it too much?"
"no," he clears his throat, "it's pretty."
you hum and nod, eyes falling yo where his hand not-so-discreetly adjusts his pants. the bulge pressing against the cotton is hard to miss. you grin, spinning around on your stool to face him. "want me to handle that before we leave?"
₊˚ପ⊹ MICHAEL KAISER
kaiser isn't so easily distracted, especially not when he's on the field—even if it is merely for practice. though, staying focused has become more difficult since you joined the team as an athletic trainer. your presence on the field has exposed a new side of you, one that michael hasn't had the pleasure of seeing before but can certainly get used to.
he's supposed to be running drills now but his eyes keep drifting back to your figure on the sidelines. he can't hear your conversation well, not unless he happens to be passing by, but from the bits he can gather, you're not happy. gone is the honeyed voice he's grown used to. it's replaced by one that's much more firm and demanding, one that would tell anyone you mean business.
you yelling isn't all that catches his attention—your stance does, too. your arms are crossed against your chest, feet firmly planted in the grass. even though you're looking up at the man, you carry yourself as though it's the other way around. no wonder his teammate on the receiving end of your lecturing looks so uneasy.
the thought of being in his poor teammates shoes make the blood rush to kaiser's cock. he can't put his finger on why, but just imagining being at your mercy is enough to divert his attention from what he's meant to be doing.
the moment you send the man away, kaiser is rushing over to you, hopeful that some of your frustration from the interaction is lingering. he knows how adamant you are about keeping your personal and work life separate, so, in an attempt to be sure that you're still a little annoyed, he approaches you from behind, wrapping you in a loose hug. "damn, you're sexy when you're angry."
"not the time or place, kaiser," you grumble.
something about you giving him the cold shoulder turns him on even more. there's no way he's going to be able to make it through practice in this state, not when the only thing he can think about is being beneath you.
"come on, no one will mind if we step away for a bit." a grin pulls at his lips with his next words. "maybe i can help you blow off some steam."
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thanks for reading! consider commenting or reblogging if you enjoyed ❤︎
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mockerycrow · 5 months
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HELLO the biggest congrats on 4k, you absolutely deserve that and so many more!!!
Could I see a female!reader x Ghost with the prompt:“I had a nightmare . . . can I stay with you tonight?”
TY and yet again, congratulations 🤍🤍🤍
REASSURANCE (Ghost x Fem!Reader) — 4K CELEBRATION
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authors note; thank you so much anon <3 i hope you enjoy!
[WARNINGS; not proofread (like most of my fics), silent panic attack + light dissociation, implied you’ve never seen his face, hurt/comfort.]
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You know Ghost has nightmares—everyone knows Ghost has nightmares. No one really wants to talk about it because he doesn’t, but everyone has seen the man up at ungodly hours of the night, or perhaps beating the absolute shit out of a punching bag at the on-base gym.
No one except for Price knows what Ghost’s been through, but no one really questions him. It’s unrealistic to think Ghost is the only one waking up due to their dreams—even Price does on the occasion. What Ghost doesn’t do is ask for help.
You had a weird gut feeling about tonight; you weren’t really restless, but you weren’t tired. Every time you laid down to try to get some sleep, your eyelids would slowly open back up. You tried multiple methods; white noise, thinking about nothing, thinking about a story, taking a sleep remedy—nothing.
You had a weird tightness in your stomach that you couldn’t shake. It’s no big deal, you’ve had several nights like this. Nights where you stay up, half expecting something to happen. You aren’t sure if its the military-esque anxiety flaring up, expecting an attack of some sort or if it’s just one of those nights.
You’re laying in bed, trying to think of what you have to do tomorrow. Might as well try to think of something useful, right? Let’s see, you have to do morning training and then you have to eat, brief with price, it’s your turn to help the armourer—the weapons master, you like to say to piss them off—and you also have to do paperwork.
