#there's a lot of talk about sex work beneath the cut

[eloves-writes]

careful who you’re talking to

[coriolanus snow x reader]

desc: snow hears a conversation with the academy boys about the girl he is secretly seeing and wants them to know who you belong to warnings: snow being snow like fr (toxic, controlling, insane, blah blah blah), smut, exhibitionism, public sex, unwarranted sexual comments about reader behind her back, she/her pronouns used, reader is wearing a dress, if i need to add any other warnings please lmk a/n: hiiiii! i'm back again. this is slightly unhinged and i didn't mean for it to be this unhinged but anyway hope u enjoy, send any and all coriolanus requests my way! mwah mwah mwah ily this work contains mature themes, minors dni

it was a cold night in the capitol, and you were steadily sipping a glass of posca to keep warm in your blood-red dress. the silky material was slit up your leg and cut down to reveal just the right amount of cleavage; you might feel a chill but you looked damn good and everybody knew it.

especially coriolanus snow. the two of you had been spending a lot of time together recently- behind bookshelves in the library, in dark corners of the academy halls, bend over desks in empty classrooms. it had begun as purely physical. stress relief. but after a month or so, you had each caught feelings for the other and were struggling with whether or not to admit it. and in that moment, he was also struggling tremendously to take his eyes off of you.

you stood talking across the room with arachne and livia, unable to concentrate on whatever meaningless gossip they were discussing with the feeling of coriolanus’ ice blue eyes on you; there was an electric thrill passing between you like you were connected with a live wire. to say your relationship so far had been hot and heavy would be an extremely severe understatement, and you found your mind constantly occupied with the thought of him touching you and the need to have him touch you again.

-

“i think y/n is checking me out,” festus creed smirked to the group of boys around him.

coriolanus almost snorted in amusement. you were obviously looking at him, and only him.

“something funny, snow?” gaius asked sharply. “jealous, perhaps?”

snow reserved his irritation. “not at all, breen.”

“whoever she is looking at,” felix stated earnestly, “i’m certainly jealous of them. i mean, just look at her. she looks fucking hot.”

festus nodded in agreement. “i’d love to rip that dress off of her. she acts so innocent, but you just know she likes it rough.”

coriolanus felt his blood boil. you were his. how dare they talk about you like you were a common whore? perhaps you did like it rough. he would know, he was the one fucking you. not these basic capitol losers. none of them could make you scream the way he did. none of them had scratches down their backs beneath their shirts from your nails. only he did. only he ever would, and he would make sure it stayed that way.

the other boys laughed, agreeing with festus. adding on their own ideas. detailing the ways they’d make you fuck them. describing the times you had supposedly sent them signals. assuming that you did not already belong to snow, that you would even think about going near them. that you would get on your knees for them like you always did for coriolanus.

he couldn’t listen to them any longer. “she’s seeing somebody,” he jeered, fixing the cuffs of his jacket and making definitive, unquestionable eye contact with you and subtly tilting his head towards the exit.

festus laughed incredulously. “is she now? i think we’d have heard.”

oh you’ll hear it alright.

“yes,” coriolanus replied with a chilling calm, watching you make your way to the door. “if you’ll excuse me.”

-

on the steps outside the ridiculously grand building, you waited patiently for snow to follow you out. it was only a few minutes before you heard the door open again, turning to face corio and immediately sensing anger. you worried, sometimes, about his anger. you knew he wouldn’t seriously harm you, but the same could most certainly not be said for any others who dared cross his path. the future president of panem could only afford so much blood on his hands.

“what’s wrong, coriolanus?” you asked gently.

he inhaled deeply and stared into your eyes in a way that strongly suggested you would be unable to walk the next morning. you waited for him to answer.

“you shouldn’t have worn that dress," he warned.

“what?”

“you heard me.”

either the cold or a fucked up part of you sent shivers down your spine, hairs standing up on your neck. your underwear dampened at his fury.

“i thought you would like it, corio,” you flirted, stepping closer to him. he placed a large, firm hand on your waist.

“i do like it, y/n,” he said before speaking in a low voice. “i would like it better if you took it off.”

you smiled and leaned up to kiss him, but he turned his head. you pulled a face in protest.

“behave,” he spat. “so desperate. do you not want to know why you shouldn’t have worn this?”

“yes, corio,” you replied, doing your best impression of somebody who wasn’t about to throw yourself on top of him. he liked when you were patient.

“because every man in that room wants to see it on their bedroom floor," he attested lowly.

“and you’re jealous,” you smirked.

coriolanus suddenly grabbed a fistful of your hair and roughly pulled your head backwards so that your face was tilted towards his. “and nobody else should be looking at you like that.”

a jolt of excitement ran through you. “corio-”

he gave your hair another tug. “say you’re mine.”

“am i yours?”

he realised instantly the meaning of your question. he didn’t have to think about his reply; he had thought about it every waking moment since the day you met. “you’re mine. say it.”

“i’m yours.”

“good girl,” snow spoke deeply before kissing you like he’d never kissed you before. without breaking apart from your lips, coriolanus guided you around to the side of the building. he counted the windows you passed until finally stopping by one that was cracked open and pushing you against the cold wall. as he removed his jacket and unfastened his belt, he looked inside the hall and you assumed he was checking no one was looking. he wasn’t. he was making sure that festus creed and the other boys were still stood in the same spot; directly in front of this particular window, and far enough from the rest of the partygoers that only the boys would hear you.

you gathered the skirt of your dress at your waist and wrapped your legs around corio’s sturdy form as he reached to move your underwear to the side. he circled your clit until you were practically whimpering, then slid two fingers inside of you.

“corio, feels so good,” you moaned softly.

he kept his same pace with his fingers, fucking you into a state of bliss where he knew you would be uninhibited and so drunk with his stimulation that people would think you’d finished every glass of posca in this stupid party. coriolanus was too good at what he was doing, you were on the edge of release within minutes and still desperately trying to quiet yourself in the name of dignity.

“corio, please, corio, i’m so close,” you whimpered into his neck.

he pulled away his hand, making you whine in displeasure. he liked to do that. liked to know he was in complete control of you, you would only cum when he willed it.

corio looked through the window again, but the boys had yet to hear anything out of the ordinary. they were still laughing amongst themselves. he unzipped his pants and pulled out his cock, using the slick on from your pussy to stroke himself before he pushed inside of you.

you tried again to stay quiet, but coriolanus began to coax you. “look at you, taking me so well. you wouldn’t let anybody else fuck you like this, would you? who makes you feel this good, huh?”

you couldn’t hold back anymore, his beautiful face spewing such foul things whilst fucking you raw and digging his fingertips into your flushed skin. “you do, corio. fuck,” you moaned, loudly enough that festus turned to look outside.

coriolanus smirked as they made eye contact. the initial confusion about the sounds coming from outside, the look of shock as he realised his classmate was balls deep in a girl he had pushed against the exterior of a building in the damn capitol, his face finally dropping as he realised who corio was fucking by the colour of your messed up hair and the visible strap of your dress, his eyes widening as he heard the things snow was saying to you.

your moans were getting louder too as you got even closer to your orgasm, whimpering corio’s name and repeating “i’m yours,” like a mantra.

snow took his gaze from the boys to you, feeling satisfied that he’d proved his point and starting to performatively enjoy himself, knowing yours weren't the only eyes on him. his pace quickened, driving you over the edge and making you clench around him as you came. he moaned aloud himself as continued to fuck you through your high and the overstimulation that came after until he finished inside of you.

you were completely fucked out, relishing the feeling of snow’s cum beginning to drip down your thighs after he swiftly removed your underwear to fold into his back pocket. he picked his discarded jacket up from the floor and placed it over your shoulders, kissing your head and leading you to the front of the building and helping you into a car which would take you both home. before you walked away from the window though, coriolanus smoothly pulled your lace panties from his pocket and waved them nonchalantly in the night air, catching the attention of the rest of the group. you would never have to know why he fucked you, only that the boys would stop bothering you now they knew who you belonged to.

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[capslocked]

HONNE, TATAMAE & THE OTHER ONE

male reader x shin yuna

9k words

Yuna shuffles into your office with the same sneaky smile, the same easy slouch, and she settles into one of the chairs across the table. There is, apparently, more to talk about.

It's a matter of image, of perception, is what she knows. 

You know every good lie starts with the truth.

So you swallow. You pause. Some other part of you understands Yuna can't ignore who she really is, and you’re not sure you can either.

-

Look - Shin Yuna is the kind of woman that turns heads, even with the best of intentions. A long, lithe silhouette; an easy, rosy sort of youthfulness clinging to the swell of her cheekbones, the curve of her waist. Take a dress that's cut to show a little thigh, or a hairstyle pushed back on one side - earrings, or heels, or just the subtle swipe of red over her lip - it doesn't take much for men (or anyone else) to figure that out. A girl who, more times than not, really ought to have a boy's hand planted on her ass, in possession.

So the opportunity to capture such a form perfected - all toned and graceful and flush for curves, her legs never seeming to end, the slithering fit of the dresses - these were the things they wanted. Package it, put a logo on it - better yet, a ribbon or a bow - and ship it straight to the consumer.

Somebody everyone wants, somebody no one can ever have.

“So,” Yuna asks from the other side of your desk, lips slanting halfway coy. “Are you going to treat me like an adult?"

Her fingers play idly with the hem of her skirt, and she lets a long, slender leg slowly slide out from beneath her.

“In what way,” you answer, half paying attention.

"The photos." She doesn't have the slightest qualms about lifting it higher. The soft creak of leather, and a deepening smile. "Am I not allowed to be a little racy?"

"That's certainly... one way of looking at it."

You glance away from where her stockings wrap around the soft curve of her thighs to flip back through the photos in your lap, one after the other, each a little different from the last. The beach, the sun, a flimsy white slip of a bikini top that hides exactly nothing, her muscles wet and glistening and perfect. Beyond suggestive, it's considerably inappropriate.

But then to a lot of people, Yuna is a lot of things. 

She’s more clever than anyone gives her credit for. And she’s fucking gorgeous, sure. That’s definitely not up for debate, but god is she young - she's barely twenty. And here’s some rather uninteresting food for thought: you couldn't even technically take her for a drink without faking an ID or breaking some law or another, like a real one. So go ahead, chew that down. Girls her age are typically studying, or working a retail job and getting wasted on the weekends. And they aren't typically making six, seven figures turning their head to the camera and asking how much more skin?

You have some thoughts.

Prudently, you’re her publicist, and it’s your job to make sure that the public gets a good look at her and sees exactly what you want them to see. It's unfair. She wields sex like a weapon. She's got the face, the body; it's an easy sell, commodified and commercialized down to the finest detail, the softest curve, the slightest arch of her brow. The idea's to not let anyone look too long, should they catch something you haven't approved yet, or the fact that she's quite possibly a real person with a real life and real feelings, which could easily fuck up her brand, so unfortunately, that's a bit of a no-go.

Sign of the times maybe, no ethical consumption under another something, yadda yadda - it's a shitty business, really, and the whole thing usually leaves a sour taste in your mouth.

(And just to be upfront, as an important disclosure: you are fucking her brains out on the side, which is a different kind of ethical dilemma, with a different kind of flavor to it. 

You’re supposed to be something of a role model - and she’s gone and fucked up bad by falling for you. From her perspective, it probably makes sense. Girl gets boy, bespoke song, credits roll and it's fine. No sin to atone, no 'after'. 

It was supposed to be a one time thing. It’s metastasizing into something you’re not even going to attempt to put into words. It’s a lawsuit waiting to happen, you know that. And you know the girl has daddy issues, but then you've never had a problem whatsoever playing into it. The possessiveness, the control - she gets off on it. You're pretty sure that she'd do just about anything if you asked her, and you'll admit that the thought alone makes your stomach stir, your mouth run dry.)

Yuna taps her knuckles on the wood of your desk. “What’s the verdict?” 

"Well, professionally," you say, caveat in hand, and you give the photos one last flip through. "I'd say they're fine.”

"Oh?" Yuna cocks her head to the side. Her long, blonde hair curtains over her shoulder, and the smile that shadows in at the corner of her mouth is almost wicked. She leans forward, chin propped on a palm, and you see that her expression is bright, glittering with interest. "And unprofessionally?"

Sure. It's a fair question.

Though she's wearing her stage face, the one that looks all big eyes and doe lashes, a hint of a pout on her plush bottom lip, and she's staring at you expectantly, the way she might look at a man she's just asked for the time.

You've seen her look a million other ways. You've seen her with her knees spread, her cheeks flushed, on all fours, straddling your lap, face pressed into the sliding glass door of your shower, her eyes screwed shut as she chokes out your name. And god, doesn’t she look good in all of them.

Your fingers tap against the photos.

“Unprofessionally," you tell her, and the smile on your face is tight - unknowable. "I think they’re a little… gaudy."

Yuna frowns, and it's just a flash before her expression is carefully blank again, the stage face back in full swing. She's been doing this since she was a teenager, so the mask is impeccable, but you know her, and you know that she's thinking: about the photo shoot, the way the photographer was looking at her, and the way you had looked at her later, too.

She knows what you've seen. She's wondering if that's why.

"Really," she asks, a note of disappointment in her voice.

"Really," you confirm with a small sigh, though you're still smiling. It's a small, private sort of smile, like you're remembering a joke. You don't miss the way she glances down at your mouth either. "Let me be clear, you have a shot at real success. I mean, you have a chance at a career. A real, sustainable career.”

She's sitting there with her legs crossed, her foot tapping restlessly, and when she's silent for a moment too long, the way her eyes narrow just a smidge, her head tipped slightly, you realize how it sounds. Patronizing.

"Look," you amend. You're not the best at apologies, but you try. "I just mean - I think that you could be doing something that you actually enjoy."

"Who says I don't enjoy this," she says, and there's a bite in her tone, a challenge. She's leaning back in her seat now, arms crossed.

"What, taking your clothes off for the camera?" You laugh, a quick bark. Isn’t that a cruel question, and you can see it in the way her eyes flash. "You could do a lot more than that, I'm just saying."

"Right," she says, and she doesn't blink, doesn't even move. Her gaze is fixed, unwavering. "Because I'm not pretty enough."

You open your mouth. Close it.

It's not a question. It's a statement.

"That's not what I'm saying-"

"Do you know what makes me different from the IT-girl-of-the-month? The Jang Wonyoungs, the Bae Irenes, the Kim Jisoos of the world?" Yuna cuts in.

"Yuna, this isn't-"

"You should know. " She laughs. "It's your job, knowing things, isn't it?"

The silence stretches thin between you. She's not wrong. There’s the quintessential beauty, the timeless classic, the fantasy-wrapped-up-as-a-daydream - oh, it's all sexual, but the product there is palatable (read: marketable). An idea the general public wants to take home to their mother, not take to bed. A beauty so docile and innocent, you feel guilty harboring those untoward thoughts it makes you have.

Yuna is somewhere possibly, someway probably the opposite. You’ve sold her as such, as fantasy in sheep's clothing. She's neither afraid to put the images to words, nor speak her desires aloud. It's her own brand of sensuality, and it's what the public wants - has always truly wanted, since the dawn of man and of popstars fucking their publicists - what the public wants but turns itself in knots just to pretend they don't. The only way it’ll end up in anyones’ parents' home is under the guise that it will be smuggled upstairs and held down into the springs of a mattress. Hand over her mouth, or maybe around her throat, just so she'll shut up.

She's not a nice girl, or the girl-next-door, a bride-in-a-box, but you'd known that before. The line between fact and fiction is fine indeed.

"You're different," you tell her, finally.

"When I first came in here, you had no qualms, no issue to raise, and now all of a sudden, everything is too much," she says, and she's not smiling, her tone flat. "If it was a problem from the jump, you would've said so."

“I just think a little subtlety would be a nice change of pace. It could go a long way, I mean, I could show you the data- "

"So you're going soft on me, is that it?"

You blink, and the realization hits.

"Just where was this noble version of you when we first started out? You had no problem then, remember? Put a sixteen-year-old in front of a camera, in this industry, and all of a sudden-"

"Don't."

“And suddenly it's all 'oh no, that's a little too much, we need to dial it back'." She sighs, a single sharp burst. "Why is that? Is it because you think that now you own me? I fuck you, swallow your cum and call you daddy, and now these are your decisions? Is that it?"

She’s standing now, her chair shoved back so fast it nearly clatters to the floor. There's a storm on her face, almost a rage. This now become a familiar story. The one where the girl's too pretty for her own good. Too much, too soon.

"I'm not a child," she tells you, her tone measured, a sharp contrast to the fire in her eyes. "I know what I want. I know how to get it. You're not telling me anything I don't already know. I'm different. You're right."

She's different, but the girl's clever, too. And she's stubborn. It's a dangerous combination.

You breathe slow. "Then why don’t you act like it."

“If they’re going to call me a slut,” she hisses, and she's walking forward. Her palms land on your desk, hard, and you glance down at her clenched fists, at her neatly kept nails, "you know, after we leak them all those steamy photos online-"

Your mind clicks. You reach to slam the cover of the photo book shut. She's caught your hand, though, in hers, holding it firmly to the desk.

Yuna glances at the photos over again, at the tight fit of the swimwear, or how the ties slip in an invisible breeze. And she's biting her lip, trying not to smile, you can tell. "You know it might be worth it for once," she says, slipping a finger between the buttons of her shirt.

There's a long, tense moment, and before you can register it, Yuna has rounded your desk; she’s closing the distance, fast. 

And she’s lowering her eyes. Putting her lips on yours.

It knocks the wind from your sail, for just the instant. You're speechless.

Because her fingers. Her mouth. Her hair. Yuna's everywhere, and she's warm. It's utterly selfish, you understand: you want her to be yours. You want her to be yours and no one else's.

She’s realizing she might be.

You feel her grabbing for more of you. Wanting. She tilts her head, her breath hot, and you kiss her back, her mouth slick against your own, and the kiss is a fast, deliberate kind of messy. Your teeth catch her bottom lip, and her tongue slips past yours, licking into your mouth, her hands clutching at the collar of your shirt. It's not like it is when you're fucking, which is slow and hot, and she's on her back, legs around your waist, her nails biting into your skin, or when she's bent over the arm of the sofa, her ass in the air and her back arched, her breathless moans a chorus of yes, yes, please. This kiss is more battle, more heat, less gentle and less finesse. It's the kind of kiss that's just short of an argument.

"You're an asshole," she breathes into your mouth, and it's not a compliment.

You smile against her.

"So are you," you murmur, and her lips are parted, her eyelids fluttering shut, her breath coming quick and hot.

"Then maybe you should just fuck me," she says. She's not asking. “Yeah.” You press your words right into her neck, her collarbone. “Maybe I should.”

Your hands are on her hips faster than you can realize what it is they’re doing, palms pressing into her, and then you're walking her backwards, shuffling a few steps until the small of her back collides with the edge of your desk, and you're lifting her up onto the surface, the photographs falling to the floor, scattering.

"I thought we weren't supposed to do this here," she murmurs, pulling away for just a moment, her mouth swollen and wet, her eyes dark. She knows exactly what it does to you: the goading, the taunting - the looks of faux-innocence later over a bare shoulder, her ass in the air. How it can get you to fuck her within an inch of her life. What it’ll get her, the return on investment.

"And I thought we agreed to longer skirts."

Her thighs are smooth, silky, and they part, the lace of her underwear stark against her skin. You slide a hand beneath the elastic band, sinking down, and down, until she inhales sharply.

"The fuck do you end up doing going up the stairs?" you add, and your fingers are tracing the swell of her hip, and you can feel the goosebumps on her skin.

She bites her lip. You sink down to press a kiss to her thigh, and then the other.

"Nothing," she tells you, and her eyes are wide. "I guess it all just hangs out."

She simply smirks right back into you, throws her arms over your shoulders. You’re snared, caught - she’ll always be able to fuck what she wants right out of you.

"Jesus, Yuna." Your hand curls around her wrist, thumb pressed to her pulse, and her shoulders roll back.

You push her down, and she's sprawled across the desk, legs stretching wide, her head tilted back and her chest heaving. “God, you’re so fucking wet, and I've barely touched you. That turns you on? Being a brat?"

She sucks air past her teeth, and you can measure each rise and fall of her chest. The lace under her hips is soaked, her pussy swollen and pink. Like if she doesn’t get your hot, open mouth on her clit this instant, you’re both going to have a problem.

You slip two fingers into her instead, and Yuna keens.

"I know it does," you say, and your voice comes out lower, drier than you expect. She's hot, so wet around you, her pussy fluttering. "It fucking turns me on, too."

"Please," and “god,” is what all you receive back in half whispers, while her legs are spread, her heels now really dug into the square of your back, and she's got a fistful of your hair like she owns it. Her voice is high, her eyes squeezed shut. “Don’t be such a fucking tease."

You're not going to make it easy. She's not going to make this quick.

"What, and you aren’t?"

You curl your fingers inside her, and the noise that leaves her is positively obscene. She's grinding against your palm, her hips bucking, and her lips are parted, her eyelashes dark and thick, fanning her cheeks. She's panting, her thighs trembling.

"No," she breathes. If she’s shaking her head, you can’t tell. "I'm exactly what you tell them I am."

Your hand stills, and it takes a moment for her to realize that the pressure inside her is gone. Her eyes snap open, her mouth twisted.

"Fuck you," she spits. "Put them back."

You're already sinking down to your knees, and you've got her skirt shoved up, the lace panties pulled aside, her hips canted, her pussy glistening. The stockings can stay, fuck, the heels, too. She's so fucking hot, her legs spread apart and her lips red. Her palm shoved into her brow, and her breath just barely more than a ragged huff of air. You can feel her body wound tight and ready, her eyes on the ceiling.

You put your tongue against her, flat and slow. Inaccurate, indiscriminate, licking up her wet cunt. And her whole body arches off the desk, a cry leaving her mouth with her head thrown back. Her thighs are shaking, and her heel presses into your shoulder, and god, she tastes incredible.

"Please." It comes like music, really, a song of desperation. You can hear it. She's singing it for you now. "Oh god, please, fuck-"

So you do her one better. You put your whole mouth over her, and she fucking shivers. You don’t even try to ease into it - you're devouring, ravishing her, working your lips and tongue all over her pussy, lapping the length of her in broad, hot strokes, and she's almost shrieking, her body going taut. You suck on her lips, pressing your tongue into her clit, and when you pull off her, your hand takes over the place where your tongue can't quite reach, her wetness slick around your fingers. Yuna's close - you can see that she is, you can hear that she is, and it's her gasp that lets you know.

"I'm -" she says, her voice reaching higher, her nails digging into the flesh of your shoulders, the wood of your desk. The sound she makes is wretched and beautiful. "God, I'm cumming, I'm cumming - fuck!"

The licking, the lapping, the fucking fingering. You can feel her slicked cunt pulse and throb in a satisfied, anticipatory kind of way. Even if she wasn’t audibly wet around your knuckles, you’d read Yuna like a map.

Your thumb taps across her clit, once - twice, thrice, and it’s just that.

She arches off your desk, thighs trembling as your tongue works her over, This hard, hungry kiss, and she tastes as sweet as she looks - as filthy as she acts, too. Her pussy is slick, her hips rolling, her body trembling, and she's making soft, little ah, ah, ah, sounds into the wet seal of your mouth. She's trying to keep it quiet, because she knows as well as you, everyone in the damn office does, probably - it's one thing to play at being a slut. A complete other to really fuck like one.

Your finger slips in and out of her pussy, and then another. They fill her up. The knuckles bending and pushing deeper. Yuna's fucking ruined - your desk is ruined.

But then there you are, complicit, and perhaps a little evil: licking and licking and licking right into her, making her grip twist in your hair and her thighs clench around your face. You can feel it in how her breathing is coming fast, faster, her whole body growing taut, and it was never going to take long, you figure, the way her hips were rolling the moment you got your hands on her. You can tell. She's close, and she's so pretty, all flushed and writhing, her skirt hiked up, her ass perched on the edge of your desk, and when her mouth falls open and her breath catches in her throat, you pull yourself up to watch her, the heel of your hand pressed against her clit, and she's shaking.

"Look at me,” you tell her, a kiss trailing unsatisfyingly into the crease of her thigh, your voice running coarse.

She does, her gaze glassy, and the sound that leaves her mouth is a sob. That’s all it really takes.

“Show me. What face you make when you cum on my fingers sweetheart, show me what a slut you actually are-"

You can watch it all in real time, the panting, the heaving. The sculpted lines of her pretty face screw up, real tight, and she lets out another moan, breathier this time, her mouth hanging open. She does it again when you press down. And Yuna fucking shakes, her hands balled, white-knuckling, and the desk rattling beneath her.

It's all a matter of slight degradation, you’ve learned, the barest humiliation. Like the paradoxical freedom she knows she can find in a hand clenched tight around her throat or her hair pulled and twisted into a fist or the sharp sting of a smack across her ass. Her pretty face. She likes a little something that burns. Something sinewy, visceral, raw: you call her a whore, a filthy fucking cumslut and it makes her body curl like she has hot metal pressing into her skin. Makes her breathless, like she wants you to own her.

Sometimes it's better than being fucked.

(Sometimes.)

Because just look at her: she’s in the middle of coming apart, mouth fallen slack, brow furrowed - and she gets real quiet when she cums, the absolute opposite of the journey she’d taken to get there, all those loud little, uh-uh-ah, fucking please god, her moans, her whimpers - her orgasm ripping right through the middle of her, the hourglass of her entire body stiffening on borrowed time as it washes across her features.

You let out a loud sigh, something she can moor herself to that isn’t your fingers, the desk, or your hair at the roots. Yuna can be every bit as uncomplicated as she can be complex, but god, you love her most like this: an unrehearsed, beautiful mess.

"Baby," you tell her, because it's easier to just call her that, and because you don't know how else to end the statement, because you know if you ask, she'll let you - hell, she'll beg for more, and that’s got your brain feeling rather mushily incoherent at present.

"Daddy," she responds - because of course she fucking does; she’s gasping, and her cheeks are still so pink, her body sated, and your heart leaps into your throat. 

It's a problem; you've been trying to work it out for a good few months now, and by this, you mean the little moment you have right after you're done, where your eyes meet, and you smile at her. A problem, too, her lips. A problem, because she kisses you, soft, and slow, and easy. A problem, because her heart's probably already yours.

If anyone were to ask, you would have said there's no greater pleasure than knowing a girl that's almost died to take your cock, but maybe that's the point: it's just supposed to feel a bit better if you're a little head over heels, a little stupid about it too.

"I'm going to use this perfect pussy now," you warn her - just simple formality - because you're already rolling her down onto her back, your cock hard and aching against your trousers.

You've got your hands on her stockings, tugging them down to her ankles, the lace of her panties around her thighs, the neat garter of her garter belt wrapped around her hips, her cunt bare beneath it. You unzip, too slow. You tug yourself out.

“I’ll be good,” she says to you, a promise.

“Yeah,” you return to her, “I know.”

And you slip your cock into her cunt, just barely - maybe an inch, maybe more - and you hear a little noise leave her throat, low. Broken. 

“Fuck,” she murmurs, and god, you just can't help it, it's easy; you sink deeper, nice, slow, everything smooth inside her, until another broken sort of gasp spills off her lips. 

And then another: "oh my fucking god."

You snap your hips back in, bottoming out this time in the wet heat of her perfect cunt, and she just fucking collapses. Yuna looks like an absolute dream in this state of half-dress, half-distress: black suede around the ankles, stilettos, with just the perfect heel. There are worse things, you can imagine, and she looks perfect sprawled out against your notes and portfolios, all this hot, aching want. As gorgeous as she is fucked. You tear into her stockings, a little. You’ll tear more. 

You already know you're going to hell. Or at least that’s where you should already be, but you hips crash into hers again, fucking her legs wider apart, spreading her open across your desk for you, getting her slick all over the photos, her career - it’s all so perfectly unfair.

"You have no idea, the things I want to do to you right now," you breathe, your tone hushed, and you're talking again, like you often do. There goes your mouth - but your hips drag back, and then again, her pussy clenching, vice tight and impossibly wet.

It's a long, torturous, lazy sort of a pull, that draws these pretty thin moans from the very center of her.

And the way that feels, your cock buried deep in her cunt: better than good - heaven, if you care enough about labels for it, or the names of things. You haven’t any real way to tell; the gates haven't opened or anything, so all you're working from here is an educated guess. From the fact that Yuna’s eyes have slid closed, her lips parted, and her whole body starting now to tremble gently with it.

"Jesus, this perfect, tight pussy grips me so good, god - such a good girl, always so fucking wet for me," and your mouth is pressed to the arch of her ear, whispering every last thing you know will make her cum again, like a dream.

And she is, she does.

She's twisting up to grip at your hips, her head falling to one side. When you drag your cock through her cunt, slowly, you watch her lips purse and the way the flush moves all the way down the column of her neck, past her collarbone, her shirt half undone and her tits heaving against the white, sheer fabric. You fuck her for a little, and then you roll your hips slow, so slow. 

Until your pace is fucking punishing, deep, and so hard. You can’t help it.

Because it's unbelievable - she's so perfect, so tight around you. Fit snug like a glove, like she was made to take your cock, to whimper and mewl at your mercy. Her lips part further and she keens, her brows twisting in similar disbelief as you pound your length into her. The heat pooled in your belly, the way she looks under your desk: fuck, she's so beautiful like this, properly fucked. 

You'd let her ruin you for life - it's that simple.

"Yuna, you - fuck," you barely say, and you sound more than slightly stunned, so she’s filling in the gaps, elaborating in the spaces you cannot - that she loves it, that you’re so good for her, and so is that, and that, and that - the way it hits, right there, keep fucking her just like that, because right there, right there, right there, right there - the way she props herself up on her elbows to tell you, "you're fucking me so deep, oh my god - yes, oh my god, fuck."

By the time Yuna shudders through another orgasm, a silent ghost of a wail leaving her pretty frozen mouth, her lashes are batting against her cheeks, and she's biting her lip, so hard you're certain she's going to break the skin, her back strung like a bow. It's the look on her face, that soft sort of reverence, and how her lips are swollen and spit-slick, the pretty hollow of her throat. Your thrusts become faster, shorter - your own moan thick in your throat, your jaw hanging slack.

“Here,” you say, and she’s just putty between your fingers, on your cock.

You’re flipping her around, onto a different angle. You know she likes it, the way her tits are pressed against your desk, and it's hot the way her ass tilts right into your hips, arched. Proffering. "Be good for me, and spread yourself open."

She's already so meek when she complies. "Anything, sir. Stretch me out; I want you to make me yours."

God, she's practically purring when she talks like this. She knows exactly what that fucking does to you. Knows that when her eyes draw back, big and watery and full, you're a goner - if your cock wasn't deep in her pussy, fucking her open and raw, the view would nearly be enough. And all of this, the pretense, the pantomime, she knows how to bend the line of your body to her own, because when she turns, and presses her red mouth to the crest of her shoulder, you are hers.

You could probably cum, right now, deep down into the molten hot of her cunt: if your hips keep up their ruthless pace, if her ass was sticking up the slightest bit more - the sound that would come from her.

"Take that perfect cock - and fuck my pussy up," Yuna mewls, her voice saccharine and slurring, a touch whiny. She rolls her hips. Your cock grinds, still, though it stutters now - shallow and quick.

"All this pussy, for daddy's cock," and you're sure that the entire office can hear her now, the moans that escape from her mouth - but you can't even find it in you to care. You're caught, all of her a net you've willingly been ensnared by, and here you figure that's the slightest bit appropriate; you're so fucked, and it's funny, too. Funny enough to laugh about, later. "Nobody fucks this tight little pussy the way you do, sir."

It's a smile she hears in your voice when you say, "is that right? Go on then, let’s hear all the things you'd have me do to your slutty little cunt."

The line's crossed again, in some indecipherable direction. Where, again, exactly, does it matter? There are lines and lines, and none of them quite mark the beginning, the end, the periphery. This time you don't pull back; you dig deep, and it makes Yuna cry out like you’re killing her. Which, in a way - you already have.

So your hips stutter forward again, once more, and you lean into the slant, so fucking deep it's practically impaled. There’s nothing quite like holding this girl’s hips and pounding her from behind. Her pussy alone is fucking incredible. And the sound her ass makes against the flat of your stomach, the crease of your thighs - it's unimaginable, the way Yuna makes these little squeaks of a noise, like half-broken moans, when you fuck deep, deep, deeper into her. The way her arms splay wide and search frantic across your desk. And as you grab her slim, dainty wrist, pin it back and pull her tight - fixing her upright until you have her head lolling back against your chest - you simply fucking pound away.

Fucking all these little curses and sounds of appreciation out of her throat. Your cock forcing out each syllable, "yes," and "fuck," and "god, oh my fucking god - I cannot believe," now on repeat, how her tone grows tighter. How she moans - a lot, like something's being worked loose.

"Uh-uh," and you're holding her steady now, with one broad, strong hand at the back of her neck. "Keep telling me, and maybe I'll let you cum."

Your free hand finds purchase in her hair. Yuna's groan coming out pathetic and wanting, her mouth half open. You wrap her silky golden locks around your fist, her hair thread neatly through your fingers, and then give the slightest of yanks.

Christ, her pussy just fucking soaks onto you. Greedy. Needy.

"Shit," and Yuna gasps when she can, where she's allowed to.

"Oh, is my little girl into getting her hair pulled?" and you can see the signs of affirmation: the muscles inside her flexing, grasping you as you roll in, a small, soft nod, and the way she sighs your name, like a prayer on her lips.

Listen, she can barely speak, the way you're fucking her apart. Yuna's body is wound like a bow, like string and taught wire. Bent into the side of the desk and open for you, her pussy pulsing tight around you with every stroke.

"Sir, I'll do - whatever you need, just - just - let me have your cum, please -" and there, she's begging now, and her voice is tinny, breaking, breathless and airless.

Then it’s her fucking hair. You pull so much on it harder this time, with another measured thrust inside her, your body flush against her ass. Fingerprints searing down onto where her hips flare and taper, impossibly narrow.

You’re probably hurting her. You’re probably ruining her for anyone else - nothing will ever satiate her more than the way she sobs as your fingers twist tighter through her hair. Around her fucking miracle of a waist. It's an obscene sound that echoes down to your cock, as deep, hot and fucking filthy as her cries when she cums for the third, fourth?

"Just," Yuna barely makes, her eyelids heavy, her gaze flitting somewhere behind her. "Just look at you, fucking me so hard, filling up my tight little pussy, making me take everything your cock has to give. God, you love wrecking my perfect little hole, don't you?"

No, or yes, or probably. You’ll figure out the details later.

"God, I love it when you get real messy, when I get you like this-" your words run seamlessly into the searing heat between your bodies, like punctuation, like the end of days -

"Use me." She doesn't just say it. "Take me, and cum in me, wherever you want. Daddy, you can have my mouth, or, or, you can - you can finish inside me."

And god, you could, you really could: just the timbre of her voice does things to you, the way that it curls around the words daddy, and sir, and you're fucking me so goddamn good. She's saying them now, her whimpers breaking into outright moans and all: shit, please, please - you're gonna make me cum - oh - oh fuck! And when she's wound that tight, a quivering, sopping mess of a girl, you put your fingers against her clit, circling and pressing in tempo to the thrust of your cock.

The cruel metronome that makes. Hell, it fucking sends her.

She’s begging you to finish inside her. It's fucked up - and she knows it. She wraps her heels around the square of your back, and the tension rises, and rises, the coiled spring tight and waiting - just a push away, so you slam into her once, then twice more, the push of a hand splayed between her tits and your fingers digging into the muscle of her thigh. She wants you to cum in her pussy, fill her right up; she tells you that, again, that she wants it, and her voice is raspy, high. That she wants you now, as if she didn't before, and how does this compare, because she needs it now.

You hold out for just a little. You’re holding your breath. Just a little, just until Yuna’s eyelashes flutter open over her shoulder and she says your name, so sweetly, and says, "please, just, inside."

You shouldn't.

You can't.

So here, barely able to think at all, you end up doing the unthinkable - thinking all the while of pumping her right to the finish and draining your balls straight into the deepest reach of her cunt, how fucking tempting it may be - you muster an ounce of good judgment still adrift in a sea of lust. Your throbbing cock draws out of that wet, inviting heat and into your fist, and watch how that makes her begin to unspool: the way she tries to press her knees shut. She's sobbing for it, pleading, her lashes dark with tears. "No, no, fuck me, please, I'm begging you. Please, I'm going to be so good - god, please -"

You tug her back, look her in the eye, and let out a loud, shaky exhale. "Knees, princess."

She's too wracked with need to do anything other than comply. Her jaw drops. “But-”

"Mouth," you cut in, sharp enough that her gaze lifts, and you're right there - on the precipice, so close, watching her tongue dart out of her mouth to run across the swell of her bottom lip.

Watching her knees fold into the carpet, her stockings down loose around her thighs, her underwear hanging off an ankle. The rise and fall of her chest like rolling waves, and you can see her hands fisting on her knees, and her face: you watch the emotion flash over, like water on glass, and a moment is all it takes. She leans her face forward to your hand, as you wind her hair into your fist, her lips parted and her gaze lowered. She's obedient, taking the weight of your cock with her pretty pink mouth like the fucked-up-little-fantasy that she is, opening so nice and wide.

Her eyes flit up to yours, her mascara-ringed lashes fanned against the pink of her cheeks.

"My face," she tells you, or something close to it, "fuck my face. Go ahead, use it - cum all over me."

Your cock slides halfway home, her cheeks hollowing, and when it presses to the back of her throat, she gags. You curse and tip your head back, the wood of your desk digging into the flesh of your palm.

"What did you say," you half groan out. "Baby," you add, just for good measure, just to play along, "c'mon."

The tip of Yuna's tongue sweeps and swirls just beneath your cockhead, and she moans her answer around your length, lapping at a leak of precum. "I said," she's repeating now, her cheek brushing across your shaft, and you shudder. "Fuck, what I said was I want you to cum all over my face.

Jesus.

You bury your cock into her mouth once, twice. Let it sit there. Let her really struggle for it, the angle just a tad awkward from above. Let her lips stretch wide, and her shoulders shake a little - tears start to gather, pricking her eyes, her lipstick a mess, the way your cock fits, plugging up her throat so full. You hold her like that for just a second, a little less - until Yuna's moaning, the vibration low in her mouth, and her eyes flutter open, closed.

"Fuck," you spit out, and "perfect," and your voice is shot, your whole face warm, and you're going to cum on her - everywhere on her. Yuna, who’s been staring up at you in wide-eyed submission, gives you a little nod, like she means it.

Like she’s earned it.

And maybe she has: it only takes one last look to seal it - her hand curled around your cock, her cheek matted with her own spit and lipstick, the bright smudge of her own cum from the point of her chin to the cleft of her cupid's bow, and her eyes are locked on yours, eager and hot. Maybe she hasn't - and maybe you should make her beg, fuck her mouth some more - it's almost cruel, how she looks. A perfectly pretty picture, poised and pliant and waiting, and she's right there, beneath you, and fuck - this is so wrong, and you'll ruin her, you'll mark her up like this. She'll be painted like a work of art.

Your pulse thickens. Stands right up in your veins.

Then, your control, snapping: her pretty lashes flutter, her mouth gone slack, her jaw still tilted up like she expects a gift, an offering, her palm wrapped so nice and snug around the base of your cock, her expression dazed, and so easy, and perfect, so eager. You tilt your hips just a fraction further, and she fucking swallows, her tongue tracing the underside where you throb harder, heavier - her body lilting up as you press in so deep.

“God,” you breathe in, out. It hits hard. It hits fast. “Yuna-”

A tensing of your stomach coils up through like smoke, and your grip tightens on the edge of your desk, the other in her hair, a helpless, desperate thrusting, and there - it's a wonderful, brilliant sort of explosion, like light, the white-hot burn of a fever breaking. You cum all over her face and into her hair, spilling out streaks of hot, filthy white onto her sculpted features and the sweet line of her throat, and god, there's so much, she's taking it so easily, all her breathing hot and heavy and loud.

Her skin alabaster and porcelain; cotton and canvas; she lets you fucking paint her, all messy and ruined.

In fact she’s even smiling like she’s holding in a laugh, all gooey-soft with satisfaction, and you're jerking your cock slow through her slender fingers, even after there's nothing else left to give and every inch of her face is marked - the way she wears your cum like new skin. You feel the shockwave tear your nerves open, and then the calm, right on its heels, spreading out from your core to your fingertips, out through the roots of your hair.

"Ah," you exhale, a tight gasp. Yuna takes the entirety of you into her mouth, sucking down your length - harder - as she swallows back a final, sticky load, her own hair sweat-slick to her face.

Just look at the damage: that’s a story not even you’d be able to spin. There's cum on her nose, dribbling past her cheek. On her jaw and on her cheek. Filthy white streaked all over her parted lips, her neck. Down her shoulder blades, and soiling her hair, and leaking down past her collarbones.

(Christ, was this better or worse? You can't even tell. Every version of her that's been served on a plate for you has seen fit to make you sweat.)

When the dust begins to settle, you’re left panting and spent. Yuna, the collateral on this fine, whiny, disaster of a deal. A collection of photos, and some thoughts and ideas, that now sit disheveled on the ground. There's a scathing voice inside your head that's demanding to be heard, reminding you all-too-casually that this is not any way to manage a client. She could snap her fingers, call out to that sycophant at the top floor, and your career would be over - she could do anything she should ever desire.

You know, on a baser level, this, and worse: the duality of the thought. Her tight cunt on your desk, you on your knees; the sharp gasp you can steal from the top of her throat, perhaps when she feels the gentle pressure of teeth around one rosy nipple. The pinch of your thumb and index finger around the other. Her nails down your back in ten angry lines, and the throb in her throat, while you slide the whole width of a hand, rough, over the flesh of her ass.

Maybe the desk, like everything else, can just join the pile on the floor.

"Yuna," you say, the vowels pitching like a sigh.

Her palms find the sharp crease in your pants and slide upward. She's gazing up at you, bright, her face sticky with you.

"You can't send me out like this," she tells you, matter-of-factly, letting a smile cross the lines of her lips - or a smirk. A wordless extension of the previous sentence - of a few.

You pull out and away from her: a white and gray dotted tie hanging loose, unknotted; a button still fastened somewhere mid-center, your trousers pulled off and loose down just below your knees, the fly gaping open. She's in a similar state, the cups of her bra slipping loose, her mouth flushed, lips swollen and red, the outline of how she’d let you use her in a smeary, runny stain across her cheek.

"Maybe let your manager know," you tell her, pulling your belt in place, and you think you catch her eye rolling. "That you're going to be late."

Yuna doesn't hesitate.

"Tell her yourself," she responds, "I'm sure she'll be relieved to hear I'm not actually dead - just having gotten fucked stupid on my PR person's cock."

"I might forget to include a couple details."

"You shouldn’t." Her eyebrows jump. And she's chewing, lazily, on the full curve of her lower lip, her teeth glinting like razors. "Here, before you throw all this to the sharks -"

So, so very dramatic, and with this: her thumbnail pressed beneath your chin. It draws your gaze up - up, and down: from the splay of her legs and the gleam of wetness between them, a brief rest along the arcs of her chest - the room's a total fucking wreck. Your necktie, her skirt, her blouse, her pantyhose. The papers and books all spread, bent, broken, the stack knocked clean onto its side. The skirt's probably still pulled too far up her hips for decency, her breasts shoved up to her neck and the collarbone, and then there's her face - her chin streaked with cum. Yuna smiles then, the corner of her mouth pulled upward.

She might kiss her if you'd let her.

Cum on her lips be damned, she's beautiful like that, like she isn't even trying. And in fact, she never really had to - this girl, she'd do it alone. The idea that someone could be as universally loved as she, is enough, a marvel even, but here she is in front of you, every atom and curve a siren, a study in perfection and composition. Like she’s not just all your mistakes laid out to bear.

"Take a second to take a proper look, hm? Get all the memories in, while they're fresh."

"Because?"

"You can remember I'm only the person you say I am, for you."

"Oh, of course," and the laugh that leaves your throat sounds dry, cracked open. The band of her skirt stretches, snaps back, so neatly that it leaves a pale line on her flesh. And now there are your hands, fitting around her hipbones, a sigh: a short, sudden motion, tugging her up. Yuna gasps: something surprised, delighted. She's all grins and teeth, all clean, bright incisors. 

"Mine," you're breathing, the flat of her stomach underneath the fingers you've placed upon it. "This is mine - you. Yours - you're all mine."

It’s possessive, but, you’re not all incorrect.

"Yeah," she more than agrees. 

There's a ribbon-taut quality in the way it leaves her mouth, the tension in her body coiled up through to the bones. She makes it sound like the beginning of a promise, the beginning of something much larger.

And by the way." She’s still buttoning her shirt. Putting herself together. You’ve seen the triage, the damage control. This is the Yuna you get. 

So, she needs the second - a respite to lick a stray stripe of slick and cum off her wrist - blotting her cheeks with a ball of wet tissue, until all that's left is the smeared lipstick, her stockings splayed around the floor. The pattern you've worn, where your fingerprints would've shown, gets covered up under her skirt and her coat, wrapped up in a scarf.

The smug satisfaction in her tone pulls your focus, just in time, her hair's falling in waves down her shoulders - perfect, but not flawless: there's a creased line, a hint of her throat, just beneath the collar. There's a slight wisp out of place. The buttons aren't arranged all the way from her collar to her sternum.

"I'm going to go with that photoset, with the white top, in the sand - gonna post 'em online and generate some buzz. You even said it yourself: they're fine. " She pauses, pushing away a strand of hair. "Professionally, of course."

"Professionalism." You smile. "Of course."

She walks out carrying the stilettos: pumps in either hand.

"Always. Catch you soon," she promises, and you do catch a last flash of her expression, lips parted, the lower curving into a satisfied smile, right as she flicks the lock on the door open and your office goes back to quiet.

For a split second, it's unbearable: the silence.

And you think again.

She can have anything, get any boy, girl, whoever, any designer, photographer, make-up artist in the world; there's something so unmistakably intoxicating about the fact that the thing she's decided she wants, is you.

#yuna smut #itzy smut #itzy yuna smut #male reader smut #kpop fanfic

[navybrat817]

Would ceo Bucky and his girl attend the met gala? If so, any ideas on dresses perhaps!

They would, nonnie! As far as the dress, it would depend on the theme. Are we talking recent theme, a past theme, or a made up general theme?

Goes With the Theme

Pairing: CEO!Bucky Barnes x Female Reader Summary: Bucky thinks his suit goes with a gala theme. You slightly disagree. Word Count: Over 1.2k Warnings: Established relationship, banter, flirting, implied sex, implied breeding, brief mention of past insecurities and bad ex, slight feels (it's me), Bucky Barnes (he's a warning, okay?) and he worships you. A/N: I blame @whisperlullaby and @targaryenvampireslayer. Before our couple has Cupcake and Bean. ❤️ Not beta read and written on my phone, so any and all mistakes are my own. Please follow @navybrat817-sideblog for new fics and notifications. Comments, reblogs, feedback are loved and appreciated!

Bucky refused to tell you in advance what he was wearing to the upcoming gala. He said something about him wanting to surprise you. Of course, he knew exactly what you were wearing since he wanted the designer to make you a gown fit for a queen. He would’ve thrown in a tiara if you asked. It was too much, really.

But if you asked Bucky, nothing was too much for you.

The amount of money spent was just about worth it when he exited the bathroom and looked ready to drop to his knees when you spotted you in your dress. The colors suited you. The fit was like a glove. It was a work of art, really.

“Fuck,” Bucky whispered, his eyes turning a darker shade of blue as you carefully twirled. It was exactly the reaction you wanted. “How exactly am I supposed to keep my hands off you tonight? A man can only take so much.”

“Because a lot went into this dress and you’re not allowed to tear apart,” you smiled before you took in his appearance.

Bucky Barnes turned head wherever he went and the head to toe black ensemble would be no exception. The slicked back hair was a good look on him and there was no denying that your man knew how to accessorize. He also wore enough custom suits for you to know what did and didn’t suit him. He would never fail to make you stop in your tracks from a single stare.

The man never missed a thing though, regarding you carefully as you stared. “You don’t like what I’m wearing,” he stated.

“No, I love it,” you assured him. And you did. You didn’t want him to think otherwise since the man could turn a paper bag into a thing of art and beauty if he chose to. “It’s just…”

“Just what?” He asked, holding his jacket open so you could get a glimpse of the shirt beneath molded to his torso. “I think I look good.”

You blinked and took a breath so you could answer him. Why did he have to be so distracting? “Not like you need the ego boost, but yes. You do look good,” you said. His smirk almost made you lose your breath again. “But does it really go with the theme?”

“What?” He shrugged. “Isn’t the theme ‘floral’?”

“It is and flowers are usually bright,” you pointed out. “You couldn't have gone with a floral jacket?”

“This is my interpretation of the theme.” He pointed to one of the black flowers. “Besides, this is a flower and it’s on my jacket. Therefore, it's a floral jacket.”

You tried not to smile. It was tough to argue with that logic. “Okay. Yes. There are flowers on your jacket, but-”

He cut you off with a smug smile. “So, I'm right.”

And wasn’t it just like a CEO to argue like this? And wasn’t it just like you to enjoy it? “You’re utterly ridiculous,” you giggled, gesturing to yourself. “Not to mention, I'm pretty much wearing the opposite of you!”

“And people will still know we’re together, Mrs. Barnes,” he winked. You loved being his wife. “Do you know why I wore this?”

“Enlighten me.”

“Because a black suit? Any man can wear one. I’ll blend in with the crowd. But you in your gown? All eyes will be on you, as they should be,” he explained, your cheeks hot as he swept his gaze over you. “And I know I won’t take my eyes off you for a second tonight.”

“Oh,” you breathed, clearing your throat at the unexpected tears that clogged it. Your ex tried to make you feel bad about your body when all Bucky wanted to do was celebrate and worship it. More than that, he saw your beauty beneath the surface. “Thank you.”

Though you wanted to argue that Bucky wouldn’t blend in with the crowd. It wasn’t possible. He was too striking for that with his blue eyes and jawline. Too dominant with his large body. And too well known.

He didn’t care about that kind of attention. He was the kind of man who wanted to show you off. Not as a prize or because you were his, but because he loved you.

His eyes softened before they went dark again. “Fuck, you are so beautiful. A goddess,” he said, his voice rough as he stepped toward you. “We may not even make the gala.”

As much as his compliment warmed your heart, boosted your confidence, and dampened your panties, you shook your head. “Oh, no. Don't you even think about it. Do you know how long it took me to get into this dress? That doesn’t include perfecting my makeup. We are going.”

You nearly lost your nerve when he groaned and took another step toward you. That sound was one of your favorites, especially when it was your mouth, hand, or pussy drawing it out of him. “Cupcake, you’re always a vision. You don’t need a fancy dress or a stitch of makeup to be beautiful,” he said, licking his lips. “And you don’t need to wear a stitch of clothing right now either.”

“No.” You firmly pointed a finger at him. You were lucky he didn’t grab your wrist to kiss it. “You promised we'd make an appearance and the last thing you need to do is tell people we didn't show because you couldn't keep it in your pants for a few hours.”

The kicked puppy dog expression was one you had seen on Steve Rogers before, but it was adorable on Bucky. You held your chin high because you’d fall into his arms if you didn’t. “Fine,” he conceded, gripping your chin with infinite care. “But I make no promises that I'll behave in the limo on the way home.”

You’d enjoy your small victory over your handsome CEO and husband for the time being because he’d make you pay for it in the best way later. “Yes, Boss.”

“My perfect wife,” he whispered, delicately moving his hand along the column of your throat. Did he feel how fast your heart beat? “I may just have to knock you up before the night’s over, Mrs. Barnes.”

Your womb clenched at his words, imagining the filthy things he’d grunt in your ear as he bred you. It was almost enough to make you skip the gala, but why not build up the anticipation? “I’ll be disappointed if you don’t, Mr. Barnes,” you said, moving close enough for your lips to touch his.