A very tame evening, you think, avoiding the Q word everyone oh so desperately hates; including yourself. Because the second you say it, you’re going to be called by Laswell, or General Shepherd, or some other CIA federal agent bureaucrat about some fucking thing that’s happening in the god forsaken world that only, and only task force 141 can handle—
—Someone knocks on your door, breaking your disorganized thoughts. Your eyebrows furrow; no one should be up, maybe Price is, or Ghost. Did you forget some paperwork? You sit up, slip your slides on your feet, and you walk to the door. You unlock the door and open it, wincing from the bright light of the hallway pouring in, and you’re met with the large figure of Ghost.
You blink, unsurprised. “Hey.” You utter. “Did I wake you?” God, Ghost sounds rough. It sounds like he garbled glass—er, maybe that isn’t the nicest way to describe one of your superiors voices right now. It’s clear he just woke up. You shake your head in response, stepping aside. “Here, come in. It’s bright.”
Ghost silently obeys, stepping inside of your room. You close the door and head over to your desk. You feel around in the darkness until you feel your lamp and you click a button, turning it on, illuminating the room just enough for you to see Ghost. He’s wearing a pair of dark grey sweatpants with one of his black, long-sleeve compression tops to go with it.
He’s wearing a basic black balaclava without the iconic skull, but.. His eyes are different. Distant and weary, cautious—panicked almost. Your eyebrows furrow together as his broad shoulders are tense, fists clenched.
“Ghost..” You call softly. He seems far away—he needs your help. “Ghost.” You say more insistently and louder, noticing the way his chest is barely moving. “Ghost, hey, can y’hear me? You need to take a breath..” You murmur, slowly approaching him.
He’s frozen but you see how his eyes flicker towards you, taking a moment realize where he is. You offer a soft smile you always show him and you nod. “There you are, big guy. Can I touch you?” You make sure to ask because you never know; a soldier during a flashback, touching them? That can be fatal—you trust Ghost as you don’t think he would ever hurt you, but you never know a person.
It takes him a moment to nod, which makes you promptly and gently grab his wrists. You gently guide him to your bed, and you sit him down. You’re nervous—you’re about to calm him down in one of the only ways you know how to, but you’re worried about the consequences you’ll receive afterwards. Oh well, you don’t care, not when Ghost’s eyes are as unfocused as they are.
The bed dips under his weight and you gently spread his legs, standing between them. You grab his arms; they’re deadweight, but his eyes flicker some recognition, allowing you to guide his arms around your waist. You guide his head to lay against your stomach, your hands cradling his masked jaw and the back of his neck.
Ghost takes in a harsh, shuddery breath which makes you hum in approval. “There you go, Ghost. Breathe, you’re alright.” You say in a mellow manner, your thumb brushing over his masked cheek. Ghost takes in another harsh breath as his arms tighten around you. You continue to try to ground him, talking and praising him for his efforts to stay calm. You know he isn’t in the right mind, but you’re still shocked he’s allowed you to touch him for as long as you have.
Something in your gut unravels as Ghost pulls his head away ever so slightly, ripping his mask off and throws it away like it was constricting his breathing. He buries the side of his face back into your stomach, taking you by surprise. Your met with his blonde hair in the low light, your heart stuttering.
You hesitate only for a moment before you bury a hand in his hair on the back of his head, your other hand returning to his jaw, your heart hammering as you note he has stubble as well as something on his skin, like deep scar tissue.
Ghost lets out a noise which you quickly hum in response. “It’s okay, let it out.. Won’t tell anyone about this, okay?” You assure him, causing another noise to escape him, almost like a laugh. “Kinda hard t’do that when a pretty girl is comfortin’ you.” He croaks, his voice broken—both his voice and sentence making your brain short circuit. You laugh in return, trying to ignore the butterflies in your stomach. “Shush,” You murmur. “Just relax.”
Ghost nods against your stomach, shakily exhaling. You stay like that for a while; neither of you are sure for how long, and neither of you care. You’re enjoying the rare vulnerability Ghost is displaying, and he’s enjoying the grounding touch you’re currently providing him. The silence is comforting as you comb your fingers through his hair, and you enjoy the weight of his head and his arms.
“I had a nightmare…” Ghost utters. You hold your breath as he looks up at you, and oh god, he’s hot. “..Can I stay with you tonight?” You’re mesmerized by the way his nose is curved—clearly has been broken a couple of times and wasn’t reset right—by the way his eyebrows are furrowed, his big, beautiful brown eyes.. You nearly forget to respond. “Yes,” You push out, resisting the urge to reach up and rub the tension between his brows. “Always.”