The breath that rushed out of his lungs was like a kiss, teasing what would come before the night was over. “Don’t tease me, Cupcake.”

“Who said I was teasing you, Boss?” You murmured, pulling back before he could kiss you properly. “Time to go.”

He swore under his breath as he adjusted his pants. You were the only one who could get under his skin. “I’ll knock you up in the limo. Don’t test me.”

Your smile widened. What Bucky didn’t know was that underneath your dress was one of his favorite lacy floral numbers. A surprise and reward for him going to the gala. It would make him fall a little bit more in love with you once he undressed you.

Plus, it went with the theme.

“Looking forward to it.”

Another out of order AU. I'm so sorry, lovelies. And sorry to the nonnie for not fully answering the question! Love and thanks for reading! ❤️

Masterlist ⚓ Bucky Barnes Masterlist ⚓ Ko-Fi

#navybrat writes #bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x female reader #bucky barnes x f!reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x y/n #ceo!bucky barnes #ceo!bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes fic #x reader #bucky x reader #bucky x female reader #bucky fanfic #james buchanan barnes #sebastian stan #sebastian stan x reader #bucky barnes oneshot #boss and cupcake

[k-hotchoisan]

In my head (San x fem!reader)

HERE I GIVE U SOME AMBIENCE:

Synopsis:in my head, I see you all over me; in my head, you fulfill my fantasies.

San has the fattest crush on you—and it heightens even more when you mentioned offhandedly that you’d fuck him.

A/n: thanks Jason Derulo. horny ass song 💥😐

Enjoy this Drabble while I work on the final chapter of How to be a Heartbreaker ❤️

Word count: 4.9K

Genre/warnings: straight up smut, gonna do my best for some sexual tension, drinking but no drunk sex because both are sober enough to consent, creaming, multiple orgasms, choking, light choking (san gets choked ❤️), riding, unprotected sex

Choi San doesn’t know when or how it started, but something definitely clicked in him—the butterflies abdomen, the way his words stop at his throat when the smell of your shampoo hits him, and the way his stomach turns when your gaze catches his. He catches himself drifting off to the thoughts of him being with you, and sometimes—even fucking you. But of course he would never say that, not when you’re constantly playing around with him from time to time, just to get a rise out of him.

“San”, you call out, snapping the male from his daydreams. He turns and gives you his attention. You tilt your head at him and he immediately starts wondering how your neck would be like littered with hickeys from him, or how you’d look like with his hands around your throat. “Pass me the notes. I need to hand it over to Wooyoung”, you ask. He quickly bunches the bunch of papers into your hands and you hold his stare for little longer before turning around to Wooyoung.

And then San’s eyes happen to land on your ass as you turned around—perked up as you reached over to where Wooyoung was—ass right up in San’s face. His mind immediately wanders to just bending you over and fucking you senseless at this point, and the thought of it just hardens his cock beneath his jeans. He doesn’t know why he can’t stop thinking about it but he’s not complaining.

But as he’s sucked in his own imaginations, he hears you squeal and you fall, landing right into Wooyoung’s lap. Wooyoung laughs, holding you by your arms as you tried to steady yourself. Something pricks in San, and he gets slightly annoyed, as he sees you giggling on Wooyoung’s lap.

Wooyoung moves closer to your ear and whispers, “aren’t you doing a little too much? San’s a pretty possessive guy.” You pull away from him and smile innocently. “It’s fine. It’s fun to poke him a little. He can’t do much since we aren’t together anyways.” Wooyoung raises an eyebrow. He’s A LOT touchier compared to San, but when he glances over to San, San’s already burning a hole behind your head with his stare. Wooyoung only scoffs at how gullible San is, and decides to push you away so you stay properly seated before San actually loses his shit.

You sighed as you plop back to your position beside San. Your gaze meets his and he cuts it immediately, you see red creeping up his neck and cheeks. You couldn’t help but surprise a smirk. You tuck your hair behind your ears and hum as you sink back into whatever you were reading.

Thursday rolls around and you’re window shopping for clothes on your phone. You feel a tap on your shoulder and Wooyoung appears behind you, with his signature smile. “Hey”, you greet, leaning to his side to give him a quick hug which he reciprocates. The both of you began getting absorbed into your own conversations.

San spots you in the crowd and was about to approach you for a meal, only to pause quickly the moment Wooyoung’s face comes into view, the both of you seemingly engrossed with talking to each other. San pouts slightly, deciding if he wants to approach you. But as your figure starts disappearing from view, San strengthens his resolve and walks over to the both of you.

“How are things with San?” Wooyoung asks. You tilt your head to face the raven-hair male. “He hasn’t been doing anything.”

“Are you disappointed?”

“No why the hell would I be?”

“‘Cause your mind seems pretty preoccupied with him recently.”

“That’s funny because that’s true. Fuck, he’s actually really cute. I’d love to be dicked down by him honestly.”

San’s world stops at that very moment and he stayed rooted behind you, his hand already stretched out to get your attention. His mind is thrown into a whirlwind upon hearing those words come right out of you mouth. Fuck. The way he wanted to just grab you and fuck you right at a corner. His mind was in a haze and he doesn’t realise until you vanished from his sight.

Wooyoung cocks an eyebrow at your straightforwardness. “Please never say that because I just threw up a little. San would fucking disintegrate if he heard that.” You laughed and shoved Wooyoung as the conversation drifts off to another topic.

The next few days for San were a blur. Every time you appeared before him, your words would echo in his head, and he would shift uncomfortably in his seat the moment his imagination of bending you over and fucking you senseless, and whatever positions he wanted to fuck you dumb in. His fantasies climbed from wanting to just taste your lips and feeling your skin to filthy and sexual pleasures. He wonders how long he could handle before he burst since fucking into his hand while imagining you sucking him off could only satisfy him so much. He sighs as he cleans himself up, another session leaving him relatively unsatisfied.

He exits his bathroom after a shower and snuggles in his bed as he unlocks his phone to check for messages. There was one from you—asking if he was going to Hongjoong’s party tomorrow. He replies with a “yeah of course” before staring at the chat, then closing the app. You and San really didn’t text very regularly, only conversations popping in and out.

He shuts his eyes, trying to trace back to when his heart started fluttering for you and it vaguely comes to him—it was probably the accumulation of constantly being around each other, the way you laughed at all his lame jokes and paid attention to him when his friends didn’t manage to hear him. Soon enough, he felt himself going soft whenever it came to you, and even his friends noticed.

And by the time he realised it himself, he was already head over heels. Every small movement you did around and towards him, he was fucking whipped for it, and he enjoyed showering you with acts of services and light flirting.

San sighs as he pulls the covers over himself, trying to falling asleep, with you being the last thing on his mind as he slowly drifted off.

You sat right on his pelvic area, smiling as you feel his cock harden beneath you. San groaned, unable to move his body as you grind down gently on his clothed cock. “Does it feel good, San?” you asked, barely hanging on, hungry on lust. “Please”, San cried out, buckling his hips to meet yours. You pulled your panties to the side, and your cunt is just dripping for him. San felt himself about to snap.

And his eyes flutter open. What the fuck. He glanced down at his boxers, now stained. A whole ass wet dream at this point was ridiculous. “Fuck me”, he groans, still half awake. It was already 11am by then, and he goes to wash up.

San arrives to the party with Wooyoung in the late afternoon. “What’s the occasion though?” San asks as he scans the room, particularly to look for you. He’s dressed up in a navy rugby shirt and khaki trousers, his hands hiding in his pockets.

“I think he just wanted to throw a private party to destress, like a mid semester party”, Wooyoung replies fitting his shades in his hair. “Oh damn, there’s y/n!”

San’s gaze immediately whips to where Wooyoung pointed at, which makes Wooyoung scoff in amusement.

Your eyes meet San and Wooyoung’s and your expression lightens up. San feels something stuck in his throat the moment he sees you all dolled up in a pretty dress. His mind starts to wander again, as his breath hitches.

“Hey you two,” you smile, giving the both of them a quick hug. And of course, the smell of your shampoo hits him and he’s ready to just melt into you. He wants to keep you in his arms and never let go.

“Hey. You look good, y/n”, San manages, unable to keep his eyes off you. You feel yourself grow shy, but you step closer to him, your body leaning into his, freezing him into place, and you return the compliment, “you’re looking really handsome, too.”

Wooyoung rolls his eyes. “Am I interrupting something here?” He asks sarcastically, and you break into laughter, missing out at how red San was getting. You link your arms with Wooyoung and poke his cheeks, “aw don’t feel left out!” Wooyoung slaps your arm and you let go playfully.

“I’ll catch the both of you in a bit. I’m gonna find Hongjoong”, you say, waving at them before walking off.

“Fuck, she’s so cute”, San breathes the moment you leave the area.

“Fuck, you’re so whipped for her”, Wooyoung echoed. “I’m gonna get some drinks. You want any?” San then requests for a mock-tail, not really interested to get drunk so early. His eyes scan the room and he spots you with Hongjoong. The both of you were happily engaged in a conversation. Hongjoong’s eyes glance over to meet San’s and then back to yours, and then he leans in to whisper something to you, and pulls away as pink flushes your cheeks. San’s eyebrows furrow, unsure if it was from frustration or confusion. He suddenly wonders if he should have asked for an alcoholic drink instead.

Wooyoung comes back with drinks in his hand and passes his drink to San. San takes a sip and lets the fizzy drink dance on his tongue. He slips into conversation with Wooyoung as they find a comfy seat at a corner.

A few long minutes later, you walk over with Hongjoong. You glance at San and gesture him to make room for you, which confuses San for a moment but he isn’t about to let that opportunity of being physically close to you slip, especially not when the couch had barely enough space for the three of you. He scoots over as you plant your ass down beside him, your knees touching his.

Hongjoong suggests a small party game between the four of you and there was an unanimous agreement quickly.

“Loser has to take a shot”, Hongjoong states, pouring in an alcoholic mix into a shot glass and the punishment was set.

From time to time, your knee would bump into San’s and he was trying his best not to notice it. Then, your arms would brush against his shoulder. As Wooyoung lost the next round, you squealed in delight and laughter, leaning in more into San, your body pressing onto his, almost hugging him.

Your ass loses the next following round and you down the shot and bring the shot glass up to show its emptiness, and as you do, you fall too far behind and San catches you on instinct, his arm curling around your waist, face just inches away from yours. You hold the stare for a second before breaking into laughter, brushing your fingers gently on his lips. “I’m fine, San. The couch has a backing.”

San barely snaps out of it, almost just wanting to dive in and eat you up, but he holds himself back. He pushes you back upright and you thanked him with a light pinch on his cheek before settling the glass down and continuing the game.

A few more rounds pass, and San loses two rounds, he decides to clock out before he really does something stupid if he does get drunk. After the final shot, he leans back onto the couch, watching the three of you continue the game. You take his half-full drink and slip the straw the between your lips as you lean back with him, stealing sips of his drink. San doesn’t look too bother with you stealing his drink, he’s looking bothered that you’re sharing the same straw with him. You giggle as you glance into his silt eyes.

Fuck he really looks so good. Your fingers play around with the straw as you try to suppress the smile. His fingers go up and brush the corners of your lips. “You’ve got juice there. How the hell do you even manage that when you’re drinking off a straw?”

You shrug, leaning over to settle the cup onto the glass table. Your hand wanders to his thigh which sends electric shocks through San as you slap his thigh lightly. “You’re not playing already?” You ask.

He shakes his head, “no. I’m watching my alcohol intake. You know how lightweight I am, y/n.” You surprise a smile, rather impressed at his self-control. The alcohol was starting to hit a little, so you’ve been stealing sips of San’s drink to keep yourself sober. Both Wooyoung and Hongjoong weren’t pissed drunk, neither did they force any of you to down the shots when you couldn’t, which you definitely appreciate. Another slow shot you take, and you were laughing, pointing at Wooyoung, your body pressing down onto San’s lap, and another hand absentmindedly squeezing his thigh. It’s taking all of San’s self control not to just pounce at you at this point because he really wants to. He just wants to eat you up, feel up every part of your body, push you against the couch and just driving his dick in-

“Okay, I need the washroom”, you announce. “Too much drinks.” Hongjoong points, “second floor, to the right.” You thank him and walk off. The couch suddenly feels way too light, San thinks.

More minutes pass, Wooyoung and Hongjoong were getting pretty damn drunk. The game had already stopped since a long while ago, now Wooyoung talking to another guy and Hongjoong dancing with his peers. San starts worrying that you might have passed out in the toilet or something.

He leaves the couch and goes up the stairs, remembering Hongjoong’s directions to you. He reaches an unfamiliar door which he thinks it’s the toilet you’re in, and knocks.

No response. He knocks again.

“Y/n, are you in there? You’ve been gone for awhile.”

More silence follows. San starts feeling anxious at the prospect that something might have happened to you. He knocks again, and then adds, “I’m coming in.”

He pushes down onto the handle and to his shock, the toilet’s not locked. He pushes the door open and no one’s there. Panic turns into confusion, because what the fuck is going on?

“Sannie!” You squealed. He turns to your direction so quick that he doesn’t know how he doesn’t get whiplash from doing so. You stood a few meters from him, smiling. He notices the door behind you ajar.

“You…”, he trails off, trying to piece things together. “Oh right. I needed a bit of fresh air at the balcony. I asked permission from Hongjoong to use one of the guest rooms, because I needed to charge my phone and I fucking fell asleep on the bed. I just woke up like, ten minutes ago.”

San continues to stare at you, confusion still written all over his face. He thinks about how ridiculous this all sounds, and at the same time he doesn’t want to think—not when it’s just the both of you standing across each other. It was like god’s given chance.

You stretched, and take a breath, “I’m heading back in. I think everyone else is probably fucking drunk by this point. I’ll catch you later”, you wave, entering the guest room and closing the door behind you.

Only the door to be stopped by San. He steps into the room with you, engulfing you up with his gaze as he shuts the door behind him, and inches closer to you. His eyes are radiating with some sort of emotion—lust, desire, jealousy, anger? Oh my, did you play too much with your small touches when y’all were playing the game? That doesn’t intimidate you though, instead, it sparks some sort of playfulness you want to poke San with.

You ignore him and head for the bed, the sheets already creasing from your little nap, your shoes were kicked off near the balcony doors. San takes a deep breath, approaching you slowly, taking in your figure as you lie sideways, your dress hiking up all the way to your thigh as you were on your phone, connected to your cable. You turn your body, back on the sheets and your phone right above your head.

“Y/n”, San starts. Your eyes dart to him. “Yeah, San, what’s up?” You asked. “Are you gonna lie down or what? The bed’s really fucking comfy.”

He’s at a loss here. His mind is racing through so many of his thoughts and fantasies. And you were just there, inviting him in. His sanity is slowly thinning, and he just wants to eat you up right then and there. He walks over to the bed and sits near you, drinking in your features. His cock is hardening already.

“What? Do I have something on my face?” You tease. He shakes his head, and you reply, “because you definitely have something on yours.” Before he could make sense of it, you grab his collar and pull him into a deep kiss, licking his bottom lip.

Ah, fuck. San’s head isn’t working. He was lured in by your kiss and he’s going haywire because he never thought that this day would come.

And he’s not letting it slip away that fucking easily. No. Not when he’s been fantasising about it for so many fucking weeks already.

His hands cup your cheeks as he steadied himself with another arm on the creased sheets. “Fuck, you taste so good Sannie”, you whisper, licking his bottom him. He feels his cock push against his trousers, and he doesn’t know how much more he can take. “It’s the fruit punch isn’t it?” You tease. San smiles in between kisses as he bites your bottom lip gently, earning a soft moan from you.

San breaks from the kiss shortly, as his gaze slides to your hiked dress. In his head, he’s already undressing you and it’s driving him fucking nuts. You cup his cheeks and squeeze. “Stop undressing me in your mind and undress me for real”, you say. He swallows as he slithers a hand underneath your dress, finding the fabric as his thumb hooks it, and tugs your panties down. San spots a trail of arousal connecting from your wet pussy to your stained underwear, and that drives him up the wall even more.

You lift your ass, then legs up to let the undergarment slide off smoothly. He drops it somewhere on the sheets, as he dives in for another hungry and messy kiss. You feel his erection pressing onto your thigh, and you whine softly.

“Fuck, y/n. You don’t know how you look right now. I don’t know how much more I can take,” San confesses, pushing his trousers down, his erection even more evident, pushing hard against his boxers.

You laugh. “I think I do. And I really want you right now.”

San litters your neck, shoulders and chest with kisses and love bites, the sensations producing moans and whimpers. His fingers travel down your sides, looking for the zipper, and he finds it, instantly pulling it down.

“Didn’t know you were the impatient type”, you tease, pulling up the dress over your head, your lace bra the only piece of article on you.

“You don’t know how long I’ve been waiting for this”, San says, both hands creeping under your bra, giving both tits a squeeze. You gasp, feeling it in your pussy. He pushes the bra upwards, and sucks your nipple, the other finger fondling with the other nipple. Your fingers entangle with his locks as he licks you up hungrily, as you try to ground yourself as waves of pleasure slowly start to build.

He stops and leaves you panting. San straightens himself and his stares down at you, traces of doubt and uncertainty already faded as he pulls his shirt over his head, and you swallow hard as you stare at his bare, muscled body. The both of you are gonna drive each other crazy, that’s for fucking sure.

San pushes your legs open, his eyes drinking in the sight of your wet and leaking pussy, all for him. He leans in and starts eating you out. You cry out in pleasure the moment his tongue flicks up to your clit, grabbing his hair.

“You’re my good girl right?” He asks, his voice vibrating to your clit, making it more sensitive. “Yes, I am, Sannie”, you manage out.

He smiles and continues licking your wet cunt as if he hadn’t had a meal for the longest time. Every lick just made you even wetter as the knot in your stomach tightens. He soaks his fingers with his spit, then circles around your pussy, rubbing against your clit before plunging them in. Your body arches in bliss, your fingers tugging San’s hair as the other grips the sheets desperately.

“Fuck. San, you’re driving me insane”, you cry out. San kisses your cunt as he pumps his fingers into you.

“No. You’re the one who’s driving me insane”, he corrects you. He’s not wrong. He had so many fucking fantasies, countless amounts of just wanting to be in you.

“Are you gonna be a good girl and cum for me?” He coos, rubbing your clit as he fucks you with your fingers. You nod. The pleasure was getting too much because the knot in your stomach was threatening to break.

“San, I’m cumming. Fuck it feels so good”, you cry out, eyes rolled back as your orgasm shakes your entire body, your legs shaking, and San not relenting as he continue to finger you and lick you clean through your orgasm. He fucking loved how your pussy is clenching around his fingers desperately and it only riles him up to quickly stuff you full with his cock.

He gets up, and licks your cum off his fingers, pushing them to your lips. You take them voluntarily, sucking on his fingers and your arousal. He smirks as he pulls his fingers out, to remove his boxers. His lengthy cock springs out, precum glistening on his red and angry tip.

“Look at you, covered in cum, looking fucked out just from my fingers. How are you gonna handle my dick then?” He throws, leaning in, stroking your overstimulated cunt with his leaking cock. You feel your pussy pulsate at the feeling of cock just inches away from you. You grab his face with both hands, pulling him closer. “Won’t know if we don’t try”, you muse, spreading your legs further, rubbing your cunt on his cock, meaning softly at the sensation. San takes another deep breath, and you see his invisible strings of rationale snapping one by one. God, it was so fucking fun to poke him. You don’t know how long he’s been like this, but it was probably a pretty fucking long time, looking at his reactions.

He pushes an inch and you wince from the pleasure. The last of his rationale barely hangs on as your wall clenches around him beautifully. Every inch he pushes in, he starts losing it, and so were you, loving how his cock was sending so much sensations through your overstimulated cunt. “Fuck, you’re so tight, y/n. You feel so fucking amazing.”

His eyes roll back as his balls are right at your pussy and you cry out at how fucking full you feel. Tears were starting to pool at the corners of your eyes from the immense pressure, and it only mounted as he started fucking into you.

The obscene sounds of skin slapping bounced off the walls, and your moans with San’s weren’t covered any better. San was reciting and moaning your name like a mantra—stating how much he loved your pussy, how tight you were, and how he feels that he can’t get enough of fucking you. All of which just made your pussy squeeze him out even more.

San suddenly stops fucking you and pulls his cock out of you, his precum and yours linking by a thin string. You whine at the empty feeling, your pussy clenching at nothing. He moves in further onto the bed, near the headboard as he links your fingers with his and he brings you onto his lap.

You don’t sit on his dick yet, only his lap, his his hands stroke your sides, sending shivers through your spine as he pulls you in for another greedy kiss, now more messier than ever. While he was distracted with the kiss, you feel for his cock, stroking it gently as San moans in between kisses, and slip it right into your pussy. Stars explode beneath your eyelids when you do. What the fuck. His cock fills you up to the brim, poking at your sensitive spots. You swear you felt a slight bulge from how fucking big his cock is. You barely had time to register as your legs trembled in pleasure, while the man in front of you had his head thrown back, crying in pleasure as he slowly buckled his hips.

“San. Wait, fuck it feels too much”, you cry out, clawing at his chest.

He barely recovers as he pulls himself back to face you, red tinting his cheeks, looking half lidded from the pleasure. “That’s the whole fucking point babe”, he says, pressing the slight bulge at your abdomen, causing your legs to shake and more noises come out of you. “You take my cock so well. We should fuck like this more often.”

Every movement you make just pushes San’s cock right to your g-spot and your eyes roll back. Soon enough, you were riding off him, bouncing on his cock. Your hands crawl up to San’s neck and moves his head back a little more for access.

So you started fucking his cock with your hand around his neck. No doubt, it was driving him fucking insane. He loved the pressure you put on his neck and around his cock, both stimulating him perfectly. Chokers would look so fucking lovely on him. You know you wouldn’t last.

“San, I’m gonna cum again,” you say, taking heavy breaths as he continues to buckle his hips into you.

“Go ahead. Scream my name”, he replies, pushing his thumb past your lips. And you did. Like how he hummed your name like a mantra, you screamed out his as your second orgasm hits your cunt sending you into a spiral as you spasm against San’s cock. He whimpers, “fuck that feels amazing when you cream on my dick like that.” Your eyes were totally fucked out at this point, barely able to focus on what he was saying as you continued to ride out your orgasm.

“Be a good girl and take my cum”, he instructs, albeit, pretty broken considering that he had his cock in you. You nod, pressing a kiss on his forehead before letting him rut into you as he fondles with your tits.

“So good. So fucking good. I love you. Fuck”, he confesses as he paints your cunt in white ropes, his dick twitching so much. Your heart speeds up at his confession more than him cumming in you though.

You pull yourself to face him, his dick still in you, and you laugh, planting a kiss on his cheek. “I love you too, Choi San.”

San’s heart flutters and his breathing quickens. He doesn’t know what shocked him more—his confession in the midst of him cumming, or yours.

“Ah, San, you’re hard again”, you squeal in surprise, feeling him fill you up with his cock again. The surprise turns into pleasure as your eyes roll back at how full you were feeling from his cock once again.

“Y/n, I don’t think I’m done yet”, he whispers, his hand landing on your ass. “And I don’t think you’re gonna walk tomorrow at this rate.”

True to his word, he left you fucked out, cum spilling out of your pussy, your limbs sore by the end of it after clearing another two fucking rounds. San was a fucking terrifying beast. Not that you were complaining.

“Don’t sit up yet. Let me clean you out first”, San says, who wanted to steal a whole roll of toilet paper to clean you. You grab his arm to stop him and that halts him in his tracks. You point to another room within the guest room. “There’s a bathroom there.”

San blinks. Right. But also, how fucking rich is Hongjoong? He walks over to grab a roll and then starts gently cleaning you up, peppering you with kisses on the way.

“Was I too rough?” He asks, stroking your head. “I’m sorry if I was, it’s just that honestly, I’ve actually really liked you for a long while and I had fantasies about you and stuff…”, and he trails off, embarrassed.

“And that’s why I’ve been teasing you. You’re so adorable when you’re blushing around me. How could I not have noticed?” You reply, giggling into his chest. San pouts, be he’s glad that it worked out, though honestly thinking about it just made him want to fuck you out even more.

The both of you were cuddling under the sheets now, your head on his chest as he had you wrapped in his arms.

“We should wash up”, San suggests, twirling your hair.

“Yeah we should but you need to carry me. My legs are jelly because of a certain someone”, you pout, smacking his chest.

San only laughs, and then nods. “Anything for you, darling.”

#ateez #ateez scenarios #ateez fanfic #ateez smut #ateez imagines #ateez x reader #smut #ateez san #choi san smut #Spotify

[sturnsoupspoon]

kiss me thru the phone

matt sturniolo x reader smut .

matt can’t be there to help reader , so he reminds her of an old tape she can use to help jog her memory

warnings : smut , fem! receiving , sex tape , solo fem! slight soft dom matt. language.

italic writing = sex tape footage

-————☆——————☆——————☆————-

the lights were dim in my room . the only sounds heard being the shuffling of my body against my quilt and the taps of my acrylics on my phone screen.

the smell of cologne still attached to the fabric of my pillow case brings a smile to my face . he still wears it .

huffing in the smell i turn around to the other side of my bed . the cold sheets hug the skin of my arm as i throw my hand onto his pillow, missing the feeling of his chest rising next to me , missing the warmth of his skin and the soft fabric of his clothes . opening my phone app i press the recently dialed number , feeling the dial tone vibrate against my hand before it clicks off and i hear the familiar voice ring through the speaker.

“hey i was just thinking about you” matt’s voice spoke into my ear through the phone , his voice high , almost being able to hear the smile against his lips .

“what were u thinking about?” i reply as i get up from my pillows , sitting up and placing a strand of hair behind my ear.

“you know the usual , how i missed you , wondered when i’m gonna see you next , how hot your new post was on instagram is , how horny i now am , how pretty you are ….” he trails off , my eyebrows raise at that second to last one , letting a huff of air out through my nostrils , laughing in slight shock .

“hey what was that that last one ?” i say cutting him off .

“how pretty you are ? i feel like i say that a lot you shouldn’t be so suprise-“

i cut him off “no no. the other one , say that one again” i say quieter this time , now very aware of the prickling between my legs .

“i said …. how horny i am y/n , how hard i am from one photo of you . how much i wish i was there with you now , watching how easy it is to get you all worked up” he says slowly , every word making my heart beat quicken . every syllable making my legs press together more , squeezing the rising tension between my thighs. i let out a shakey breath as i lay back down . subconsciously my body arches back and my legs spread , the heels of my feet dragging along my bottom sheet as i situate myself .

“y/n ? you there sweetheart?” he says quietly , his voice soothing and soft .

“mhmm” i reply , in a trance as i stare at the ceiling, slowly biting down on my bottom lip as i bring my hand up to my chest , slowly trailing my nails across the skin on my breast . feeling my cold fingers move against the skin, forming goosebumps with their trail .

“you okay ? you went quiet there for a second?” he asks kindly , snapping me out of my trance slightly.

“fuck matt i need you” i breathe out , completely unaware of the way matt is loving this .

“i know you do , but i can’t come over tonight , so i need you to do something for me okay ?” he says with fake softness , his voice a calculated one as he waits for his cue .

“anything matt”

and there it is .

“i want you to open the file i know you have on your laptop, the one we made in august ? hmm. i want you to watch it . touch yourself where i touched you in that video, can you do that for me baby ?” he says , his voice now slightly croaky as he quietly talks into his speaker .

“mhm” i reply quietly, my hands already finding their way down to my shorts , past the fabric and onto the skin of my pussy.

“i need you words y/n , tell me exactly what your gonna do.”

i hault my hand as he speaks , a flush creeping onto my face at the tone of his voice. “ i’m gonna touch myself matty , i’m gonna watch the video we made together , im gonna relive it . fuck” i say as my fingers make my way beneath the fabric again , making contact with my sensitive clot for a split second.

“good girl , i’ve got to go now . but don’t be shy , send anything u want me to see” he says sweetly again , his dominant tone switching off again before the end tone rings , signalling him ending the call .

i open my hidden camera roll on my phone , finding the video very quickly. my hand lowers in my shorts before i wriggle out of them , watching the video play .

sounds of kissing is the only thing heard as matt slowly climbs on top of me . his jawline on the camera sharp and perfect as his tongue fights against mine . i moan softly as his hands brush my side , lifting my top up slightly, allowing his hands to snake up my shirt , cupping my breast as he continues to kiss me .

his lips move down to my neck , i throw it back at his touch allowing him a better angle , soft moans and sighs escaping my lips as he works my body the way he knows so well . kissing , sucking , licking all the spots he knows so well , eluding more pleasured sighs from me . my hands slip up his top and i take it off his body , his lips detaching from my neck as i pull the shirt over his head , before y it on the floor. i bring his face to mine again , taking control of the kiss now , my body attempting to roll against his as he pulls away from the kiss and lowers himself to my bare stomach, kissing the skin down to my underwear covered pussy . as he does this i throw my own shirt off my head , throwing it with his . the moment my shirt is on the ground , i feel my panties being rolled over my hips , down the my feet before i am lay bare in-front of him .

he spreads my legs , his muscles in his arms flexing as he holds them open , ducking his head to where i need him the most .

he licks a stripe up my folds , his saliva and my wetness allowing his tongue to slide to my clit easily , making a lewd moan fall from my lips at the contact . he wraps lips around my clit , placing a kiss to it before allowing his tongue to move over the sensitive bundle of nerves . my hand makes it’s way to his hair as he continues, my hips grinding up against him , my thighs trapping him between my legs as his mouth wraps around my pussy .

wet and lewd sounds along with soft moans and whispered “matt” ‘s are the only things heard now , my orgasm slowly creeping up on me as he places two fingers inside of me slowly, curling them into me .

my jaw falls slack as i feel this , my head throwing back into the pillows of his bed . my hand not in his hair grabs onto the headboard behind me , my nails digging into the fabric for some kind of relief as he shakes his head left to right violently.

“fuck fuck matt matt matt please” is all i manage to get our before both of my hands are in his hair , pushing his head down into my further as i reach my high , loud moans being pulled from me as he continues to push his tongue against my clit , riding out my high with me .

as i reach my high on the video i reach my high in real life , my phone falling from my hands as i grip the sheets of my bed , eyes squeezed shut and head thrown back into my pillow .

god even when he’s not here he still fucks me good .

-———————————-♡———————————-

tag list ?

#sturniolo triplets #chris sturniolo #sturniolo smut #nick sturniolo #matt sturniolo #sturniolo #matt sturniolo fluff #matt sturniolo smut #matthew sturniolo #chris sturniolo fluff #chris sturniolo smut #christopher sturniolo #sturniolo fic #sturniolo fanfic #nicolas sturniolo

[ddejavvu]

Hungry Like the Wolf - Remus Lupin x Reader

Summary: Remus is gifted an alternative potion to Wolfsbane near the full moon, meant to convert the magic of his transformation into energy. But the run you expect him to go on to burn some of the energy off isn't as much of a jog as it is a chase, and you're the one he's after. // sorry mom for writing smut to a song from a band you like.. god willing you never find this 🫡

Contents/Warnings: smut (minors dni), p in v, p in v from the back, oral sex (f receiving), bondage, predator/prey dynamics (everything is consensual), overstimulation, lots of wolf metaphors and language, remus is not in his wolf form, he is human

WC: 5.8K / navigation

feedback is greatly appreciated! comment, reblog, talk in the tags, send me a message, tell me what you think!

James is incredibly skilled at potions. You’ve known this since first year, since he rivaled Severus himself, and he only got better with age and lessons. Now he’s a master, but he’s set aside his talents to take care of his wife and son. Honorable, of course, but it makes you wonder what he could be if he tried his hand again at the cauldron.

He’d given you a taste of his skill last night, presenting Remus with a little bottle of purplish ooze at your weekly dinner. 

“‘S an alternative to wolfsbane,” He’d explained, a hand sheepishly clinging to the back of his neck and scratching at his chocolate curls there, “It’s supposed to channel all of the transformative magic into energy. So you’ll stay human, but you’ll be, like, bouncing off the walls.”

Wolfsbane is appreciated, but seriously lacking as a solution. Remus still has to endure the cracking of his bones, the tearing of his skin, the self-destruction every month, so for James to cook up a remedy that made Remus almost normal, well… your big bad boyfriend had shed a tear or two.

“Okay,” You exhale, a loud sigh in the silence of the shack you chain Remus up in every full moon, “Give it a test, Rem.”

He strains his wrists, veins popping under his tan, scarred skin. Nothing there. Then his ankles, he flexes his calves and tugs hard at the restraints, but nothing gives. 

“Perfect.” You wish you could grin at the satisfactory results, but chaining your boyfriend up for reasons other then sex is nothing you’re too happy about.

“If the potion doesn’t work,” Remus rasps, voice gruff from the heavy light of the moon outside, “You should be safe with me chained. And if it does work, you can let me go. ‘Spose I’ll just go for a run or something, Prongs said it would make me hyper.”

“Alright,” You nod, leaning in to kiss his soft, smooth temple. He leans into the affection with a strained smile, eyes on the purple bottle in your hands.

“Bottoms up,” You grin warily, raising the narrow-necked flask to Remus’s lips. As soon as he purses his lips around the mouth you tip the vial down his throat, purple ooze gone in a flash. It doesn’t taste good, if the immediate grimace that scrunches Remus’s nose and purses his lips is any evidence to go by.

“Christ,” The man dry heaves, and you smear a dollop of the substance away from the corner of his mouth, “Oh, god, I think Prongs shit in that bottle and charmed it purple.”

“Oh,” You recoil at the thought, smearing the ooze off of your skin with Remus’s discarded shirt, “Well that’s lovely. How long to transformation?”

“If this doesn’t work,” Remus pants, scar-littered chest heaving, “A few minutes. Go on, dove, wait outside. If you hear howling, go back home and come get me in the morning.”

“Okay,” You reluctantly rise, brushing your knees off from where they’d been slowly sinking into the soft earth beneath you, “Good luck. Love you, Rem. Be safe, please try not to scratch over that cut on your thigh; it hasn’t healed right.”

“Can’t help it,” Remus groans, head ducking as his stomach begins churning. He’s starting to think that maybe James isn’t as good at potions as you’ve all been thinking, and that he’ll start morphing any second now, He lets out a sharp cry, jaw tightening as he clenches it and squeezes his eyes shut, “Go, dove, now!”

You don’t need to be told twice. You rush for the door of the shack, swinging it shut behind you and praying the worn hinges don’t just snap. You lean your back to the door, waiting, listening as Remus feels either the effects of the potion, or the effects of the moon. Whichever one it is, something is happening to him.

There’s a string of groans, moans, and everything in between, and you’ve never been present for a transformation of his (strict orders from the man himself), but you’re sure that’s what’s happening. You hear the chains rattle as he strains against them, and you’re praying he doesn’t manage to snap them in a burst of wolfish rage.

Then the noise dies down, and eerie silence falls over the forest. You’re still leaned up against the door, and every rustle of the wind through the trees or mouse through the bushes has your stomach flipping in fear.

Apparently though, you shouldn’t be worried about what’s in front of you, more what’s behind you.

The knob your hand is still draped over turns, and you’re ripping yourself away from the door with a terrified gasp. The door swings open behind you, and there Remus stands, human, but- not.

He’s human-sized, human-shaped, but something isn’t right with his eyes. They’re darker than normal, more dilated, and he’s staring hard at you with a tight jaw while his bare chest heaves.

His shoulders are illuminated by the soft, warm light of the shack that’s spilling through the door but his face- his scarred face is shining solely in moonlight. It bathes him, drapes him where clothes don’t, and makes the dark abyss of his eyes shine.

“Remus,” You breathe, an uncertain whisper in the night air.

He doesn’t answer. 

His eyes, still pools of darkness, with the slightest rim of his familiar chocolate brown around the edge, rake slowly down your form. You’re only clad in a drafty nightgown, ready to either run back to bed at the sound of a wolf, or wave goodbye to Remus from your window as he jogged away. You hadn’t expected this, whatever it is.

“Remus-” You try again, watching as his eyes gradually reach your face again. Before you can get the last letter out, before you can fully taste his name on your tongue, his eyes snap to yours and narrow infinitesimally.

“Run.”

Your body understands before your brain does, and your leg moves backwards to plant your foot somewhere behind you. But you linger, “What?”

He lunges for you, hands outstretched, “Run,” and you blanche.

A noise comes out of your throat that can’t be categorized as you whirl on your feet. You suppose it’s somewhere between a shriek and a gasp, but it’s warbled as your lungs take in more air than they’re letting out. Despite it all, your chest heaves, and your feet ache as you slap them against the forest floor. Remus isn’t a particularly fast runner, he smokes too much to be able to breathe well, but whatever’s chasing you is more than Remus. You’ve never seen Remus this intense before, you’re not sure he’s even in there. You don’t know what James has concocted, but you’re going to have a long list of notes ready when he asks for a report.

Your skin is on fire, almost like Remus has already caught you. You hadn't bothered to look anywhere but those eyes, and you fear the worst; long, gnarled wolf fangs on his fingertips and razor sharp canines over his tongue. You can hear him inches behind you, he could reach out and snatch you if he tried, but he doesn’t. You realize with a sick sense of despair that he’s chasing you for fun, that you’re his prey and he’s letting you have the illusion of escape. You can’t outrun him, he’ll always be a few steps behind. You hear his breath, and if you concentrate you can feel its ghost on the back of your neck as you sprint through the woods. It’s slower, more even than your erratic gasps, the heave of your chest making you lightheaded. 

You don’t know which way you’re running anymore, but there’s nothing for miles. No gas station you can beg for help in, no nearby farm where you can distract Remus with a lone sheep. It’s just trees, trees that you can’t climb before he reaches you.

The crack of his feet against twigs, leaves, and all in between slows slightly, and you know it’s not because he can’t keep up. He doesn’t even sound out of breath, and you’re terrified at the thought that he could outrun you by miles and you wouldn’t stand a chance. Now he’s several steps behind, and tears brim at your eyes, hopeful ones that beg for the possibility that he’s been distracted by some wildlife. 

Soon enough, his presence fades away altogether. You don’t dare look back, you’re terrified of seeing the face of the man you love contorted, twisted by the purple potion into something dark and predatory; something hungry.

When you’re absolutely sure he’s not there anymore, and only the sounds of the forest surround you, chirping crickets and wind howling like a chilling reminder of the moon above, you slow down, immediately hunched over your knees to try and catch your breath. There’s no movement but your own, the great rise and fall of your chest and the sagging of your shoulders. You don’t recognize the part of the woods you’ve come to, and you bite back tears as you realize that your best hope is climbing a tree and waiting until morning. 

There’s one to your left that looks good for climbing. The branches are low hanging and you could probably pull yourself up enough to have a bird’s eye view of the forest so that you can watch for Remus. 

Then there’s the snap of a twig behind you, and your stomach plummets. You whirl around to press your back against the trunk of the tree, eyes wide as they scan the forest in front of you. You see nothing, not a sign of life in sight, so you edge around the tree, chin touching your shoulder as you check your side view. When you’ve scanned your left adequately, and found nothing out of order, you turn your head to the right, and there he is.

He’s standing an inch away from you, dark eyes fully lit by the moon. You scream loud enough to send birds fleeing from their trees, and he lunges for your open mouth. Your panicked shout turns into a warbled cry as he kisses you hard, tongue nearly gagging you as he seems determined to make you swallow it.

His hands have an iron grip on your waist as he looms over you, and you struggle to push and shove at his shoulders for a breath. It’s only when he moves on, leaving his tongue outstretched as he drags it from your mouth to your jaw that you can breathe.

“Remus!” You cry, struggling to escape his grip, ‘No, no- please! Please let me go, I- I don’t know what James made you but please, it’s me! Don’t hurt me, Remus please don’t hurt me, I-”

His hand snakes up your throat to clamp over your mouth. The tears that had beaded in your eyes are flowing down your cheeks now as you shake with a sob, and the clear liquid trickles over his scarred skin.

“Dove,” He murmurs, hot and wet into your neck, “I’m not going to hurt you.”

You’re only able to manage a confused whimper from behind his heavy hand, but he licks a stripe along your jaw and bumps the tip of his nose into the bridge of your own.

“Did you think I was going to hurt you?” He asks, breath fanning over your cheek. You nod, still wary, and he coos in sympathy, lips pressing to your skin.

“No, darling.” He promises, and the grip he has on your waist that’s pinning you to the tree seems a lot less sinister now, “If I wanted to kill you, I wouldn’t have let you run.” He dips his nose to your neck, takes in a breath, a drag of your scent that flows through his veins like ecstasy if the shuddering exhale he releases over your skin is any evidence.

“No,” He lets out a wry chuckle, mouthing once more at your neck, “I wanted a chase. I’m not going to hurt you, I’m going to eat you, dove. And then I’m going to fuck you. Do you understand?”

He uncovers your mouth so that you can answer him, and you let out a sharp gasp, “Remus, I- What?”

“He said energy,” Remus pants, still licking at your neck like it’s coated in ambrosia. He breaks away with a heavy groan, like it’s a monumental feat to tear himself away from your skin, “James said, it’ll be converted into energy. Well it was.”

He gestures to his torso, and your eyes travel down his scarred chest until they reach- oh god.

Shit, he’s hard. Like, painfully, achingly, astoundingly hard, his cock so erect that it’s curved up towards his belly and already leaking precum. Your mouth falls open and you swear it lines itself with drool, your chest still heaving from the adrenaline of the moment.

“I’m on fire,” Remus pants, head downturned, hands in fists as his side to keep from touching you. The veins in his hands pop and his arms tremble with the force of his grip. You catch a hollow, empty feeling below your belly at the sight. 

“I’m- I can’t control it, I need- I need something,” He grunts, snapping his head up so that he can meet your eyes, “If you don’t want this, tell me now.”

“Remus, I- I don’t-”

“Tell me!” He roars, eyes wide as he breathes heavy, “I need to know now, Y/N. Yes or no?”

“Yes!” You nod vigorously, eyes fixated on his twitching, leaking cock, “Yes, Remus, I want this.”

He reaches for the skirt of your nightgown with a swift hand, and in one fluid motion, it’s torn off of you. Your breath hitches in shock as your back suddenly hits the bark of the tree behind you, and Remus bunches your nightgown into a strip of fabric.

“Hands up,” He instructs, and as you’re fumbling to process his words and comply, he repeats it, “Hands up!”

“I am! I am,” You gush, arms shaking as you hold them above your head, “Remus, what are you-?”

“Around the tree,” He instructs, gripping one of your wrists and pulling you to the side with it. You stumble as he manhandles you, but manage to catch yourself in the soft earth below while he puts one of your wrists on either side of the tree branch above you.

He makes quick work of your wrists, tying one end of the nightgown to your right wrist, then slinging it over the tree branch and securing the other end to your free wrist. It means that you’re hanging from the tree by your wrists, your feet just barely still touching the ground.

“Remus,” You whimper, squirming in the cool night air. You feel much too exposed, breasts lit by the moon and panties the only thing stopping you from being completely naked. But when Remus steps back to admire his work, something inside of your stomach begins to coil at his blackened eyes.

He drops to his knees and they hit the ground with a dull thump. The ghostly fire you’d felt from the thought of his touch before was now pleasurable instead of painful. Now you ache for him, a heavy gush of slick already gathering behind the fabric of your panties. 

It’s no surprise that Remus zeroes in on the lacy material. He starts mid-thigh, pressing his nose into your flesh like he’s trying to drill a hole there.

“Mm,” He groans, mouth opening to press haphazardly to your skin. He grunts into your flesh, fingers rising to squeeze at your skin.

“Smell so fucking good,” He rasps, his voice gruff from the effort it’s taken him to restrain himself, “God, what- whatever James put into this stuff didn’t stop my senses from heightening. Fuck, it’s like- hnngh,” He licks a fat, wet, hot stripe up your thigh, flicking his tongue into the crease of its base, “‘Never tasted you like this before, dove.”

“Remus,” You whimper, squirming in your restraints, trying to force yourself lower to meet his tongue at your thigh, “Please, please hurry.”

“I- mmf,” Remus’s nose presses against the hood of your clit, lips ghosting over the fabric covering your slit, “Dove, I can smell you, I can smell how wet you are. I can smell it, fuck, dripping, pooling in your cunt. I-” He lunges for the hem of your panties with his teeth, snagging the fabric on his canines and tearing it off of you, “I need to taste you, darling.”

Apparently he’s done savoring you. His teasing touches and slow buildup are nowhere to be seen, now he leads with his tongue and jams it into your cunt with almost no warning. Your thighs jerk at the sudden intrusion, but once you get them back in place you try sinking down ont his face with what little give your restraints give you.

“Oh! Oh, Remus,” You shriek, your exhale laced with a gluttonous moan as Remus’s tongue laps at your slick, “Oh, god, you feel so good.”

“You taste amazing,” He marvels, speaking with his face buried so far in your cunt that you think you feel the words more than you hear them. They crawl up your spine, thrumming through your blood and lodging themselves into your brain, only egging on the pleasure rolling through your core.

Remus’s tongue is eager and rough, his mouth alive as he ravages you from below. You feel the scrape of his teeth against your clit, and the sensation is so jarring that you nearly snap the branch above you from how hard you straight against your restraints. He has no boundaries, no limits, no control as he sucks you dry, tongue running over and over and over again through your folds to lick up any last drop of slick that your cunt is still pouring eagerly. He drags a tongue full of the stuff to your clit, smearing and covering the sensitive bud in your slick. From there, when it’s coated and dripping, he sucks it dry, tongue bobbing against the bundle of nerves so desperately that you squeeze your thighs around his face. 

He seems to realize that you’re uncomfortable now, with the way you’re struggling so hard to bring him in impossibly closer. He doesn’t need to think twice before he grabs the backs of your thighs, nails digging into the soft, pillowy flesh of your ass.

He spreads your legs further, wrapping them around his head and throwing them over his shoulders. It means he can attack your cunt from a new angle, nose grinding against your clit as he makes out with your hot, wet pussy. 

He’s insatiable, sucking slick out of your cunt that it hasn’t even produced yet. His tongue runs wet and eager over the most sensitive parts of your body, and flicks impossibly far into your hole, squelching obscenely as he tongue-fucks you.

“Fuck,” He growls, the animalistic sound sending a shiver up your spine as he hauls you further against his face, smashing his nose and tongue even further into you. His words are spoken into your cunt and his lips, tongue, and teeth all grate against your folds, the humming vibrations of his voice nearly sending you over the edge.

“Cum,” He snarls, demanding and rough. He fucks his tongue into you relentlessly, nose providing constant stimulation to your clit as it bobs against the nub, “Cum! Cum on my face,” He orders, and you let his words fuel the blaze of pleasure that’s burning hot and wild at your core, “I want to eat your cum, dove, now.”

The last word tapers out into a raspy growl, a gruff edge to his voice that makes it final. You let the coil that’s been slowly tightening below your belly finally burst, and you cum just as voraciously as he’s been eating you out the entire time.

You feel like you’ve squirted, but you can’t tell for sure, because his mouth is sucking the cum out of you before it can go anywhere. There’s no splatter on his face because his mouth is latched tight to your cunt, lips suctioned so that your release shoots into his mouth like his does so often in yours.

He grunts and groans viciously into your pussy as he licks you clean, tongue lapping over every available inch of your cunt until you’re sure it’s got no remnant of your slick or your final release. If his saliva wasn’t replacing your slick, you’re sure you’d be dried out by now, completely sucked void of all of your wetness.

When he’s milked every last taste of your cum out of your folds, he growls in frustration. It’s a huffy sort of sound, and your cunt is already tingling with the prospect of your next release.

He pushes your shoulders off of him and in one fluid motion, stands and lunges for your wrists. He knocks his face into your own to do so, and you have to lean back to take a breath when he kisses you because he’s such a presence.

His tongue is just as eager in your mouth as it was in your cunt, and you can taste your own release on him. He licks up your own tongue, groaning as he nips lightly at your bottom lip and smooths over it with a sweet lap of his tongue. You beg for more in the way that you tip your face up into his own, and you feel him wrestling with your nightgown where it’s tied around your wrists. He kisses more aggressively the harder he strains to blindly untie you, and when he finally loses his patience, he growls down your throat.

“Fuck,” He snaps, abandoning the careful grip he has on each side of the knot and tearing the fabric in two instead. Apparently his senses weren’t the only thing still heightened, it seems that his strength is above average as well.

“Run,” He pants into your mouth as you nearly fall to the ground. Your thighs are shaky, and you don’t think you can move them, but when he grips your jaw and snarls again against your lips, “Run.”, you force them to support you.

It feels like deja vu, sprinting away from Remus in the forest, but this time it’s better. Because this time you’re content with, aroused by your role as his prey, and the predatory presence behind you makes your cunt leak.

It’s another round of chase, and you can actually feel his heat behind you. It’s in the breaths that fan over the back of your neck, and as they fade away you realize he’s letting you have the illusion of escape once more. He’s too close to hide, your flight is fruitless.

Now he’s stalking you, as you slow down in a clearing. He’s hunted you down, he’s tracked you through the trees and he’s got you trapped. He’s the perfect predator; cunning, sharp, hungry.

A sudden noise from your left makes you sprint to your right, and you’re tackled only three steps away. You feel Remus collide with you and only his hands shield your bare back from the messy earth beneath you, but you’re not sure you’d be able to feel the scrape of a twig against your skin even if he hadn’t put his hands there, because his cock is already inside of you.

He doesn’t give you any time to process your takedown before he’s jackhammering into you, cockhead nudging at your slit before you’d even hit the ground. He’s got you locked in, and you shout at the unexpected, but pleasurable intrusion. 

“Remus!” You scream, shaky legs wrapping around him by instinct. Eating you out without giving himself any stimulation must have been torture, because his cock is so hard you think you could snap it off if you bent it wrong.

It’s pounding your pussy, Remus is thrusting so fast and so deep into you that you think it might burst through your insides and tear you apart. He’s fucking like a rabbit - hard and fast - but you think you’re technically his as the big bad wolf destroys you.

His tongue had loosened you, and you’d accumulated more slick during the hunt that’s squelching and sloshing around his stiff dick. He’s leaking precum, a steady ooze of the stuff that gets driven into your cunt as he fucks roughly into you. He���s close to his own release already, the buildup of licking out your pussy having gotten him plenty aroused. His dick is already twitching inside of you, and your steady cries through the night air as his hips slap against yours, balls hitting the globes of your ass, only egg him on further.

You swear he howls when he cums. It’s a long, loud, haunting sound that he pumps into your neck, his teeth gnawing at your skin like he’s the wolf you thought you’d escaped from.

You can feel him biting at your shoulder as he fucks his orgasm into you, cum spurting from the head of his cock and painting your insides, gushing out around his length as he pounds you. You’re like a ragdoll in his grip, your body shaking with the force of his thrusts. 

“Remus, Remus, Remus!” You chant, mouth barely able to form the words as you fight back open-mouthed screams. Your throat feels sore at how loud you’re screaming, how intensely the force of his thrusts are rocking you back and forth on the forest floor, and when he’s milked his orgasm dry, he gives you no warning before flipping you over.

His heightened strength really comes in handy as he lifts you effortlessly from the ground below him, and flips you onto your stomach. It’s a movement you’re not ready for, and your arms barely catch you from face-planting into the forest floor.

“Remus!” You shriek, his name like a mantra as he butts his hips up against your ass. You’re worried he’ll try fucking your ass without easing you open first, but he plunges straight for your cunt again, this time from the back.

You’re sensitive, of course, from not only your first orgasm but the way Remus had just ravaged your sloppy cunt, and your second orgasm is fast approaching. From this angle, Remus’s cockhead slams against your clit for a few thrusts before he slots it into your leaking cunt, and the repeated pressure that slaps your clit has you already cresting.

“Oh, god!’ You cry, head hung so close to the earth that you can smell the dirt inches from your face. Your thighs are trembling as Remus’s cock fucks through them, and you cum with fire spreading through your veins. He feels the constant convulsions of your cunt spasming with your orgasm, squeezing his cock as pleasure pulses through your folds. You’re screaming, or at least, you think you are, but you can’t tell, because your hearing cuts out for a moment.