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anantaru · 6 months
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DAY 30 — hate sex
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kinktober 2023. — masterlist | ao3
𖧡 — including — wriothesley, ayato, scaramouche, alhaitham
𖧡 — warnings — fem! reader, hate fucking, mild choking, they're assholes, exhibitionism, fingering, lots of teasing & they're meanies
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𖧡 — WRIOTHESLEY
"i don't, fuck— even know if i told you this," you whine out through a clenched jaw, your trembling frame luxuriating in the feeling of wriothesley's thick cock rubbing against your spongy spots as the spreading warmth of his body fuses inside of your own.
nevertheless, you continue your taunting— truthfully, there was nothing better other than uttering out words that you knew, would drive him absolutely crazy, "but i really fucking hate you."
amusement swiftly settles on the duke's face when he notices something happening in front of his eyes, in spite of himself, he can see it plain as day.
that your sweet, angel face, combined with those lewd sounds and your pain in the ass, as well as bratty attitude, would ultimately make him lose his mind beyond salivation— right now, his face reminded of someone who was on the brink of leaning into this, the thought of stepping your relationship up and breaking free of this, occasional hook up scene between two people clearly harboring distaste for each other.
yet, instead of melting into those hidden emotions, wriothesley then, leaves one hand to fall against the headboard before jerking his hips back into you, this time much harder and in attempt to conceal the fact that you've evidently turned him on with your attitude, fuck, he'd never get tired of hearing you.
"oh, don't worry sweetheart," wriothesley grins, your body trembling when you hear him, and as always, he senses how you shiver under his large weight, your chest rising and falling when he wraps one hand around your throat, lightly, while the other remained on the headboard to steady himself and to not suddenly suffocate you with his figure.
"the feeling is very mutual," he winks, the only thing that seemed appropriate to you personally in this situation, was to punch him, especially due to that stupid, handsome, dumb smirk on his face. (you didn't punch him)
"oh fuck you," you spat angrily before feeling how he softly draws his fingers into your throat, mesmerized when you swallow the assembled saliva down and make him sense your pulse underneath his palm, ugh, it's so hot— and you're impossibly sensitive, constantly fluttering your hole around his girth, always so cutely reactive and moaning when his cock twitches through your walls.
your mess of a body was shaking, quivering and jerking up when he teases you once more, proudly showcasing his strength on your throat while never stopping the aching drags of his erection that was making your face twist in pleasure.
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𖧡 — AYATO
ayato thinks you owe him, in fact, he believes you owe him a lot more than you're currently giving him— aside from that, the most unfortunate fact was that he secretly liked having you close to him, pretending that it's a way of paying him back for whatever reason, more so share your sweet company and yes, of course, it's a bit of a predicament taking into consideration that he literally cannot stand your guts and neither can you force yourself to like his.
it's a bit embarrassing and you're barely being able to grasp on how much you you were capable to hate another person, yet the second you hear his voice, it's a horrible sound, one that you eagerly wanted to choke right out of him.
well, if only ayato wouldn't be so adapt with your body— remembering every part of you, didn't matter to him if it's been a week or a month, he remembers and targets the spots he knew had to be taken care of.
because the yashiro commissioner knows how to fuck you, please you and make you sob out uncontrollably— you have clearly had the opportunity to experience it yourself and even now, while pressed down against his work desk, with both legs tightly shut around his waist, you almost forget about all the deep-rooted hatred that was growing inside of your heart.
every dip and curve, his hand would find when he drags his cock through your walls with each whimper of his name littering across his ear shells, his sensitive tip repeatedly pushing in and out of your soaked walls that the constant pressure of penetration was making your head spin, your shaking frame twitching under him as he curves ever so wonderfully into your warm cunt.
it's too good, too delicious to pass up on when you forget all circumstances and focus on the hate induced thrusts of his pelvis rutting against yours— both minds being drunk of lust and that sensual taste of sex and euphoria lingering across the room, your pussy convulsing as his lips melt against your own, shushing all your worries.