When it comes back, Remus is grunting hot and heavy into the back of your neck, teeth once more digging into your skin. Apparently there’s still some animalistic urge in him to bite, to prey, to devour.

His cock is barely less stiff now that he’s fucked through his first orgasm, but apparently the feeling of you cumming around him is already leading him to a second. He’s impossibly horny, skin shining with sweat under the pale moonlight above that drips onto your back from his hairline. He licks it away, moaning at the salty taste and smearing it into your skin.

You cum in tandem, because your orgasm leads his on, then his slams another straight into you. You’ve never cum twice in a row this fast before, you’ve always had a moment to breathe, but apparently Remus can fuck two out of you in a minute straight if he tries.

Your core is ablaze, white hot pain curled into crawling tendrils of pleasure sticking to your insides and climbing your nerves. They overload your senses so much with burning bliss that your arms give out and your cheek slams hard into the dirt beneath you. It would hurt, if you weren’t so overwhelmed by sensations elsewhere.

He fucks his second orgasm through your third, gripping your hips and driving his cock so far into you that your vision starts darkening.

“Remus!” You sob, injecting your cry with as much of the pleasure coursing through your veins as possible, shouting out to the night that he’s responsible for your undoing. You slump tired and spent onto the dirt below you but Remus is still fucking out his own orgasm, dick twitching and shooting loads of cum into your gaping cunt.

He only slows when his cock starts going numb from the friction of your hot cunt, and he pants against the back of your neck while slathering the skin there in an array of sloppy, messy kisses. Finally he drops, landing on his side in the dirt and staring at your fucked-out face

“Oh, dove,” He pants, chest heaving harder than yours had been after being chased, “Fuck, you were- hnngh, are you okay?”

He watches your eyes drift shut, unconsciousness tugging hard at your mind. Your body is so overstimulated that it shuts down, and you nod weakly, “Mhm, jus’- jus’ tired, Rem.”

“Yeah,” He chuckles weakly, eyes marginally less dark than when he’d hunted you through the woods. Now he knocks his nose into your own, something so similar to a wolfish display of affection that you’re surprised he hasn’t sprouted fur.

“Catch me,” You beg, feeling your knees close to giving out, skin creased by the outlines of leaves and dirt, “Catch me, Rem, please-”

“I’ve got’cha,” He soothes, throwing an arm around your middle to tug you into his side. You’re covered in sweat, and your arms and shins are lined with muck from the forest floor, but Remus takes care to keep your cunt, slick and oozing with his cum, away from any contaminents.

“I’ve got’cha,” He repeats, humming into the crown of your head. You can’t seem to get enough air in, but with each inhale of oxygen that you gulp down with your head against his chest, you find it easier to slip away into the void that’s beckoning you behind your eyes.

“Rest,” He pants, holding your head to his chest, mouth open as he breathes towards the sky. His skin is sweaty, but so is yours, and your eyes fall resolutely shut at his command.

When you wake you’re back at home, tucked neatly and carefully into your own bed, under your own blankets. Your entire body is sore, everything from your cunt to your back to your knees, and you find yourself incapable of moving due to the ache below your belly.

“Remus?” You call, your voice floating weakly through the walls of your cottage. You’re pleased to find that you’ve been cleaned up, there’s no dirt left caked into your skin.

All’s clean but your cunt, still packed tight and oozing with Remus’s release. Apparently he’d taken extra care not to waste any of that.

“Here,” Remus emerges from the other room, a towel around his neck, a tank top over his chest, and a bulge in his boxers. He’s sweating profusely, and if you didn’t know any better, you’d think he’d crawled into the oven.

“What- what are you doing?” You squint blearily up at him, watching as he raises one end of the towel to wipe at his dripping forehead.

“Working out,” He huffs, grating the towel against his skin, “It’s insane, dove. Jus’ can’t sit still. Prongs really fucked me up with this potion shit, I’ll have to tell him to tone it down.”

“No!’ You speak before you can think, face flushing hot afterwards, as if you’re not residually warm enough.

“Hm?” Remus pants, staring curiously at you as he rubs sweat from his shaggy hair.

“Um,” You flounder, feeling the sticky remnants of Remus’s cum still gooey inside your cunt, “I like it. This- this potion thing. This was… good.”

Remus cracks a smirk, stalking towards the bed with heavy steps, “Yeah? You liked runnin’ from the big bad wolf?”

“Remus!” You whine at his teasing, squirming away when he grips your jaw. He turns your face towards him, and the tight hold of his fingers on your jaw makes you whimper into the kiss he presses to your mouth.

“I’ll tell ‘im,” Remus grunts, lips wet where they stick to your own, “That m’girlfriend,” He licks a stripe up your tongue, panting as he tastes you, “Likes gettin’ hunted. ‘S that it, love? Y’cunt get all wet when you were runnin’ from me?”

“Yes,” You whimper, licking desperately at his mouth as he tongues you, “Remus, I- I need more, please?”

“Ah,” He tuts, pulling away but keeping your jaw firmly in his grip, “No. Not yet, dove.”

“But-!”

“I’ll tear you apart,” Remus warns, eyes flashing dark again, “You’re tired, and you need to rest. You can’t take any more. Later, I promise.”

“No, I can take it, please! I can,” You beg, going so far as to paw at the waistband of his boxers, “Please Remus!”

“Enough.” He snaps, releasing your jaw and backing away. The tent in his boxers is obvious, but he knows you’re too weak to get fucked again. 

“‘S for your own good,” He tells you, wiping away a tear that beads at the corner of your eye, “But I’ll make you a deal, dove. I’m gonna go finish my workout. By the time I’m done, if you’ve finished that whole glass,” He motions to your nightstand, and you turn to see a cup of water there, ice cold, “Then I’ll fuck you again. ‘Kay?”

“Okay,” You nod vigorously, excitement already twisting your stomach, “Okay, Remus, I- thank you.”

“Mhm,” He kisses you one last time, teasingly chaste where your tongue chases after his own. Before he straightens up fully he leans in to speak beside your ear, and his gruff, dangerous murmur curls arousal around your spine like a spring coiled tight, waiting to fly, “And don’t even think about touching yourself, dove. I’ll smell it if you do.”

feedback is greatly appreciated! comment, reblog, talk in the tags, send me a message, tell me what you think!

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[cheollipop]

☂˚.⋆｡ 𝙨𝙬𝙚𝙚𝙩𝙚𝙧 𝙩𝙝𝙖𝙣 𝙥𝙞𝙚𝙨

navi | taglist | part of svthub's fall-ing collab

pairing: lee seokmin x afab!reader

w.c.: 5.0k

genre: smut, fluff, established relationship, apple picking and pie baking and some sweet lovemaking <3

a lovers’ retreat—golden rays cast shadows over high, blushing cheekbones, flour-kissed noses and eye smiles as warm as the oven’s embrace, secrets and tender kisses shared with the starry night, and in a wooden cabin fragrant with the aroma of cinnamon and caramel, the love shared was sweeter than the finest apple pie.

☂ warnings: food/eating mentioned, unprotected sex (👎), creampie, praise, edging, some begging, some cockwarming, overstimulation (m), multiple orgasms (f), nicknames (min; baby, babe, love), some aftercare, seokmin is so fucking whipped (so is reader), there's so much love talk in this, I hate myself.

☂ A/N: nobody come for my inconsistent pie recipe, I didn't use one (also idc if you don't knead the dough, i needed it to describe seokmin's bulging muscles tyvm). other than that, this fic means a lot to me and despite struggling for the most part, I really enjoyed writing it. happy reading! :]

nsfw under the cut—minors dni 🔞

Slender fingers rounded the hanging fruit, examining for imperfections with eager eyes and the tip of a tongue held between pearly whites. The crisp air contrasted the solacing warmth of the morning sun under which you basked, strolling between green leaves and bright reds with a near-empty basket dangling at your side. You wanted him to work faster, to disregard whatever negligible bumps lay on the apples’ exterior, but you opted to remain silent, simply watching him from the sidelines while he carried on with his meticulous inspections.

Seokmin was spring. Smiles that could bring a barren land to life, vivid flora and singing birds fluttering around within the glimmers decorating his irises. But spring had long since ended, now treading deeper into the cooling weather of autumn, and yet, Seokmin still offered verve to everything he touched. Even as green turned to yellow then amber, and tanned skin rested beneath thick layers of cashmere and fleece, he still wore his spring smile—a reminder that the season of life will come again. He carried warmth wherever he went, and the biting chill attempting to penetrate thick layers of clothing stood no chance while his towering figure remained by your side.

You watched him throw the fallen end of his scarf over his shoulder, a woven cream he’d worn on your first date. Hoary yarn ends peeked out along its length, and you reminisced the store tag he’d forgotten to remove while he fiddled with his fingers and laughed anxiously before you all those years ago, so young and eager to impress. You’d mused over the giggles shaking his tense shoulders, the pretty pink painting his face and ears when you failed to rip it off in a discreet manner, and though the embarrassment was debilitating in the moment, the worry weighing down on Seokmin’s shoulders faded away as you laughed. It was well into winter when you’d walked alongside the river, steaming cups of hot chocolate resting between your palms—going cold before you had the chance to sip on them, only there to fight off the bleak midwinter breeze numbing your appendages. Young and dumb, you both were, walking by the river on a chilly day, but young and dumb brought upon you years of easy smiles and hearty laughs, unconditional love and unending happiness, all sprouting from sharing arbitrary details about yourselves with that same cream scarf draped around you both.

Dark locks now dyed the colour of changing leaves, the morning rays casting their golden hue over the wavy strands and reflecting off the specs perched over his nose bridge. Seokmin was a few inches taller now, and his shoulders broader, but the smile he wore, the sparkle in his eyes as he laid them on you were no different than those from that day by the river.

Chatter at your side dragged your attention off Seokmin’s profile and onto the family walking past you—two curious children and their parents inspecting the ripe fruit hanging before them. Scripts of late-night conversations you’d had with Seokmin flooded your mind, your face flushing and butterflies swarming your lower belly at the thought of starting a family with the man. Seokmin's fascination with learning how to braid your hair, his whispered comment—’for the future’—did not go unnoticed as he brushed gentle fingers through the stands he’d tangled in his attempts, a hint of a promise in his tone. He also promised to never leave them alone with Hoshi, which you appreciated. For obvious reasons. You were still young, and had much to experience together before taking a step that significant, but part of you was ready to offer Seokmin the world. A man who’d brought nothing bliss and warmth into your life, how could you not?

Turning your head back to the man in question, your eyebrows raised as you watched him eying the passing family alongside you, and you wondered whether the same thoughts were running through his head as well. But then his attention shifted back to you, and the amiable smile while he took you in told you everything you needed to know.

The curve of his lips persisted as he reached a hand to push the stray strands blown by the chilling breeze off your face, pinching the fat of your cheeks between his pointer and thumb before dropping them back to his side. A gentle gesture, but it lit your insides on fire, blinking quickly as you processed an action so natural to him, yet one that set you ablaze. Swallowing nervously, you redirected your gaze to the three apples resting over Seokmin’s palms as he presented the flawless, shiny Honeycrisps with a proud grin.

You giggled, “those look great, Min.”

“Only the best for you,” he leaned forward to plant a kiss onto the cheek he’d just pinched.

Flustered, you watched him throw the apples into the basket you held, his fingers brushing against yours as he swiftly pulled it out of your hand and carried on walking through the orchard. You might have missed a few additions to the small pile while you pondered about a lifetime by Seokmin’s side, and yes, the basket was significantly more weighed down now that he did. But it wasn’t that heavy.

You skipped a few steps to catch up with him, your bottom lip jutting out in protest. “Min. I can carry it myself.”

“Mm, I know,” he hummed, eyes trained on the novel batch of apples swinging gently at his eye level. “Don’t want you to, though.”

You pushed away the fondness warming your chest, capturing his coat’s sleeve between two fingers as you sulked at his side, his attention still set on those damn apples. He moved the basket to his other hand absentmindedly, allowing you more space to come closer to his side, his free arm wrapping around your waist, and head twisting to look over your moping features with tender adoration gracing his own. Leaning down, he pressed soft lips to your forehead, their warmth seeping into your skin and fluttering your eyelids shut.

Placing another one at your temple, playfulness mingled in his tone as he spoke, “Stop complaining, you’re not getting it back.”

And this time, all you could do was laugh.

The hours hurried by while Seokmin’s endless chatter kept you company, and perhaps you wish it hadn’t, wanting to treasure each passing second you shared in the presence of the man with the unwavering smile. You walked between the endless trees with leisure steps, the fingers entangled with yours occasionally dragging you with them to inspect the gradient of red and green. Some apples made the cut, thrown into the pile of spotless fruit he’d gathered over the past few hours, while others remained swaying with the gentle breeze, bruised exterior reflecting the golden rays.

A particular shade of green caught Seokmin’s eye, leaving your hand behind at your side to wrap slender fingers around the glossy circumference, rotating it gently to inspect it, going as far as leaning forward to get a closer look. Nodding to himself, he snapped its stem off and placed the weighted basket down, wrapping the apple in his cream scarf to give it a good wipe. You felt yourself salivate at the satisfying crunch sounding as Seokmin’s teeth breached the unblemished skin, and you watched the pucker of his lips as he chewed with wide, expecting eyes. A breathy chuckle contained within tightly pursed lips echoed in the back of his throat upon viewing the anticipation etched into your expression, and he moved the unbitten side towards your already-parted lips. Too focused on the apple nearing your waiting mouth, you’d missed the sly smile, the giggle he’d nearly failed at suppressing, and bit into the polished green.

A stream of its juice slipped past to flow down your chin, bitterness overwhelming your tastebuds and forcing your eyes firmly shut. A shiver ran down your spine as you struggled to chew on the unripe fruit, tears prickling in your eyes as you willed them open to glare at the man before you, hints of guilt mixed in with amusement on his face. Underneath all the kind smiles and caring gestures, Seokmin loved being an asshole.

He’d watched you persist and push through finishing the bite, too many people around now to spit it out. He even leaned forward to kiss away the tangy juice cooling over your skin, scrunching his nose at the sourness he’d willingly stolen another taste of. At least he was aware enough to take a step back once you’d swallowed the unpleasant bite down, what you thought was fear flashing across his features.

“Hey,” he put his hand up in defence before you could speak, “we share everything, right?” He took another step backward while giggling anxiously, and he nearly tripped over the apple-full basket he had resting over the soft grass. “Why should I make an exception for fruit?”

“Bad fruit,” you corrected, an eyebrow raised.

“Babe,” he started, but didn’t know how to continue, perhaps hoping the sparkling brown of his irises would do the trick.

And it almost did, you admit. But the bitterness lingered over your tongue, and Seokmin found himself scurrying away and out of the fire zone of the incoming apples you’d launched at him, laughing while you entertained the couples and children harvesting their own fruit with your lively act of revenge.

--

You smoothed your hands down the fresh set of clothes you’d thrown on, the fleece warm against your skin. The ligneous scent of your rented cabin added to its coziness, gentle winds blowing against closed windows and floorboards creaking with every socked footstep guiding you to the small kitchen.

Said footsteps quickened upon spotting bright green reflecting off the sharp metal of the very large knife in Seokmin’s hand, eyebrows furrowed as he focused on dividing the apple into even crescents. The hurried shuffling drew his attention, twisting his head just as you reached for the sharp tool, gently untangling his fingers off its handle to set it down over the cutting board alongside the botched fruit.

“Baby?” Tilting his head to the side, he stared at you in confusion.

You held both his hands in yours, flat over your palms as you inspected the tanned skin. Running your thumbs over polished nailbeds, you followed the protruding veins lining his slender fingers, all the way down each knuckle until you’d made sure he was unharmed. You enclosed his fingers within your palm, bringing them up to press your lips against, finding his pointer to plant an especially tender kiss over the scar stretching across its side.

“I was being careful,” he spoke through a melodramatic pout.

You smiled. “I know you were, Min. But let me handle the chopping this time, okay?”

Averting his eyes to the side, pretending to focus on the yellowing trees past the windowpane, Seokmin nodded, his hands limp in your hold. You lowered them to his side to cradle his jaw, tilting his head down to meet your eyes once again and staring him down in hopes of breaking his composure, but Seokmin’s pout persisted. And so the kisses began, soft and delicate over his cheekbones, forcing his eyes shut as you trailed your lips over the trembling skin. Leaning your head back, you watched his evident struggle against a betraying smile, finally curling the corners of his mouth when you’d dragged his head down with a forceful kiss to his cheek, the skin stretching under your lips while you kept them pressed there for a few more seconds. You moved away with an audible smack, Seokmin’s pout nowhere to be seen as he stared down at you with an uncontainable smile.

“Why don’t you make the dough instead?”

You picked up where Seokmin left off—half an apple chopped sloppily, which you ended up munching on while you worked—going through the washed apples to pick out the greenest, cutting them into even pieces and throwing them in a bowl of cinnamon and sugar. You remembered the nutmeg later on, after the frustrated noise at your side caught your attention, confusion raising your eyebrow when you’d noticed the powdery dough Seokmin was working with. He’d forgotten the eggs.  The embarrassment on his face was adorable, rose-tinted cheeks and restrained smile while watching you crack an egg into the crumbly mess he’d been working on for a shameful amount of time. A quick kiss to his jaw and a whispered ‘it’s okay, Min’ seemed to do the trick, though.

Tossing the last of the apples into the seasoning bowl, you sprinkled nutmeg over the shimmering crescents before grabbing a clean spoon from the dishrack, the spices’ aroma wafting in the air around you as you mixed them in with the fruit. Glancing over at Seokmin, you realised he’d begun kneading the dough, flour dusted over the marble counter as he rolled the raw crust in on itself, and as you took in the hard muscle bulging against the sleeve of his t-shirt, your fingers unconsciously loosened around the spoon you held. Your eyes wandered over flexing biceps and defined, broad shoulders, veins protruding from tan skin as he worked the dough under his palm. Bottom lip tucked between a set of pearly whites, his eyebrows furrowed occasionally while the ball gradually smoothened in his hands, growing less crumbly and eventually forming a near-perfect sphere.

Absentmindedly tumbling the apples with a limp grip around the spoon, you followed Seokmin’s movements, lower belly fluttering with every faint, airy grunt sounding in the back of his throat as he worked the dough.  Your thoughts strayed as you eyed the distracting flex of his muscles—the smile he wore, so sweet and tender, contrasted broad shoulders and the strength to manhandle you without much thought. You were almost certain Seokmin had no awareness of the fact, going about what he was doing without much regard to the blushing mess he’d left behind, the butterflies violently thrashing around within your stomach. The sparkling orbs with which he gazed at you, with charming innocence, oblivious to the effect he had on you. Perhaps that was for the best; you weren’t sure you’d want to find out what would become of him should he learn of the hidden power he’d been holding this entire time.

Sudden eye contact dragged you out of your daydreams when the man before you turned in your direction, the smooth doughball resting over his palm, and a proud smile on his lips. You held back the one threatening to break out on yours when you’d spotted the white dusting the pointy tip of his nose, some lightly powdering his cheeks as well. Instead, your chest warmed at his wordless flaunting as he slowly moved the undented dough towards you, sparkling eyes fishing for praise. And sure, you basically made the dough for him, and yes, all he did was mix the ingredients together with firm, hard-earned muscle, but the slight falter in his smile the longer you remained silent was enough to sway you.

“It looks great, Min!” You stepped closer, inspecting the roundness with wide eyes for a few seconds before straightening up to meet his eyes, “I’m proud of you, my love.”

Though a simple gesture, Seokmin’s face lit up, all but hurling the dough onto the counter to pull you into his arms, grinning into your shoulder while he squeezed your laughing frame closer to his chest. His arms still around you, he pulled away slightly, stars dancing in his eyes as he gazed at you gleefully, smiling against your lips as you got onto your tiptoes to kiss him lightly. But that didn’t satisfy Seokmin, his arm wrapping across your back to pull you back into him, locking his lips with yours once again, this time with hunger and hints of desire laced into the action. He kissed you once, twice, until he’d had a taste and realized he’d never have enough, needing sweetness and plush lips to forever bless his senses. While you held on to his biceps for balance, Seokmin was everywhere—hands up your back, over your arms and waist, and suddenly he was kissing you harder, deeper, tongue swiping across your bottom lip and teeth digging into it with a fervent want that sent waves of heat soaring through your body.

Pulling away for air, your chests heaved in unison, flush against one another as Seokmin peered down at you with hooded eyes, a spark of lust igniting the dark irises. And suddenly you were back in the present, the forgotten apples browning in their bowl, and the dough witnessing the heated exchange from its place on the counter.

“T-the pie!” you quickly diverted, pushing Seokmin away to shift your focus back to the task at hand, but you could feel his eyes boring into the back of your skull. “Can you preheat the oven please?”

An amused laugh sounded behind you at the shakiness of your voice, “yes, boss.” Just as you were about to sigh in relief, you heard him take a step towards you, his chest bumping into your shoulder and a gentle whisper blowing against the shell of your ear. “You have flour all over your face, by the way.”

And your pants, you thought, as his palm landed a playful slap onto your ass before he made his way to the other side of the kitchen.

The heat coursing through you dwindled as you fixated on the unfinished pie, save for those resulting from the not-so-hidden glances you’d stolen of Seokmin’s defined biceps as he moved the rolling pin over the dough. It was smooth sailing after that, though, missing the heart eyes directed at you as you spooned the filling into the rolled-out crust, perfectly fitted into the baking mould. You attempted to control your expressions as Seokmin tried and failed to cut straight lines out of the leftover dough, begrudgingly allowing him to place the uneven lattice in a questionable pattern, the chipper smile stretching his lips while he worked more than enough to excuse an ugly pie.

Carrying the raw pie over his head like Simba, Seokmin made his way to the oven. You held the door open for him, eyes following the baking mould as he transferred it onto the rack, gasping when his finger met the scorching metal. He placed the pie down and pretended nothing happened, ignoring the forming mark on his knuckle as he swung the oven door shut. And despite the whining and attempts of reassurance, you dragged Seokmin to the sink and ran cold water over his hand, once again kissing his pout away while you stood with barely any space separating your bodies.

His free hand slid across the small of your back, his other leaving its place under the running water to shut it off, wiping the droplets over his sweats before holding onto your hip. Leaning down, he met your lips once more, then again, until short pecks deepened, and a sharp nose nuzzled into the side of yours as he pulled you further into his body.

You pulled away with a gasp, startling Seokmin away from your lips, “the sweet potatoes!”

The initial shock replaced by softening eyes and a breathy laugh, Seokmin squeezed your waist once before releasing you. He stood to the side while you wrapped foil around the sangria exterior, offering to put them in the oven for you, but backing down at the disapproving glare you threw at him. Perhaps Seokmin had unintentionally caused a case of Pavlovian conditioning, one you remained unaware of, because the very second his bottom lip jutted out, yours were pressing consoling kisses over its plushness. Sometimes it took a few tries, but that’s only because you enjoyed watching the man—broad shoulders and all—sulk and whine when he didn’t get his way, only to lighten up and grin once your lips met his. It’s unclear who the winner was in this game, both parties working with a motive and ending with a satisfying result. Peculiar, really.

You settled down on the creaky floorboards across from the oven, your back to Seokmin’s chest and his thighs on either side of yours. His arms rested comfortably around your waist, hands limp at your hips, occasionally squeezing at the clothed flesh. Watching the pie crust brown through the glass, you basked in the cosy aroma circulating the cabin, the heat emanating from Seokmin’s body gentler and more comforting than that caramelising the sugar drizzled over the wonky lattice. Delicate fingers smoothed down your hair, and a silky voice lulled you to a tranquil state of comfort, strong arms holding you within the aura of warmth until a sharp click sounded, with the nostalgic scent of cinnamon and caramel to guide you out of slumber’s enticing grip, and back to toothy smiles and a cordial embrace.

--

The night’s breeze was crisp against slick skin, the warmth encased within the confines of the thick blankets now infiltrated through a window forgotten open. Seokmin noticed the raised goosebumps over your arms, and lowered his body until your chests laid flush, his forearms on either side of your head keeping his weight off your form.

“Cold?” he asked, lips pressing against your jaw and up to your cheekbone, over the frosty tip of your nose.

You shook your head, “not anymore,” and wrapped your arms around the soft skin of his waist.

Seokmin smiled, gentle features illuminated by the moonlight peeking through the cracked-open blinds—a cool-toned hue casting shadows over his face, moving as he pressed his pelvis closer to yours with an exhaled moan. Moving his weight over to one arm, he slid the other down to your core, splaying his palm out over your lower belly to thumb at your clit.

He’d been teasing you for so long—his cock filling you up the way you wanted, but only barely teasing your g-spot, refusing to move despite your repetitive whines; instead, he occasionally reached two slender fingers between your legs to relieve some of the arousal burning underneath your skin. This time, though, you’d reached your limit, clenching around him as a sudden high rushed through you, shaking your body within his hold.

Despite a day’s worth of lingering touches and heated kisses, a hand placed a little too low on your back, and eyes lit with unconcealed glints of want, the patience Seokmin exhibited as he guided you through your orgasm was not surprising. He’d always enjoyed giving—curling his fingers just right to take in the elegant arch of your back, your sweet taste on his tongue while he nuzzled his nose into your soaked pussy. But most of all, Seokmin savoured the tight squeeze around his cock as he fucked you through an orgasm, his breath heavy and eyes lidded with the pleasure your walls lavished upon him.

Slowly fading back into the present, you peered up at the man atop you, the column of his throat stretched as he took in the violent fluttering of your walls. But you wanted more, pent up and restless with his scent, his warm touch, occupying your every sense. And he still won’t move.

You rolled your hips experimentally, a startled hand rushing to stop you, fingers digging into the flesh to stifle the motion. “Please,” you whined, “Min, please move.”

Groaning at your tone, cock throbbing between your walls, “oh baby,” he breathed out, bumping his forehead with yours and allowing his eyelids to fall shut. “I’ve been thinking about having you like this all day. I wanna last for you, my love, ‘wanna make you feel so good.”

Arousal boiled in your lower belly, eyelashes fluttering and a shaky breath escaping your parted lips at the words whispered in the air between you. “Min-”

“Let me be good for you.”

A kiss to your temple and a few inhales were all it took Seokmin to regain his composure, his forehead still pressed to yours as he tugged you closer by the hips, languidly rolling his own into your heat. The leisure glide wasn’t much, but it sent a shiver through your body. It was as though Seokmin could read the wordless pleads sparkling in your eyes, pulling his face away just enough to adjust the angle before settling back down onto your body. Fingers tangled in your hair to keep your eyes on his, blinking in unison while you breathed the same air, gentle waves of pleasure drawing breathy moans out of the both of you, his cockhead brushing against your sweet spot every time he drove it inside your cunt.

Sliding a hand over his sweat-coated nape, you dragged Seokmin down to your lips, the sweetness of a pie forgotten outside enriching your tastebuds, the single remaining piece left over the picnic blanket alongside crumbled foil—the unintentionally discarded dessert serving as breakfast for the blackbirds to nip at when the morning came.

The hand lost in your hair found its way to your jaw, cradling your face while he devoured you, the kiss growing deeper the farther Seokmin sunk down the blazing pit of lust growing within him. His cock twitched erratically within you, pace picking up until the echo of skin-on-skin danced between the four walls, hips slamming against yours with fervour as his eagerness finally won over him. Unable to focus on anything but the mind-numbing heaviness of his cock pounding into you, your lips parted to release a staccato of ah’s, his own relentless as they peppered wet, open-mouthed kisses all over your face.

“God, you’re perfect,” he grabbed your cheeks with the hand previously on your jaw, squishing them together to lay his lips onto the forced pout on yours, “all mine.”

Your eyes rolled to the back of your head at the repetitive abuse to your cunt, squelching obscenely every time Seokmin fucked his entire length inside. “All—hngh—all yours,” you repeated, exhaling a breath you’d been holding when sudden warmth spread through your abdomen.

“I—hah—‘m sorry,” he stuttered as his rhythm turned sloppy, shuddering when he finally came. Sheathing himself deep withing your heat, he fed ropes of translucent white into your womb while attempting to keep his eyes on you, long eyelashes fluttering while ecstasy flowed through his body.  “Felt so good, I couldn’t…” he paused to lower his head, interrupted by a string of airy moans as the last, weak spurts of cum emptied out of his twitching cock. “I couldn’t help it,” he muttered.

The reassurance died on your tongue when the sensitive cock drew out halfway, only to slam back into you as though the arms bracketing your head didn’t continue to tremble with the continuing effects of his orgasm. Lifting his head back up to meet your gaze, he lowered his hand back down to play with your cunt, dipping down to feel around your stretched hole and back up to circle your clit with the slick he’d collected, a silent promise of “I’ll be good” glimmering in his lidded eyes while he watched you fall apart under his touch.

And he was, so good.

You tumbled over the edge unexpectedly, cockhead pounding into your cunt while he rolled your clit underneath his fingertips until your features contorted gracefully, fireworks exploding behind your eyelids as you shut them and tilted your head back to welcome a stupefying orgasm. You tensed for a moment, then began spasming uncontrollably in his arms, hips simultaneously jerking towards and away from his touch as he guided you through your high, languidly gliding his cock along your dripping, clenching walls, both hands now gripping the soft flesh of your hips.

And when the stimulation sent pangs of pain up your body, a whispered repetition of his name paired with limp tugs at his wrist finally broke Seokmin away from you and the bewitching melody he drew out of the perfect circle shaping your mouth. He slid his softening cock out of your heat to allow thick dollops of pearly cum to stream out of your pussy, watching as your hole clenched uselessly until your abashed whine dragged him out of his thoughts.

You found yourself tucked in under layers of thick blankets while running water sounded in the bathroom, bare feet padding over the floorboards until Seokmin—with his boxers on backwards—reached under the covers to blindly drag a warm washcloth over your skin, hoping it would catch all the sweat and cum without having to expose you to the chill air. You drew your lips into a straight line to avoid laughing at the concentration furrowing his eyebrows, cheeks flushing as he washed your middle. Any other day, Seokmin would make a big deal of cleaning you up properly, but you could see the hair on his arms raising, the autumn night’s chill piercing through his skin.

He didn’t even bother with returning the rag to its place, tossing it over his shoulder to dive under the cosy blankets with you, limbs tangling as soon as he made it there—arms circling your tired frame and legs pushing between and over yours. The momentary frigidity dissipating, his body heat seeped into your very being, and you inhaled the fresh scent of laundry mixed in with remaining hints of his cologne. Nuzzling the pointy tip of his nose into your hair, he planted a kiss onto your crown, the gesture faint as his steady heartbeat lulled you to much-needed slumber, the serene trip to dreamland occupied with solacing thoughts about a forever home within Seokmin’s tender embrace.

reblogs/feedback are greatly appreciated!! ^^ apply for my tag list here (´｡• ᵕ •｡`) ♡

#svthub #lee seokmin x reader #seokmin x reader #seventeen x reader #dk x reader #lee seokmin fluff #lee seokmin smut #dk fluff #dk smut #seventeen fluff #seventeen smut #svt x reader #svt fluff #svt smut #dokyeom x reader #dokyeom fluff #dokyeom smut #lee seokmin imagines #seventeen imagines #svt imagines #svt scenarios #lee seokmin scenarios #dk scenarios #dokyeom scenarios

[ayasuki]

6th Bakugou x Reader FANFIC RECS

some are short but they're good hehe (most of these are suggestive :P)

> • 𝑹𝒆𝒄 𝑳𝒊𝒔𝒕

" Dream Eater " by justatypicaltrash

dream eater!bakugou x reader

warning: slight angst

bakugo is an eternal living dream eater.

" I Like You, Okay?! " by kikyo-bnha-imagines

bakugou x fem!reader

summary: katsuki struggles to confess to his crush.

" Workshopped Romance " by itsmm4hiii

pro-hero!bakugou x fem!reader

summary: working for a hero costume designer has its perks like; meeting heroes, playing with cool technologies, getting you're name out- y/n didn't  really expect her own boss will try and hook her up with a customer. 

" Blood Moonlit, Must be Counterfeit " by irisintheafterglow

pro-hero!bakugou x reader

warning: swearing ofc cuz it's bakugo, mentions of drinking and alcohol, halloween party, first meeting, emotionally constipated katsuki and reader is kinda oblivious lol

summary: a guy at a party has a really good dynamight costume, and you two get to talking about your favorite heroes.

WARNING | beneath the cut are slightly suggestive to full on smut fics

" no title " by moominsuki

bakugou x fem!reader

warning: ch. 359-362 spoilers kinda. a little suggestive but fluff all around

summary: katsuki hates being off the job. but what he hates more is being treated like glass, especially by you.

" as the years go by " by quitesins

pro-hero!bakugou x fem!reader

warning: suggestive, slight nsfw, friends to lovers, unrequited love ig? virgin!reader, drabble

summary: being friends with bakugou since UA, watching each other change as the years go by, but still having room to learn more, so much more.

" no title " by izvmimi

warning: palace drama au, multiple wives, fem!reader, brief explicit sex.

" One More Time " by yanderenightmare

warning: derogatory dirty talk, spanking, angsty but with a fluffy ending

" no title " by dreamland03

bakugou x reader

warning: mention of sex like once, drinking, mention of trauma, bad self image

" Come Sit " by saturnorbits

bakugou x fem!reader

warning: cock-warming

summary: after a long day, all you need is bakugo.

" Feral " by smiley-babe

wolfhybrid!bakugou x fem!reader

warnings: aged up characters, lowkey monster fucking (hybrid bakugo has wolf ears, a tail, and fangs), knotting, HUGE breeding kink, no specific dynamics, biting, small blood kink (if you squint), marking/ bonding, heat/ rut behavior, panty sniffing, kind of rough sex, oral (f receiving), and fingering

summary: taking in a wolf hybrid already didn’t seem like a good idea, but when spring hits… all hell breaks loose.

" Personal Trainer!BKG " by bakubunny

personal trainer!bakugou x plus size!fem!reader

warning: oral sex (m receiving), rough sex.

" On To Better Things " by savnofilter

prohero!dilf!bakugou x fem!reader

warning: angst, strangers to lovers

sfw | toxic & abusive relationship, toxic baby daddy, mentions postpartum, mental health, arguing, mentions of legal proceedings, counseling, drama, cultural family expectations, love bombing, manipulation, a man being a hypocrite, reader low-key needs a new circle of people around them but that's neither here nor there, reader loves their daughter to pieces </3, reader's daughter is a hand full but we stan!, reader spaces out a lot, "our kids are best friends but we never met before and so happen to be single" trope.

nsfw | fingering, cunnilingus, groping, praise kink, reader has multiple orgasms (2, hinted 4), reader is a bit shy as it's been awhile and feels nervous, vocal queen reader, clothed sex, protected sex, comforting!bakugo, non-established relationship.

" Swipe Right " by ryukatters

bakugou x fem!reader

warning: dubcon, quirkless/college! au, jealousy, possessiveness, breeding, creampie, unprotected sex, cum eating, cunnilingus, overstimulation, praise, biting, bkg gets a little rough with you, and bkg's also a fucking simp

summary: your boyfriend decides to make a fake tinder profile for you just to see how many matches you get. he comes to a realization just how many other people want what’s already his.

" no title " by katbakubae

bakugou x fem!reader

warning: language, dom!bakugou, possessiveness, jealousy, (mild) stalking, name calling, spanking, rough oral.

summary: sick of your boyfriends lack of time with you because of his busy schedule, you decided to take some time for yourself. unfortunately, letting that happen was never an option for him.

#bakugou x reader #bakugo fanfic recs #katsuki fanfic recs #katsuki bakugo x reader #katsuki x reader #bakugo x reader #bakugo katsuki x reader #bakugou katsuki x reader #katsuki bakugou x reader #bnha katsuki x reader #bnha bakugo x reader #katsuki x you #bakugou x you #bakugo x you #bakugou katsuki x you #katsuki x y/n #katsuki bakugo x y/n #bakugo x y/n #bakugo x yn #bakugo katsuki x you #bakugou katsuki fluff #katsuki bakugo fluff #katsuki fluff #katsuki bakugo smut

[meixstar]

WORKING OUT WITH NANAMI PLEASE!

❥ Synopsis You want to get stronger? Nanami might just be the best person to help you with that.

❥ Pairing Nanami Kento x fem!reader

❥ Content explicit content! 18+, Minors DNI, foul language, working out afab!reader, teacher!reader, dom!Nanami, unprotected sex, Nanami is kinda mean, creampie, implied mutual pining, masturbation (m! receiving), vaginal sex, clitoral play, slight breeding kink, slight hate fucking at first, pet names (pretty girl, darling) dirty talk, fingering, oral (f! receiving), Nanami loves eating possay, doggy style, missionary, aftercare, Nanami being a gentleman, kissing/making out, praise, degredation if you squint, ripping clothes, teasing, porn with plot

❥ Word Count 3.4k

❥ A/N HELP THIS IS MY FIRST SMUT I'M SORRY IF IT SUCKS I'M REALLY EMBARRASSED RN BUT I HOPE YOU LIKE IT Anway I have no idea about working out and how to write it?? so I hope this was okay and doesn't suck too bad c: Thank you for your request!

PS i'm sorry if the requests are taking too long :( i'm not really used to writing this much lolol but i plan on doing them all, and I'm really excited about SatoSugu fluff that someone requested :D

!NSFW UNDER THE CUT!

Sweating It Out

"Faster. If you want to land a critical hit on your opponent, you have to charge at them like you mean it." Nanami's voice echoes through the courtyard of the school.

"Search for their weak point," He tightens the tie around his neck as he steps closer to her body on the ground. "You need to work on your form and condition." a quiet sigh leaves his lips as he helps her up from the floor in one swift motion.

You brush the dirt off your sports clothes and look up at him with a slight pout. "Easy for you to say," the back of your hand wipes across your cheek to get rid of the remaining grime. "I don't even know how I got this job in the first place." a soft chuckle escapes you.

A hint of amusement flickers across his stoic face. "Modesty becomes you. You're better than you think." his eyes scan your face for a moment. "We've still got a lot of work to do if you want to improve those reflexes of yours. If you're comfortable with it, I would help you do some simple work out back at my apartment." he gestures towards the parking lot, where his car is waiting.

"And by work, I mean actual physical exercise, not just tossing around excuses." Nanami remarks smugly, making your lips part in surprise. "Wha- I'm not 'tossing around excuses', thank you very much." The audacity of this stupid, attractive man. You let out a playful huff and fix your hair. "Although I do find it rather surprising that you would invite me to your place."

Nanami chuckles, the low sound and smooth "Formalities aside, I'm willing to make an exception for you. After all, someone needs to whip you into shape." his gaze lingers on hers, a subtle spark of attraction evident beneath the surface. "Shall we?" without waiting for an answer he starts walking towards his car.

"Hey, I would say I'm in pretty good shape.. physically wise." you remark teasingly with a soft chuckle as you follow him towards his car.

You get greeted with the sight of a raised, skeptical eyebrow from him. "Is that so? Then perhaps we'll focus on refining your technique instead. You can't rely solely on brute force. Strategy and finesse are just as crucial." he opens the passenger door for her, his movements fluid and courteous. "Besides, I have a few.. exercises in mind that might put your physical prowess to the test." Nanami's tone remains formal, but a hint of suggestiveness creeps into his words.

"Great, can't wait.." you groan in exhaustion, not noticing his suggestive hint. Your head rests against the window of his car while you wait for the arrival to his apartment. Trees, pedestrians and other cars move by in a blur as you look out the clean window.

His eyes glance at her briefly, a fleeting glimpse of amusement crossing his features before focusing back on the road ahead. "I suppose you should conserve your energy then. We'll be getting started shortly." Nanami's voice remains steady, betraying no emotion, but his grip on the steering wheel tightens ever so slightly as he accelerates onto the highway.

He emerges from the driver's side, his suit jacket fluttering open to reveal his crisp blue shirt underneath. "Please, come in." his hand gestures towards the entrance as he leads the way inside to his apartment. "We will start with some stretching exercises. I have a few routines that will help improve flexibility and balance." his tone remains professional, but his gaze lingers on her for a fraction of a second longer than necessary.

"In that?" you point towards his clothes. "Scratch that actually, I'm the only one doing this, aren't I?" a sigh escapes you. You put down your bag on the floor and stretch your arms above your head.

Nanami pauses, one hand resting on the doorknob as he turns to regard you. "Ah, good point. Don't worry, I will change into something more suitable and join you." his gaze travels down her form, lingering on her curves before snapping back up to meet her gaze. "Make yourself comfortable. I'll be right back." With a brief nod, he disapears into the bedroom, leaving you alone in the living room.

So here you were, alone in the apartment of your colleague who you have been crushing on for a year now. Totally fine, right?

You slap both palms of your hands against your cheeks and shake your head. Trying to distract yourself, you walk around his living room, taking in the minimal decorations. Your head turns towards his bedroom door as he re-emerges from the room, now clad in some sweatpants and a tight fitted shirt, showcasing his toned physique.

"Now then, shall we begin with some light cardio to loosen up your muscles?" his tone remains formal, yet a hint of anticipation underlies his words as he approaches her, his eyes locked on hers. "Alright, but don't be too hard on me - again." you chuckle and wait for his instructions.

"I assure you, I will push you to your limits but not beyond. Now, let's start with some jumping jacks. Twenty reps, please." he stands with his arms crossed, watching her every move with an air of authority, my gaze scrutinizing her form.

"Ah.. seriously? Isn't that like some high school stuff though?" you sigh and get into position as you start doing jumping jacks. His expression remains stern, unyielding to your protests. "High school or not, it's essential to build a solid foundation. You'd be surprised how many experienced practitioners neglect the basics. Focus on your form, and don't slacken your pace," he takes a step closer, his eyes narrowing slightly as he monitors your performance. "Focus on my form? With jumping jacks? Okay then.."

Nanami observes her movements, his sructiny unwavering. "Not bad. However, I detect a slight imbalance in your landing. Remember to distribute your weight evenly between both legs. And keep your core engaged." his voice remains firm, yet measured, as he provides constructive feedback. "Yeah, yeah.." you answer and keep your lips pressed into a thin line.

"I suggest you adopt a more receptive attitude. This isn't a trivial matter. Proper form is crucial to avoiding injuries and optimizing performance. Try again, and this time, heed my corrections."

"Why do I feel like a student all over again?" you sigh in slight annoyance and stop your jumping jacks. "Fine, fine."

He gives you a curt nod, acknowledging your efforts. "Better. Much better. Your posture has improved, and your footwork is more precise. Not, let's move on to the next exercise. We'll focus on building your strength now." he gestures towards the adjacent room, where various pieces of equipment are set up. "Please proceed to the pull-up bar. I'll demonstrate the proper technique."

You glance around the room, taking in various fitness gadgets in surprise. "Wow, Nanami.. didn't expect you to be that type of man. You know, the type who is so obsessed with working out." you let out a playful hum.

"This is not about personal indulgences. A well-equipped training area is essential for optimal results." he leads the way to the pull-up bar, his movements efficient and purposeful. "Now, pay attention. The key to a successful pull-up lies in engaging your latissimus dorsi muscles," Nanami begins to demonstrate the correct form, his words punctuated by precise motions.

"My what now?" you mumble to yourself in utter confusion. Your gaze drifts towards his working form, hungry eyes lingering on the veins popping out on his forearms every time he pulls himself up. Just then he halts mid-pull-up, his eyes locking onto yours with a faint glint of amusement flickering within. "Latissimus dorsi. The largest muscle in your back. Focus, please."

He releases the bar, dropping back down on the ground with ease. With a scoff you cross your arms over your chest, "Whatever, let me give it a go, Mr. Know It All." you joke lightly and grab onto the pull-up bar before lifting yourself up slowly. Nanami stand back, observing your form with a discerning eye. "You're managing to engage your lats somewhat, However, your grip could be wider, and your body straighter. Allow me to assist."

Nanami approaches her, his big hands closing around her waist as he adjusts her position, his fingers splayed wide. "Feel the stretch in your back, and maintain control throughout the movement." his voice stays calm, but the intimate proximity of your bodies sends a spark of pleasure shooting through his body. At the same time you bite down on the inside of your cheek as his strong hands grab you.

You feel grateful that your back is turned towards him, this way he can't see your cheeks turning a soft pink. "Aren't you straightforward?" you chuckle.

Ignoring your words, Nanami's grip on your waist tightens ever so slightly, his fingers pressing into your skin ever so slightly. "Focus on your form. One more rep, please."

"Yes, Sir." an innocent hum leaves you as you begin to pull your body back up the pull-up bar, letting out soft breaths now and then.

His fingers seem to linger on her skin for a moment before releasing her. "Proceed to the mat. We will work on some grappling techniques." With a soft thud, you let yourself go from the gadget. "Grappling? So you can kick my ass again? Just what I want," she sighs and takes her place on the mat.

"Grappling is an essential aspect. You can't always count on your cursed technique. It requires strategy, agility, and control. Let us focus on some basic escapes and submissions." he assumes a neutral stance opposite her. "Let's begin with a simple wrist lock escape. Observe closely, and replicate my movements precisely." he extends his arm, offering her his wrist.

"Bla bla." you abruptly grab his wrist and twist it to push him down onto the mat with a controlled thud "Easy," a satisfied smile forms on your face. "Good initiative, but poor execution. You relied on brute force rather than technique." he pulls himself out of your grasp and rises to his feet, brushing off imaginary dirt from his clothes. "Again."

"This sucks.." you sigh and run a hand down your face in frustration. "Can't we do something fun instead? Like, fuck I don't know, chess. Would be way more fun than this." you grimace before grabbing his wrist once more to push him down and lower your body to sit on his back to hold him down.

Nanami remains composed, unfazed by her antics, as he lies beneath her, his wrists still clasped in her grasp. "You can have fun some other time." his tone maintains its formal quality, despite the unusual position they find themselves in. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I believe we've digressed sufficiently. Let's refocus on the task at hand. Release my wrist." he issues the command calmly.

You glance down at the side of his face with a mischievous glint in your eyes. "Hm.. no." You feel his body tense beneath you, his muscles coiling in anticipation. "I see. It appears you're blurring the lines between playful banter and actual combat. I suggest you clarify your intentions."

"You could just roll over and pin me down with ease, Nanami.. Why haven't you done it yet if you are oh so irritated about my antics?" you tease him softly and lean your head closer towards his ear.

In just a moment his body is springing into action as he swiftly flips them over, pinning her beneath him. "Satisfied? Now, shall we resume the lesson, or would you prefer to continue exploring.. other avenues?"

You feel your body growing hot under his intense gaze, "Other avenues? Please, do tell." you wrap one leg around his waist to pull him closer, feeling his growing hardness press against your inner thigh making him grit his teeth ever so slightly.

"Hm, it seems you require a demonstration of the consequences of testing boundaries." he leans closer, his lips inches from yours. This is no longer a lesson for combat, but a display of discipline."

"Aren't you tough? All bark and no bit-" your taunts gets silenced as he claims your mouth in a firm kiss. Out of instinct, your press your chest further into his, deepening the kiss in the process. A soft moan of desperation leaves your mouth that gets swallowed by his own.

Nanami's tongue probes the depths of her mouth, his long fingers maintaining a firm grip on her waist and wrists. He breaks away from the kiss, his breathing heavy. "Now, shall we proceed to the next stage of this.. lesson?" he rocks his hips into hers, eliciting a quiet gasp from her. "Cut the teacher crap, Nanami." she breathes out hotly against his wet lips. "As you wish, but you will receive exactly what you're asking for." With that, he sweeps her up in his arms, carrying her towards the bedroom.

He deposits her on the bed, his tall form towering over her as he looks down at her flushed and desperate expression. "Undress. Now." his tone brooks no argument, as he begins to shed his own clothes with deliberate slowness.

Her eyes wander over his now exposed body, lingering on his cock that leaks with pre-cum already. Out of reflex, she runs her tongue over her kiss-bruised lips, making him flex his fists for a moment. "Mh.. I don't wanna," she bites back a smirk.

"Very well. If you insist on playing games, I will play too." With a swift motion, he reaches out and rips the shirt open, baring her torso to his hungry gaze. "What the fuck! I loved that shirt, aw." she pouts up at him with furrowed brows before glancing back at the now broken fabric on the floor.

Nanami raises an eyebrow, a hint of a smile playing on his lips. "I'll buy you a new one, and also.. no bra? Naughty girl. Must have slipped my sight." he remarks, his gaze roving over her bared skin, eyes lingering on her perky nipples exposed to the cool air in the room. "Now, will you take off the rest of your clothes? Or should I do it for yo-"

"No, I'll do it myself this time." you scoff lightly and stand up to pull your leggings down, seeing Nanami's eyes following your every move. "Fuck.." you hear him mutter to himself - and god, was it hot to see him loose his composure. "Turn around and bend over, let me see all of you, pretty girl." A pleased hum escapes your lips as you do just that. You bend down over his bed, the soft sheets brushing against your skin, and the smell of him filling your nostrils.

"Mmh.. you know exactly how to tease me, don't you?" Nanami reaches out, his hand reaching out to run over the contour of her ass, the touch feather-light, while his other hand reaches down to stroke himself slowly. "Look at you," he whispers, his breath caressing the skin just above the waistband of her panties. "I can already see how wet you are. Is that because of me? Hm, pretty girl?"

You only manage to get out a weak nod accompanied by a soft whimper as he lets out a throaty chuckle. His fingers hook into the waistband and slowly peels her panties down, revealing her soaking pussy to his eyes. He settles onto his knees on the floor behind her. "Been craving your pussy so often, gosh.." he moans softly as he keeps his gaze fixated on your entrance while fisting his own arousal.

With a glance behind you, you see the scene unfold with hooded eyes. Just that alone makes your pussy clench around nothing. "Nanami.. don't tease me, please."

"I won't.. fuck, I won't." he breathes against your wetness, making you shiver before his tongue slides into the slick folds of your pussy. "Mmh, pussy tastes even better than I imagined." You stuff your face into his sheets as you feel his hot tongue run through your folds. "Oh god- hah,"

His hand leaves his cock, solely focusing on her pleasure as he holds her hips in place. "You like that? You like my tongue inside you, licking your sweet little cunt?" his voice muffled against her flesh, as he works her into a frenzy while his own hips desperately buck against his bed to relieve some tension. "Ohh, fuck.. Your tongue feels so fucking good!" she sobs into the fabric of the bed.

"Come for me, pretty girl. Come all over my face." he let's out a soft groan as he redoubles his efforts, desperate to drive her towards orgasm as he slowly enters two fingers inside her pulsing cunt.

She desperately pushes back against him, needing more. "Hah.. Nanami, please- fuck me already." His eyes flash in excitement, ceasing his oral assault as he stands back up to his full height. His angry red tip glistens with pre-cum, his hands running along her cheeks. "Turn around for me. I want to see your pretty face when you come."

And you do just that, laying down on your back as you glance up at him. He gently grabs your ankles and pulls you towards him as he lines his hard cock up at your entrance, poised to thrust deep. You impatiently wiggle your hips, wanting him to finally take you. You've been waiting for a whole year, after all. So if he doesn't start fucking you right this inst-

"Hah!" You throw your head back with a high-pitched moan as he slowly thrusts forward, his cock sinking deep into your pussy, filling you to the brim as he groans in satisfaction. "Fuck.. so hot." he mutters, hips drawing back before plunging forward once more, setting a slow yet deep pace. "Is this what you wanted? That I fuck you?" he grunts, his strokes growing more frenzied, his cock throbbing inside you.

The only thing that you can do is grip the sheets beside you and hide your flushed, pathetic face in them, frantically trying to hide your arousal.

His chest presses against hers as he leans forward, his arm wrapping around her waist to hold her in place. "Don't hide from me, Darling. Look at me." he demands, voice rough with exertion as he continues pounding into her. "Watch me as I make you come," his other hand snakes around to grasp her chin, forcing her to meet his gaze as he himself drives towards climax.