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𖧡 — SCARAMOUCHE
"look at that," scaramouche grinned down on you, excited from head to toe, his ego downright overflowing when his tip pushes and presses into your warm, pulsing spots as he stares down on where your bodies connected.
his cock was slipping in an embarrassingly easy pace that it's quite shameful now that you think back on it, well, almost— at least scaramouche knew what places to target in order to make your spine curve and quiver when he leans his weight over your body to split your cunt a little better as he bucks backward, driving the intruding force of his length deeper with one hand steady on your shoulder.
you wrap your hands around his neck and pull him into a warm, passionate kiss before he sloppily groans into your mouth, his tongue lapping across your own when repeated thrusts power through the tight ring of your hole, his pelvis continuously kicking against you and forcing your spine to bend into his chest, "hah, i can barely move," he smirks, "you're too tight— embarrassing," he drawls, your walls fluttering as he leans his sweaty forehead over your own.
"seems like you missed me," scaramouche urges, hovering on top of you with a toothy smile, despite that leaning in for more, his fastened breathing close to your flustered cheeks as he grinds his cock deeper, finer and better— a small, little shade of pink manifesting across his face, everything about it was so sensual, so exposed.
without a doubt, whenever you would cross paths it would always end in the same story playing on repeat, almost like a broken record— and despite the fact that you weren't fond of him, or, scrap that, despite the fact that you hated him, a lot, you did like it, like him, kind of— most definitely when he fucks you like he hates you, because he does, but kisses you like you're in possession of the most delicious and softest lips.
or, digging a little deeper, when he, sometimes, wraps his arm around your waist when he accidentally falls asleep right beside you, hiding his fatigued face against your neck, leaning into your touch as he intertwines one hand with yours to stroke his thumb over your knuckles.
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𖧡 — ALHAITHAM
it's a hard punch in your gut when alhaitham first stated that he didn't like you, nope, wasn't a fan of yours at all— and the way he phrased it infuriated you the most, it was so arrogant, detached and almost like he wanted you to know and feel bad.
it's not like you were forcing him to like you or anything, but the fact that he thought it was appropriate to tell you out of the blue while disregarding any negative emotions such confession could cause— to say it made you loathe him, detest his being with every vein in your body, was an understatement, truly.
but now, suddenly it's anomalous, like the first bite out of a warm home-made pastry you have never tried before.
then, a sudden wave of pleasure hits you, strong enough that you whimper when he first places both hands on your figure, when you find yourself pressed against a cold wall, a new sensation that was laced in thrill and excitement lusting up from deep inside, aflame and alive through your flesh like liquid fire in your veins.
your bodies were moving while concealed beneath the darkness with the scribe's hand long since stored under your panties and rubbing slow, precise circles on your clit— and the thought of doing something so sinful in the midst of the night, not to mention outside, was almost enough to turn you on entirely, drench his palm with your slick when the boiling heat inside of you changes its shape, manifesting into something exceptional.
"that— that doesn't change anything!" you argue, scowling as you lean your head against his chest, "you're still a snob."
"huh, what?" alhaitham huffs in between a relatively normal breathing, as if he didn't just fuck two fingers into your hole and was the single reason for your legs turning to jelly, wantonly destroying your stability, "i think you don't know what that word means," he mutters before rolling his eyes at you.
archons, you're so annoying, alhaitham could honestly tell you those exact words over and over again until he'd get a headache— and it fucks him up, you do, you never fail to irritate him but also make him intrigued. ugh, it fucks him up so dearly and you destroy his rational thoughts, he wanted to do nothing more other than distance himself from you if only you wouldn't be so damn addicting, and soft, or reactive when he prods one finger against your hole.
awakening at the touch, your desire for him flares anew as you buck your hips forward, driving his finger deeper, his digit spilling right into you when you greet him with a broken cry, your hips rolling and needful for more— alhaitham's eyes never averting their gaze from you, your hips searching and clinging on his body, a slight tremble reaching your spine when you hold your gaze on him, all now feeling in different way.
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©2023 anantaru's kinktober do not repost, copy, translate, modify
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