Her eyes are unfocused as she gazes up at him, her mouth falling open as he fucks into her deep. "Oh f-fuck.. ngh, your cock feels so good!" she bites down on her bottom lip, his balls slapping against her ass cheeks with every thrust.

"You're going to take every last drop of my cum. You're going to milk me dry and beg for more, aren't you?" he coos into her ear. "I'm going to fill you so full of cum you will be dripping with it for hours.." his hand let's go of your chin, reaching down to rub your swollen clit in slow circles with the pad of his thumb. "I can feel you clenching.. are you close? Want you to come all over my cock, can you do that for me?"

Without even giving it a thought, your toes curl and your back arches up into him as your orgasm washes over you with a loud whine. Nanami hisses when your pussy tightens up. His cock surges deep one final time before erupting in a torrent of cum, flooding your hole with his seed.

He collapses forward, his chest heaving with exhaustion as he wraps his arms around your waist, holding you close.

You both lay there for a few minutes, catching your breaths. You feel him slowly pull out of you, making you both let out a soft gasp. "Are you okay? Do you need anything?" his thumb runs over your cheeks, his gaze never leaving yours. "I hope I wasn't too rough-"

You interrupt him with a kiss, this one far more gentle than the others. "I'm fine, it was perfect. But.. you can make it up to me with dinner?" you glance away nervously, scared of rejection after what just happened.

What if he only saw this as a one time thing? You did rile him up quite a bit, maybe that was just him being a man. But is Nanami really that kind of man? Perhaps he doesn't even like you and this was hate sex? Plus, you both are colleagues. That would be really unprofessio-

"Of course, is there a specific place you would like to eat at?"

Oh.

♡ fanart from @ilameys on twitter ♡

♡ divider by @benkeibear ♡

#jjk #jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu kaisen nanami #nanami kento #jjk smut #nanami smut #jujutsu nanami #jjk nanami #nanami x reader #kento nanami #kento smut #kento x reader #kento x y/n #kento x you #nanami kento x reader #nanami kento x you #nanami kento x y/n #smut #one shot #fem reader #x reader

[proxima-writes]

i can see you (javier peña's version)

pairing: javier peña x dea agent!female reader

rating: explicit (18+ mdni)

word count: 3.4k

summary:

when javier peña takes credit for your lead, you take revenge.

good thing you know javier can't resist a girl in red lipstick.

author's note:

first javier fic, based on taylor swift's "i can see you". if you enjoy, please consider leaving a comment or reblogging! gif by @pedropascalito

content warnings:

explicit sexual content (18+ minors do not interact), dub con - sexual activity under the influence of alcohol, alcohol consumption, no use of y/n, female masturbation, oral sex - male receiving, dirty talk, praise, lots of lipstick kink, pet names, sex while standing, teasing, semi-public sex (file room at work), vaginal fingering, mouth covering. please let me know if i've missed any!

You storm into the office, boots clicking on the linoleum as you make a beeline for Javier’s messy desk. He’s on the phone as you approach, ever present cigarette dangling from his lips as he speaks to whomever is on the other end of the line. You rip the receiver from his hand and slam it into the cradle.

“What the fuck?” Javier snaps, stubbing out his cigarette in an overflowing ashtray. “What if that had been an important call?”

“Fuck you, Peña,” you hiss, planting your hands on his desk with enough force that several papers slip from precarious piles to the floor. “Where the fuck do you get off taking credit for my lead?”

His eyebrows go up, his lips tilting in a condescending smirk that you want to smack right off his face. “That’s what this is about? We’re a team, alacránita. It was our lead.” 

Little scorpion, he calls you, because of your quick temper. He uses it when he wants you riled up, wants you angry at him, because what else is a scorpion to do but fight back when provoked?

“Oh, really? So, you were the one who stayed up ‘til three in the morning reading transcriptions, huh?” You tap your chin. “No, wait. That was me.”

Javier stands, grabbing his gun from the desk and tucking it into the waist of his jeans at his back. The action has his button down shirt stretching right across his chest and your eyes linger on the view. When you meet his gaze again you know you’ve been caught, the insufferable man grinning like a cat that got the canary. 

“Look, do you want to keep arguing or do you want to actually do something with your intel and go catch some narcos?” He asks, breezing by you. You grind your teeth together as you watch him leave.

“If it’s any consolation—“ Steve starts to say, but you cut him off.

���Shut up, Murphy.”

That night after a long day of work and one beer too many you find yourself staring at the ceiling of your bedroom, your thoughts drifting to Javier and his annoying smirk and the stupid way he carries his gun and his dumb aviators and his gorgeous brown eyes and how good he feels between your—

Fuck.

You try not to think about the first time you met Javier Peña. The real first time, not the awkward handshake and forced smile as he introduced himself as Agent Peña. 

The first time, when he sat beside you at a bar and introduced himself as Javi and you thought that it must be a common enough name, there was no way this handsome stranger was your soon-to-be partner. He told you he worked in environmental services and you claimed to be a teacher. He bought you a drink and his eyes never left your mouth as you wrapped your red lips around a beer bottle. 

A couple hours of conversation later, his hand slid to your knee and he looked at you with brown eyes full of fire as his fingers curled into the flesh of your thigh exposed by your skirt. He asked if you wanted to go someplace more quiet and when you said your apartment was across the street, his smile was full of promise.

As your mind replays the memory in vivid detail, you slide your hand beneath the elastic of your panties, hissing as your fingertips graze your sensitive clit. You circle the bundle of nerves slowly as you continue to imagine that night.

You think back to the feel of his hand in yours as you dashed across the street to your apartment building, how he pressed against your back and nipped at your neck as you unlocked your door. He made a comment about the boxes still scattered around your apartment, some joke you can’t remember as desire fizzles through your veins. 

“These pretty red lips,” he said, pulling you close and tracing his thumb along your bottom lip. “Been staring at them all night, wondering how they would look stretched around my cock.”

“I could show you,” you responded, sliding your hands down his chest until your fingers encountered the cold metal of his belt buckle. You unfastened it, pulling the leather loose from his sinfully tight jeans and tossing it to the floor. “If you’d like?”

“Get on your knees,” Javier said as he unbuttoned his fly, working the waist of his jeans down enough to free his hard cock from the denim. You dropped to your knees quickly and his dark laugh echoed through the room. “Stick your tongue out, baby.”

You remember the salty taste of him on your tongue, the way he slowly fed his thick length into your mouth as you gazed up at him from your position at his feet. Your fingers circle your clit faster as you think about how he’d traced your lips where they stretched around his cock with his thumb, gently pushing at the corner of your mouth. 

“Fuck, look at you,” he growled. You whine at the memory as you inch closer to your release with each swipe of your hand. “Mouth built for sin, isn’t that right?”

You plunge two fingers inside of you with mounting desperation as your mind continues to replay the memory like a movie - the way his dark eyes fixated on the slide of his cock in and out of your mouth, the intoxicating sounds that spilled from his lips, and how he had pulled back from you when he was close to finishing to show you the lipstick stains you’d left behind.

“Dirty fucking girl,” he said, dragging you up from the floor and kissing you breathless. 

It’s the memory of his lips pressed to yours that pushes you over the edge, your cunt pulsing around your fingers as you shatter, biting back Javier’s name as it claws its way up your throat. In the aftermath, staring up at your ceiling, a thought pops into your head.

You know just how to get Javier back for taking credit for your lead.

As a field agent for the DEA, it’s not often you wear more than jeans, a blouse, and a practical pair of boots to work. After all, carrying a sidearm in a dress or running in heels isn’t ideal. 

Today, however, you’re willing to make an exception. With a series of meetings on the calendar this afternoon, the risk of jeopardizing your work for the sake of fashion is, thankfully, slim.

You’ve put on your tightest dress, black polyester hugging your curves and balancing the fine line of work appropriate. The heels you dug out of your closet make your ass look fantastic but the cherry on top of the whole ensemble is the bright red lipstick you slicked on with careful precision.

Steve does a double take as you enter the cluttered office space, your heels clicking on the linoleum. Javier is at his desk, his back turned to you as he speaks to someone on the phone.

“Lookin’, uh, lookin’ good,” Steve says with a cough. “Did I miss a memo or somethin’?”

“Nope,” you reply, your lips popping in emphasis. 

You hear the click of the phone being placed back in its cradle with impressive force. You try to keep your eyes focused on the file you’ve got open on your desk but you can feel Javier’s heated gaze burning over your skin. You glance up, briefly, but it’s enough for you to find his dark gaze and see the tense cut of his jaw as he grinds his teeth together.

Once the meetings start rolling, you don’t have much opportunity to think about Javier, but you know he’s thinking about you. You have fun with the attention, leaning forward to make sure the man can get a good view down your dress, biting the cap of your pen, and licking your lips after each sip of coffee. With each new tease, you notice the way his hand curls into a tight fist on the table or how he shifts uncomfortably in his seat. 

When Messina asks him a question, the usually calm and collected man stutters his response, earning him a raised eyebrow from the woman in charge. You have to bite back a satisfied laugh at his expense, watching as his neck turns a blotchy red in his embarrassment. 

Once the meeting is over, you’re discussing the next plan of action with Steve as you leave the boardroom, Javier trailing behind the two of you. Steve asks Javier a question and a glance over your shoulder earns you the satisfaction of knowing he had been staring at your ass, his head snapping up so fast a flinch of pain flashes across his features as he replies to Steve.

Working through the pile of paperwork on your desk comes with the ever present weight of Javier’s gaze on you from across the room. He fields phone calls most of the morning, cigarette held to his lips as he converses in smooth, rapid fire Spanish that has you pressing your thighs together beneath your desk. 

When he turns away, you grab a stray piece of blank paper and scribble a note before lifting it to your face to press a red kiss mark to the smooth surface. You fold it twice and keep it held tight in your hand as you stand and saunter over to Javier’s desk. 

His dark eyes are fixed to the extra sway in your step as you approach, his grip tightening around the receiver. You set the note on his desk, leaning over just slightly to slide it across the wood towards him. You tap it once before straightening and walking back to your desk to resume your work, watching Javier from the corner of your eye as he unfolds the note.

Stop staring.

Javier crumples the note in his fist in frustration, keeping it pressed to his palm as he frees another cigarette from the pack on his desk. The rush of nicotine in his veins mingles with the white hot lust he’s been trying to beat down ever since he caught sight of you in that tight little dress, and you’ve not been making it easy.

You never make it easy. Ever since walking into work six months ago to a face that shouldn’t have been familiar sitting behind his new partner’s desk, he’s been fighting to remain professional. It doesn’t help that you’re one of the best agents he’s ever worked with - smart, resourceful, and capable of standing up to men trying to pull rank on you.

Today is testing his patience. The dress and heels are one thing, but the lipstick? That’s a low blow. All he can think about is the last time he saw you wear it, that night at the bar that turned into that night in your bed, all the pretty red color faded from your lips because you marked his cock with it instead. He spent the entire meeting with Messina trying not to watch the way you wrapped your lips around the tip of your pen, thoughts drifting to what it would be like to have you on your knees again, staring up at him with less venom and more desire.

He sets the note on his desk, pointedly ignoring it while you’re in the room. He knows you’re looking for a reaction and he’s not going to give you the satisfaction of one.

At least, not yet.

“Murphy, you still need that file we talked about? I’ve got another to pull,” you announce, standing from your seat. The blonde man looks up and nods.

“Yeah, see if you can find it while you’re in there,” Steve replies. You give him a little salute of acknowledgment before leaving the shared office space and making your way to the file room.

Once inside the windowless room at the end of the hall, you pull on the cord connected to the singular lightbulb in the ceiling meant to illuminate the dank space. It smells like paper and dust and it constantly looks like a bomb went off - cabinets half closed with how much has been shoved inside of them, stray stacks of folders that someone couldn’t be bothered to return to their proper place, and a wastebasket overflowing with crumpled paper. 

You lose yourself to the task of locating the files you and Steve needed, distracted enough that you don’t hear the click of the door opening and shutting behind you. It’s not until there’s a low murmur of your name in a hauntingly familiar timbre so you realize you’re not alone.

You turn to find Javier standing in front of the file room door, dark eyes fixed on you as he removes his suit jacket and drops it to the floor. Your mouth goes dry as he rolls up the sleeves of his white dress shirt, exposing deliciously tan forearms and muscles that flex hypnotically. 

“My eyes are up here, baby,” he says, a smirk on his lips that sends anger through your veins but lust to your belly. 

“What do you want, Peña?” You ask. Your voice wavers the slightest bit and you hope he doesn’t notice, but the tilt to his head and the way his tongue darts out to lick his lips says otherwise.

“I think the question is, what do you want?” He’s standing toe to toe with you now, your back pressed against a metal cabinet. “Or do you need me to show you?”

“Show me what?”

Javier chuckles. “What playing with fire will get you.”

“I don’t know what you mean,” you say, tilting your chin defiantly. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, some of us have work to do that doesn’t involve harassing our coworkers.” 

But he doesn’t back up, doesn’t give you the room to breathe that you so desperately need. Instead his large hand cups your hip, sliding slowly up your body, a trail of heat running from your waist to your breast until his palm settles against your neck. He rubs his thumb across your lips.

“What do you call wearing this, then?” He holds his thumb up for you to see the smear of red across his skin. “We both know what you were thinking when you put it on this morning, cariño.”

He presses his thumb to your lips, slipping it inside your mouth this time. You give the digit a tentative suck as he presses it forward and back across your tongue, a crude approximation of the memory that replayed in your head as you touched yourself. 

Javier smiles triumphantly and you can feel his other hand working at the hem of your dress, hiking it up higher until his fingers skim the bare skin of your thighs. 

“Tell me to touch you,” he demands, pulling his thumb free from your mouth. You press your lips together, fighting the overwhelming need to give into him as his knuckle skims your pussy through the fabric of your panties. “Stubborn alacránita,” he growls, circling your clit harshly and making you cry out.

His palm covers your mouth, your eyes going wide as he continues his tortuous attention. “Tell me to touch you,” he says again, brow pinched as his eyes search yours. It hits you that this man is just as desperate for you as you are for him, and the rush that knowledge gives you has you nodding your head.

He removes his palm, cupping your cheek and pressing his forehead to yours before whispering into the space between your mouths, “Say it.”

“Touch me, Javier,” you murmur, rolling your hips into his hand. “Please.”

He wastes no further time, hand slipping under the elastic of your panties and dragging through your slick folds. He grins at you, boyish and feral in equal measure as he slips a thick finger inside of you while his thumb presses to your clit. 

“Christ, so fucking wet for me already, huh? Sitting at your desk getting worked up thinking about pulling one over on me with this little dress?” He adds a second finger and the stretch of it makes you moan, his palm returning to cover your mouth. “If this is your idea of a punishment for that lead, I’m not feeling too apologetic.”

You try to glare at him but the curl of his fingers inside of you and the press of his thumb to your sensitive bundle of nerves has your eyes rolling back instead, your head hitting the cabinet behind you. Your hips chase his hand with each pump of his fingers and it doesn’t take long for that wave of pleasure to crash over you, your muscles going tight as you pulse around him and your chest heaves with deep breaths you can only take through your nose thanks to his tight grip on your mouth. 

Javier murmurs praise into your ear that you barely register as you come down from your high. He removes his hands from you to unbuckle his belt, freeing his hard cock that you only get a glimpse of before he’s urging you to turn around, pulling your hips back toward him and moving your panties out of the way. He runs the head of his cock through the mess he’s made of you before positioning himself at your entrance and pressing in, in, in.

You brace yourself against the filing cabinet, the sheer size of him making you gasp as he bottoms out. He smoothes a hand down your spine, giving you a moment to adjust before drawing his hips back and slamming forward with a sharp thrust.

Javier reaches up to grip your shoulder, giving himself more leverage as he pounds into you, using your body to chase his pleasure. You bite your lip to stifle your own sounds as the room echoes with the snap of his hips against yours and the grunts he can’t contain. The hand on your shoulder moves to your throat, pulling you up and arching your back until he’s holding you against his chest.

You turn your face over your shoulder and his lips crash against yours, his teeth digging into your bottom lip and making you whimper.

“Cum for me,” Javier commands, the hand on your hip moving to circle your clit again. As you start to pulse around him, he smiles against your lips. “Fuck, that’s it. Just like that, baby.”

Javier presses himself deep as his own release courses through him, filling you to the brim with warmth and stealing your breath. He kisses your shoulder, a sweet gesture that’s so at odds with what you’ve just done.

When he starts to go soft, he pulls out and fixes your underwear into place before smoothing the skirt of your dress back down your hips, the sound of him buckling his belt following suit. You turn to face him, prepared for some sort of self-satisfied remark from the egotistical man, but to your surprise he wraps a hand around the back of your neck and pulls you towards him for a deep kiss.

As he draws back and your eyes flutter open, you notice the smear of red across his lips, the sight making you smile. You lick your thumb, using the moisture to rub away the remnant of your time together. 

“Thank you, alacránita,” he murmurs, gently grabbing your wrist and pressing a kiss to your palm. You catch a glimpse of your watch, noting the time.

“Don’t you have a meeting right now?” You ask Javier. He checks his own watch.

“Fuck!” He hisses, grabbing his suit jacket and rushing from the file room, the door slamming shut behind him as you laugh and laugh and laugh.

Maybe your plan worked better than you expected, after all.

Javier slips inside the boardroom and takes the seat beside Steve as inconspicuous as possible, straightening his jacket and smoothing down his hair as he does. As he’s trying to focus on the words being thrown around the room, he feels a tap at his shoulder.

Steve leans closer to whisper, “What’s that all over your hand?”

He looks at the hand he’s rested on the table, noting the smear of red that extends from his palm to the thin skin between his thumb and forefinger. He clenches his hand into a fist and sets it in his lap instead.

“Nothing,” he replies.

#javier peña #javier pena x reader #javier pena x you #javier pena smut #javier pena fanfiction #javier peña x reader #javier peña x you #javier peña smut #javier peña fanfiction #narcos #narcos smut #narcos fanfiction #javier pena narcos #javier pena #javier pena x female reader #javier peña x female reader

[celluloidbroomcloset]

The more I think about it, the more heartbreaking the line: "I forgive you, by the way. For sleeping with Doug."

First, Stede doesn't talk about sex. He's angered by Calico Jack's questions and insinuations, and he's very clear that "Ed's past is Ed's business." He seems to have zero issues with his crew doing whatever they like with whomever they like, but it's clear he's not participating or particularly talking about it with anyone. We know his married life is loveless, and that he's a closeted gay man who's in love with another man for the first time ever, so sex is a difficult topic for him.

And the one time he explicitly mentions sex, to his wife, is to drunkenly and resentfully forgive her for sleeping with another man. It's harsh, and not just because he's drunk—he emphasizes it. He breaks the statement into two sentences, so that she's very clear what he's forgiving her for. She even seems shocked by it—this isn't something he does. From what we see of their married life he's oblivious and distant and awkward, but he's not cruel.

The whole sequence from the art opening onward is juxtaposed against the Ed and Izzy scene where Izzy bullies Ed back into becoming Blackbeard and eventually the Kraken. So this sequence is Stede's "Kraken" moment, as the scene escalates from the embarrassing meanness at the art opening to the cruelty in private.

But Stede lives in a different world than Ed, and his society is shaped by "cutting remarks." Where pirate violence is physical, Stede's is mostly verbal. He knows how to use language against people; it has been done to him, and we see him do it to the French ship, to Izzy, and to Chauncey. He’s very emotionally attuned and he’s adept at getting the knife in when he wants to. He uses it carefully, though, usually in defense either of himself or someone he loves. But if he were to become a bully, he’d be horrific.

We never see Stede being deliberately vicious to someone who doesn’t deserve it, and he's being deliberately vicious to Mary, a woman as thoroughly trapped in that marriage as he is (even more so, because she has very limited options for escape). What we know, which Mary doesn't yet, is that his viciousness is coming from the ache of what he left behind.

Stede was able to try to reconcile his return as "doing his duty" for his family, and what he finds is that his family have moved on. Not only that, but the wife whom he was at least imprisoned with, who at least shared in some degree his discomfort and unhappiness and was obliged to make it work with him as far as they both could, has found the love and pleasure that he's denying himself. He's isolated in a way he wasn't before. He wants to isolate her again so that at least he still has some kind of companionship, even if it's just in suffering.

Mary's fears are clear. If Stede decides that she can’t be with Doug, he has a LOT of power to stop her. He’s a wealthy male landowner; he legally owns her and the children. He can ruin Doug and he can make her life hell. He legally and culturally has a lot of control over her sexuality. I don’t think for one minute that Mary ever feared Stede their entire life and she fears him now.

It is cruel, and it's not Mary's fault. Nor is this who Stede is, or who he wants to be, though it's clearly a sign of who he can become. Again, like the scene at the art gallery, the scene between them is important to develop how repression and self-loathing can warp a person, even someone as genuinely kind as Stede. He is so desperate to “do the right thing” that he’s twisting himself up into the very kind of man who has hurt him. And beneath it is the longing for Ed and the love and passion that he’s denied himself.

That this all pushes toward a breaking point where Stede and Mary are finally able to understand each other, and Stede is finally able to say that he's gay and he's in love with Ed, makes that moment much more powerful. Mary was perfectly ready to hate him and at least save herself, but she helps him find the words to express who he is and what he feels, and who he wants.

The poison turns into positivity.

#ofmd #our flag means death #stede bonnet #mary bonnet #edward teach #ofmd meta #our flag means death season 1 #ofmd season 1 #gif #long post #my wee thoughts #would love to hear other people's as well #i like mary #i like the arc that they give her and how she's more than just a function of Stede's arc #i like that she helps him too #and he figures out to be the best husband he's capable of being for her

[sailoryooons]

Okay hear me out, but maybe a little bit of enemies to lovers, little bit of smutty goodness between witch hunter!yoongi and witch!reader?? Idk why this popped in my head but I’m kind of desperate to see a little something now lol.

Also, I love you ❤️

❀ Pairing: Witch hunter!Yoongi x f. witch!reader

❀ Summary: For years, you and Yoongi have played cat and mouse. It’s his duty to rid the world of witches, but he always finds a new excuse to let you slip through his fingers. When you find yourself at his mercy, you wonder if the great witch hunter will finally end your game of chase, or if there’s something that will stay his hand. 

❀ Word Count: 4188 

❀ Genre: Urban fantasy, enemies to lovers, a hint of angst, smut

❀ Rating: 18+ Minors are strictly prohibited from engaging and reading this content. It contains explicit content and any minors discovered reading or engaging with this work will be blocked immediately. 

❀ Warnings: On screen character death (not permanent though), depictions of blood and intense action sequences, scary demon thing, depiction of weapons, hints at violence between two groups of people, mild world building, a bit of angst, explicit language, explicit sexual content featuring light nipple play, unprotected vaginal sex, emotional sex, a lot of spit, UNEDITED. 

❀ Published: August 3, 2023

❀ A/N: I don’t know why I thought I’d be able to control myself with some of these ideas because god dammit Sarah, I want to turn this into more than ~4k of a work. Like this idea inspired me so much, you have no idea how insane I wanted to go on this but I had to CONTROL MYSELF because I promised that this year I would keep it tame. I love you so much and I’m so sorry that this is like 90% plot and 10% smut but I kept inching toward 5k and I was like I HAVE GOT TO STOP MYSELF JESUS CHRIST and dkfgjdiogjfoigjg I am telling you right now, I want to come back and revisit this fic and makie it like a four chapter thing or something because GOD I LOVED THIS IDEA AND YOU KNEW JUST WHAT TO REQUEST. Also this is unedited!!!!

❀ Disclaimer: All members of BTS are faces and name claims for this story. This is entirely a work of fiction and by no means is meant to be a projection, judgment or representation of real-life people. Any scenarios or representations of the people and places mentioned in works are not representative of real-life scenarios.

| Masterlist | Ask | Hali’s Happy Agust | Song Inspiration |

Most nights, Yoongi dreams of you. He knows better, and yet he can’t help himself. It’s like you’re living under his skin, a virus that has taken root in the marrow of his bones. He doesn’t know how he would dig you out if he tried.

If he tried. 

If anyone from the Conclave knew the dangerous game that Yoongi is playing, he would be ousted or killed. Killing would be the mercy, but he’s garnered enough hate within the elite members of the Conclave to know they’d rather him suffer cut off from his resources. His friends. His family. 

Still, Yoongi walks a dangerous line. He knows it’s wrong, letting a witch infect him like a sickness. He is sure that he’s under your spell. There’s no other explanation for the way he always lets you slip away. For the way he closes his eyes and imagines the flutter of your heart against his, the sound of your gasps, the warmth of your hands.

Stars explode behind Yoongi’s eyes as he presses the heels of his hands into them. He’s exhausted, limbs heavy and sore from a day of bloody work. The activity downtown has only worsened the last few months, making Yoongi hunt multiple times a day and return home banged up. 

The pain he can handle. Witches and their demons are nothing new to him. But he knows there’s something he’s missing, something lurking beneath the surface of the increased activity and the strong demonic presence in the city.

Yoongi knows he could ask you. He’s thought about it a few times over the last few weeks but he’s talked himself out of it each time. The curiosity has always lingered there, waiting for him to ask in those moments where you cross his path, coy and sharp as ever. In the minutes you linger, shooting him insults he thinks you don’t mean and playing little word games. 

He doesn’t ask, though. And you never offer, despite the fact that your sharp eyes and knowing smirk lead him to believe you know he wants to ask. 

Perhaps that’s why he doesn’t. Not giving you what you want is part of the fun. He likes the way it makes you bristle, magic crackling at your fingertips. He loves the way it makes you narrow your eyes at him, lobbing empty threats that make him want to purr. 

Whatever this effect you have on him is potent. He can’t shake you off, can’t outrun you. 

And worse, he doesn’t want to.

Rain begins to beat on the bedroom window outside. Though his limbs are heavy from slogging through the sewer system downtown after a witch and her ivax demon, he’s a little too keyed up to sleep. Yoongi senses something staticy in the air, an energy that he can’t name.

Opening up his phone, he flips through his text threads with members of the Conclave. It seems everyone is in it tonight, the demonic activity buzzing and the monsters worse than usual. He frowns when he sees Seokjin mention a prowler crawling through the warehouse district. Yoongi knows that’s where you live and an unexpected sense of unease slivers down his spine.

He locks his phone and tosses it on the bed. He doesn’t need to worry about you. You’re one of the most skilled witches in the city and you’ve killed scores of demons and others alike. He should remove your head for the number of hunters you’ve put in the ground, but you’ve killed triple that in witches. 

Which is why you’re alone. It’s not lost on Yoongi that you’re a witch without a coven and with unusual alliances living in a warehouse all alone with a prowler on the loose. If you know it’s there - you have to know it’s there, being you - he knows you’ll go after it. 

“Fuck,” he sighs at the ceiling. 

Grabbing his phone, Yoongi sends off a quick text. 

Yoongi: Anyone dispatching to take care of the prowler?

Councilman Haer: Negative. The Conclave will not be dispatching. The Warehouse District is not critical and it’ll go back down after it’s satiated. Prowlers aren’t controlled by witches, it might even take a few out for us.

Yoongi stomach flips as he squeezes his phone tight before getting up. He’s tired of the Conclave’s inaction. He knows he’ll get in trouble for going after something so dangerous without backup, but he can’t ask Seokjin and Hoseok to back him up on this one. Not unauthorized, and not for something so dangerous. 

Unsanctioned hunts is exactly how Yoongi has ended up at the bottom of the pool among Conclave members, but he doesn’t care. Politics can’t erase the fact that he’s the best fucking hunter in the city, and no councilman who won’t get their hands dirty can give him grief for doing what needs to be done.

This isn’t about the Conclave, though. Yoongi knows it. Seokjin would know it, if Yoongi told him what he was doing. But the thought of a prowler tearing through the low-income streets in the Warehouse District doesn’t resonate with him. Neither does knowing that you are one of the witches in the line of fire. 

Yoongi dresses and arms himself with military proficiency. A black, long-sleeved shirt with a form-fitted leather vest over it to prevent most stabs and cuts, knives sheathed along the ribbing of the vest, breathable pants with a tactical belt and pockets full of hunting necessities, and his necklace with the Conclave helix. 

At the last second, he grabs a jacket and pulls the hood up to keep the beating rain from soaking him through. While he has some talent with magic to help him heal faster and make his blows stronger and faster, he’s not skilled in the way of weather or anything advanced enough to keep him dry and comfortable. 

Nervousness settles into him as he takes the subway to the Warehouse District. It’s not far, but the train is empty and filled with dirty puddles left behind from passengers. Lights flicker above as the subway rockets unevening on the tracks, making him dizzy. 

When he steps off the train and into the wet underground of the station entrance, he knows something is amiss. His fingers twitch as he jogs up the steps, boots splashing loudly as the rain comes down. Wind whips at him here and when he hears a crack of thunder too loud and rumbling to be human, his instincts kick in.

Yoongi takes off running. He knows where your warehouse-turned-loft is. He’d originally scouted it out to eliminate you. Now, it’s something he’s always kept an eye on, steering other hunters away from your home. It’s silly, he knows. You’d call him weak if you knew, probably. And yet he does it, diverting danger coming your way when he can.

Now, danger is already there. 

The storm rages harder as he heads your direction. Wind pushes at him, making Yoongi lock his muscles as he fights the freezing cold rain and the debris that blows down the street with the force of the storm. He hopes that it keeps people indoors and away from the prowler. 

But Yoongi sees the purple lighting lance out of the sky, an explosion of radiant beauty for a moment before it strikes nearby, blowing transforms into white sparks and he realizes what is so uncanny about this storm. 

It’s you. You’re the storm. 

A roar of rage shakes the air as he comes around the corner to your street. The warehouse you live in is at the end of the road right up against the bay. The wind is mixed with salt spray, stinging his eyes as he runs towards the shadowy outline of your building, nearly impossible to see in the rain and night.

Yoongi manages to roll one of the heavy doors open to your loft, muscles screaming with effort. Stepping inside, chaos greets him. The ceiling is blown out above your home, rain pouring in from the sky. It tastes like lightning and blood. No doubt your storm is what ripped the ceiling apart, but when he sees the prowler, he doesn’t blame you. 

A massive creature stands ten feet tall, rippling with leathered hide and spikes on its back. Long, gangly limbs drag on the floor with black, sharpened talons on the end of each of its three fingers. The prowler walks awkwardly and Yoongi notes the scorch mark in its left shoulder, making it lean as it drags itself toward its intended target. 

Which is you, laying on the ground bloody and rain soaked. Yoongi doesn’t even think. He has no idea if you’re conscious or not, but he’s moving across the room, putting power into his step as he pulls out two of his daggers and jumps high up into the air. 

Yoongi’s intent is to land on the back of the prowler and sink each blade in as he falls. He doesn’t anticipate the demon to turn away from bloodied prey, but it does, swinging its arm wildly to bat him away. He’s lucky that the forearm catches him in the stomach and sends him flying and not the flaws.

Closing his eyes and bracing for impact, Yoongi is surprised when he doesn’t slam into a wall. He opens his eyes to see himself floating toward the floor, suspended briefly before the phantom energy drops him gently. He lands with shock, looking up to where you’re sitting up, one hand extended toward him.

At least you weren’t out cold or dead. Yoongi is really happy that you’re not dead, but it’s cut short as the prowler charges him. 

This time, Yoongi’s ready. He runs at the beast, waiting until he’s right outside of the window of its swiping claws before he dives to his knees, sliding under the creature and between its legs. He twists his hands, cutting the inside of the creature’s thighs as he goes.

It shrieks, shaking the building and scattering Yoongi’s thoughts. He feels fizzy and confused for a moment, the mind breaking scream of the prowler enough to make him vulnerable. He feels a hand on his face and he looks up, momentarily stricken with the thought that he sees an angel. 

“Thank you,” you breathe, and he recognizes your voice. Usually it cracks like a whip, but this is soft. Strange. It terrifies him. “I’m going to do something that is probably going to kill me. Just know that I liked our game, Hunter.”

“What are you doing, Witch?”

Your smile is like the sun. He doesn’t think he’s seen anything more beautiful. Your face is covered in blood and rain, turning your neck scarlet as it runs. There’s a gash above your brow and he sees a blackened wound in your stomach. 

It is amazing, how a creature like you, bred to be an evil, wicked thing can look radiant. Holy. Wonderful. Your hand is cradling his face and it feels warm, despite the rain and blood on your hands. Your thumb is soft as it sweeps across his cheek, a touch more reverent than he’s ever known. 

“Witch,” Yoongi starts, unsure what you’re doing. 

“I’ll miss that. Take this.” 

Before Yoongi can react, your hand falls from his face. You move past him with absolute confidence, lifting your chin. You have a limp as you do, and Yoongi reaches after you but you’re already out of his grip.

Something stirs in the air. He’s only felt power rippling like that once before when he was a child, and the entire Conclave worked together to slaughter an Eldritch Witch that had attacked them and taken out more than half of their hunters.

Now, Yoongi feels that dark presence again, energy buzzing against his ears as he turns to look at you over his shoulder. The prowler senses the power disturbance too, backing away from you as dark particles begin to gather around your hands.

Above you, the rain hovers, disrupted by the frequency of your magic. The buzz in Yoongi’s ears gets louder as he climbs to his feet, clapping his hands firmly over his ears, wincing as it gets higher and louder. He thinks it might burst his ear drums or crack his skull open. 

Disks of dark particles circle you as you approach the demon, which is now roaring once more, trying to disrupt your thoughts. It doesn’t work, the air vibrating with dark matter. You’re at the center of the swirling darkness, the rings rotating around you like an access.

The sound stops suddenly, and for a moment, Yoongi thinks he’s deaf. Black matter pulses from you, exploding outward. Yoongi hits the floor, realizing if he gets hit with your magic, he’ll die. Never before has he witnessed the Eldritch Blast of a witch, but he knows that it's only used as a final stand.

I’m going to do something that is probably going to kill me. 

The finality of your words shreds him open as the shockwave of your magic barrels at him. He thinks he’s going to die as it expands toward him, but instead, it arches over him, battling down against a magical barrier. 

Take this. Yoongi realizes you’ve warded him from your destruction, keeping him safe as your blast levels the world around you. He feels the magic beating down on your ward like raging fits, vibrating and shrieking under the pressure of the magic. 

It even keeps him from being injured by the collapsing debris. 

Yoongi looks at you as the world falls to pieces. You go down to one knee, then the other, swaying as the darkness cascades around you in a final flutter of power. Then you fall over, heavy and unmoving as the rest of the building comes down. 

All he can do is scream.

-

Most nights, you dream of Yoongi. You don’t know when it started - perhaps that first night after you met him? You can’t be sure. All you know is that at some point, the hunter poisoned you from the inside out, a disease taking root and rotting you all the way through to your core. 

You always knew that dreaming of him would get you killed one day. But Yoongi was different. Wiser than the rest of his wretched Conclave. Smart enough to question his way of life and his faction’s merciless killings. You think he’ll start asking the right questions soon, that maybe he’ll start seeing the signs that who he has sworn loyalty to isn’t who they say they are.

But Yoongi never asks questions. 

It’s easy to tell he wants to. There’s always that little pause at the end of your meetings. You used to think it was perhaps he was trying to decide whether or not to kill you. Perhaps it was that at first, but now it’s something a little different. A little more. Like he is on the edge of finally asking you what exactly is going on in the city that he protects from monsters.

Yoongi is simple, though. He likes his little life tucked away in the Art District and he likes the wash, rinse, repeat of killing demons and corrupted witches nightly. You think he likes your little run-ins.

Now, you’ve finally paid the price of letting him live these last two years. Had someone told you before you’d met Yoongi that you’d sacrifice yourself for him and the rest of a small neighborhood, you’d have laughed in their face. You weren’t a hero, though some might think slaying your own kind and their creatures was worth praise. 

Penance and praise are not the same, though. 

Dying seems like a good way of paying off your list of wrongs. Especially to save Yoongi. If only to save Yoongi, if you were being honest. 

Witches have a lot of lore about death and where one goes in the afterlife. You’re not sure where you are, if you exist, or if you’re even really a thought. It feels like nothingness and everything all at once, a void of floating consciousness. There’s no pain, but you remember the warehouse. Remember the prowler ripping down the door and coming for you specifically. 

And him. You remember Yoongi coming in, looking like a fucking angel of old as he leapt through the skies. Together you might have taken on the beast. But prowlers are notoriously difficult to destroy, and you were in no shape to protect Yoongi, much less fight by his side as a reliable partner. 

That left you with one option, and though you knew it would end you, you’d done it anyway.

Yoongi’s face swims in your mind. Soft and round, eyes like the bottom of the ocean, a single pink scar carved through his right eye. Mouth soft and petal pink, hair silky and dark, reaching to his shoulders. He’s small for a hunter but he’s strong and broad, his mind his best weapon. 

Witch, Yoongi had said. The last words you’d hear from him, spoken with a softness that you’ve never heard from him before. Rain-soaked and wide eyed Yoongi, looking at you like you held the flame of life, like you were something more than a creature on the other side of the trench. 

The best thing you could do for him was die.

So you summoned your magic from deep within you, that ancient, sleeping thing. You try not to think about what Yoongi’s last memory of you will be, an eldritch horror that will remind him of the creature that slaughtered his family as a child. 

Yoongi will never get to ask his questions. You’ll never get to tell him why you haunt the streets killing your own kind. Yoongi will never know the softness of your kiss. You’ll never know the gentle press of his hands. 

Something brushes across your forehead. You feel now and you frown. Or can you frown, in whatever plane of death this is? You’re not sure, but you feel… the weight of your own body. The beating of your own heart. The rush of air through your lungs as you breathe.

Awareness prickles at the back of your neck like a needle. Slowly, you begin to feel solid. Your fingers twist in soft sheets, and when you turn your head, you feel the plushness of a pillow. Smell petrichor and cedar. 

It smells like… Yoongi. 

“Hmmm?” you feel the vibration in your throat at your unspoken question, nothing but a rumble of noise and confusion. Something cradles your face. “Hunnn..?”

A deep, throaty laugh. “Mmm, I take care of you for a week straight and we’ve moved on to endearments?” 

Your eyes flutter open, lids heavy. The world swims into view, a little blurry as your eyes try to focus in the dimly lit room, taking in the bed you’re in and the face hovering above yours. 

“Yoongi,” you breathe, your heart expanding with unfettered joy. 

“That’s the first time you’ve ever said my name.”

“What?”

“Say it more often.” He leans forward and you watch as his dark eyes drink you in. “And never do that to me again.”

Before you can ask him what that is, Yoongi’s mouth is pressing against yours. You melt immediately, going boneless in a bed you’re unfamiliar with, lost in the citrusy taste of his mouth and the gentle press of his lips. His kiss is soft soft soft, blurring reality as he pulls at your bottom lip teasingly before pulling away.

Eyes fluttering open, you stare at him in wonder. He hovers above your face, haloed by inky-black hair. “Yoongi.”

He smiles. “It sounds much better than hunter. Hun can stay, though.”

“You’re not calling the shots.”

“You’re in no condition to fight me.”

“I killed a prowler, I think you’re no problem.”

His eyes glow. “I think perhaps you’re right. But for now, you’re at my mercy.”

“Kiss me again.” You lift your hands and bring them toward his face, brushing a finger over the bottom of his scar. “And don’t stop this time. I’ll ask my questions later.”

“Of course, witch.” 

Yoongi’s kiss is hungrier now. Desperate. Full of all the questions he never asked and you meet him with equal fire. You don’t care that you’ve beat the odds and lived. You don’t care about anything else but the weight of Yoongi straddling your waist and the feel of his velvet soft skin beneath your hands. 

Every inch of him is warm, filled with the heat of the hunter’s fire that burns through every member of the Conclave. This hunter burns brighter than the rest, though. Warmth blooms where your fingers press over his stomach and chest, ridding him of his shirt. Fire burns where you grab his arms, arching into him as his teeth skim your throat. 

You’ve never felt this in sync with someone, bodies twining together like you were made for one another. Yoongi’s hand is scorching as his touch ghosts down your body, his touch light and teasing as he lowers his mouth to your hardened nipple, catching it and giving a gentle suck.

Honey-dipped moans slip from your mouth. Yoongi’s mouth is wet-hot against your skin, tongue laving hungrily as his hand seeks the heat between your legs. Your thighs open for him easily, giving Yoongi access to the dripping mess of your folds. He curses when his fingers slide between your slit, gathering slick to circle his digits around your clit.

“Fuck,” you hiss, hips twitching. “Don’t bother. I can take you now. Want you now.”

“I told you that you were at my mercy.” You summon your magic, rattling his shelves. Yoongi leans over to your neglected nipple and plucks it with his teeth, making you squeal and shiver, pleasure rattling you. “Fine,” he agrees. “Greedy witch. Should have known.”

“Not greedy,” you shoot back as Yoongi sits up and sheds his pants. Your hands follow him, tracing the faint scars on his stomach, pressing against the muscle of his tapered hips. “I’ve waited for months for you to do something. To say something.”

“I’m not good at that.” 

You hum. “It takes me dying for you to take initiative?” 

“A lesson hard-learned and never to be repeated.”

Yoongi’s cock is hard, bobbing heavily as he shuffles you under him and presses your thighs open for him. The brown tip is sticky with precum, his shaft long and thick enough to make your cunt ache for him more.

“Nice cock,” you tease as he pumps himself, hand gliding and spreading his precum down his shaft.

He grunts. “Can’t wait to feel this fucking pussy,” he mutters, leaning forward and pressing the tip to your entrance. You make a breathy sound, eyes fluttering shut at the pleasure-pained stretch. “Think you can take it, witch?”

“Yes.”

Yoongi sinks in and you second-guess your statement for a second, but the stretch of his cock pressing you open feels good. Deliriously so, your back arching as he bottoms out. You feel him in your gut, deeper than anything ever before and you whine as he draws his hips back before snapping them forward, punching the breath from your lungs.

He sets a deep, hard pace. You grip his biceps, feeling the muscle flex in his arms. Every part of you is on fire, lit up from the closeness of your bodies as Yoongi leans down and melds your mouths together, continuing to fuck you so deep you know you’ll never forget what it feels like.

Every brush of his cock against your g-spot drives you mad. Every whisper of your name - your name, not witch - makes you shudder. His tongue is hungrily as it brushes against yours, his moans deep and throaty as your pussy grips him tight. 

“Fuck,” he pants, sliding a hand down your body to grab your thigh and hoist your leg higher. It changes the angle, making his stroke somehow deeper. Your eyes roll back and your head digs into the mattress as you fist at the sheets. “You can fucking take it.”

“Keep going.”

“As if i could fucking stop.” 

You never want him to stop. Fucking you, kisses you, teasing you, shadowing you as you take on the world. You want every part of your life colored with Yoongi. You want him to be a part of your mornings, your fights, your weaknesses, your strengths. You want to rile him up, needle him with little insults that get him going. Tease him to make him laugh and share that secret smile. 

Every moment has led to this. You don’t know how you never saw this outcome, here with him, crying out his name as your orgasm crests into an unstoppable force. When you come around him, it’s with his name in your mouth and so much need for him in your heart that you think you might explode with energy for a second time. 

After, when you’re wrapped in Yoongi and you feel his hunter’s skin blaze against you, sweat-slick skin pressed close, you think that finally, he’ll ask those questions. You’ll give him answers. 

“Don’t do that ever again, witch,” Yoongi warns. “I will follow you into death.” 

#yoongi smut #suga smut #min yoongi smut #yoongi fanfic #yoongi x reader #bts suga #bts fanfic #minors do not interact #minors dni #bts suga smut #yoongi angst #halis happy agust

[dean-winchester-is-a-warrior]

I Believe You, But Tell Me Again

(x)

Summary: Y/N is wondering if Jensen still sees her as he used to.

Warnings/Explicit 18+: Lots of fluffy smut. Sexy af Jensen. Rockstar!Jensen. Definitely a warning. Unprotected PinV sex. Oral (f receiving), Brief fingering, some slightly insecure thoughts, established relationship. Fluff.

Pairings: Jensen x Reader

Word Count: 3,314

A/N: This fic is a request by @lacilou .

I'm not sure if you're taking requests, but I can't get this out of my head. Jensen, in the photo you're using for Off and On Again. Where he's super hot, and he knows it. Kinda cocky but totally in love with the reader (established relationship - married, long-time girlfriend??) And reader doesn't understand why he's so into her, but she KNOWS it even though Jensen has to remind her with "Feel this? It's all for you, "while he's holding the reader's hand over his bulge. If you could throw in "this what you want?" while he's slowly stroking himself as he walks towards the reader, lust in his eyes.

I hope you enjoy it sweetie, and everyone else too.

The dividers below were created by @talesmaniac89

The lights were bright, slightly blinding, as Y/N sat in front of the two cameras aimed at her. There were two cameras so they could decide later on which side was her better side. Or possibly her worse side, depending on the tone of the interview. 

Y/N squinted at the primped and stylish woman sitting across from her getting her makeup touched up. She wondered, would this interview be a friendly one? An interview to say, “Look everyone! Aren’t the Ackles great?” Or would it be one of those interviews that had an edge of nasty hovering just beneath the smile of the interviewer. 

She watched this interviewer, Shauna, pull away from her makeup artist, scowling. “It’s fine, Lisa. Just leave it alone.” 

Uh oh.

The interview started off friendly enough, touching on the things most journalists talked to her about - Jensen’s incredible skyrocketing success, his status as a rockstar icon, what a talent he was. As Jensen’s biggest fan, Y/N always enjoyed those kinds of questions. She couldn’t get enough of bragging about her ridiculously talented husband. 

But then the mood of the interview shifted and Shauna started asking much more pointed questions. 

“Now, Y/N, you and Jensen have been married over a decade now, right?” Y/N nodded. “Is there a secret to your success?” Shauna was smiling, but Y/N could see that her gray eyes were calculating.

It was a question she’d been asked a lot in the last couple of years as their ten year anniversary came and went. People seemed very interested in the fact that their marriage had lasted so much longer than had been anticipated. When Jensen had started dating her, just a nobody from nowhere, everyone had predicted it wouldn’t last. 

People on social media and angry people with podcasts all had an opinion on their relationship.

-- She’s not cut out for the limelight.

-- It’s way too hard for someone like her.

-- She’s not used to the media. She’s gonna break under the pressure.

-- He’s a rockstar who could literally get any girl he wanted. So, what’s up with him picking her?

-- It won’t last. These showbiz marriages never do.

But ten years on, now people were wondering how they actually made it to a decade. “What’s the secret?” They all wanted to know.

“There’s really no secret, Shauna.” Y/N said with a smile. “When two people are madly in love with each other, when they respect each other and work together as partners, staying together becomes much easier.” 

It was a variation on the same answer she’d given dozens of times. It happened to be true, but Y/N was still tired of trying to find new ways to explain to people that they got married because they loved each other, and they stayed married because the alternative was unthinkable for either of them.

Shauna smiled a sharp smile. “And in all those years, you’ve never been worried about the rock and roll lifestyle…leading Jensen astray?”

Y/N kept smiling because she couldn’t falter and let the reporter know she’d scored a hit. They weren’t usually that pointed with the infidelity question. Usually they skirted around it, saying things like, “Does it ever get hard when he’s on the road?” or “You must miss him when he’s touring. How do you keep tabs on him?” 

Y/N’s personal favorite version of this question came from a middle-aged woman reporter with lipstick on her teeth. “Have you ever just shown up to surprise him, or tried to catch him being naughty?” It was said with a cheeky grin as though they were just besties chatting, but Y/N had wanted to snatch the woman bald.

Shauna’s version of the question was the closest anyone had ever come to asking her outright, “Do you worry about your husband cheating on you?”

Y/N kept smiling and shook her head. “No, never. If you knew Jensen, you wouldn’t wonder about it either. He’s the most loyal man I’ve ever known, and the most honorable. I know beyond a doubt that he doesn’t take our vows lightly, and that he would never, ever hurt me like that.”

Shauna seemed slightly taken aback by Y/N’s adamant, genuine answer, clearly expecting some anger or some kind of dramatic reaction from her. When she didn't get it, the reporter just smiled again.

“So sweet.” Was her response, acid dripping from her words.

***

The day of interviews had taken quite a bit out of Y/N, especially the last one, and she was tired as she wandered out to the limousine that was waiting to take her and Jensen back to their hotel, whenever he was done with his part of the press junket.

The limo driver opened the door for her and smiled. “Fatima says Mr. Ackles is almost finished and will be out in about ten minutes. Do you want to wait for him? Or should I take you and send another car for him?”

Y/N smiled back and shook her head. “No, let’s wait for him.”

“Okay, great.” The driver said as he closed the door behind her. 

In less than ten minutes, she saw Jensen push out of the double doors, and amble towards the car. He wore black jeans that clung to his thick thighs, and a gray t-shirt covered by a black, long-sleeved denim shirt. His sleeves were rolled up, revealing the veins and corded muscles in his forearms - muscles he’d gained by long hours spent playing the guitar.

As he got closer to the car, she watched him push a hand through his long hair, sweeping it off his forehead, and she sighed deeply. Good God, he was so stunningly sexy. 

Even when he was just walking, he moved with the same seductive grace he used like a siren song onstage. No matter how many times Y/N watched him in concert, she never got used to that kind of magnetic, cocky seductiveness that poured out of him when he was singing. He knew he drove people crazy. He knew it, and it just made him smile.

He was smiling now as he climbed into the car. “Hey beautiful.”

Y/N smiled tiredly at him, feeling her heart warm at his usual greeting. When he settled into the seat, he reached over and pulled her into his lap.

She squealed lightly as he lifted her, and then chuckled. “You know there are seatbelts we’re supposed to be wearing.”

Jensen shrugged and squeezed her tighter against him. “Nah! I gotcha.” 

Y/N laughed again. “Oh, okay then.” She said, snuggling closer to him. The interview had knocked her off kilter a bit, and it felt especially good to have Jensen’s arms wrapped around her. 

She tucked her head under his chin, and he ran his big hand up and down her arm. “Hey,” he said with concern lacing his voice, “everything okay?”

Y/N nodded. “Yeah, just a long day sitting in the same room, being asked basically the same questions.” She shrugged. “I just wanna get home. Or, well, hotel.”

Jensen accepted her answer, kissing her forehead and then her lips. “Me too.” 

They ordered in their dinner, neither of them keen to face more crowds and questions, and spent the evening watching some trashy reality TV before calling it a night a bit earlier than usual.

Y/N went into the bathroom to get ready. She brushed her teeth and took off her makeup, and as she stood in front of the mirror she looked at her face closely. 

There were some lines there that hadn’t been there when she first met Jensen. She knew there was a gray hair or two hiding amongst the rest that also hadn't existed back then. 

She pulled her silk nightgown tight against her body and could see where she was rounder than she had been when she was younger. Her muscle tone wasn’t as good. 

I should hit the gym more, she thought.

She pinched one of her love handles and pulled at her skin, wondering what Jensen really thought about all these changes. She knew he loved her, knew that he’d always found her attractive. But how was that holding up these days? Did he still feel the same kind of heat for her? Did he still want her as desperately as she still wanted him?

She jumped slightly as Jensen popped up in the mirror behind her to wrap his arms around her waist, and nuzzle his face in the crook of her neck. He wore his pajama bottoms and nothing more. She looked at his biceps flexing around her as he squeezed her back against him, and his round, muscled shoulders, broad and strong, and she sighed. He was still so unbelievably perfect.

She lightly tapped his forearm where it rested just below her breasts. “You scared me.” She said, her voice accusatory.

He chuckled. “Sorry, I thought you heard me.” He caught her eye in the mirror. “But you seemed to be lost in thought.”

He moved his lips to her temple. “What thoughts are swirling around in that beautiful mind of yours? Hmm?” He murmured. 

She shrugged a shoulder. “Nothing.” 

Jensen’s face in the mirror wore a disbelieving look. “Don’t believe that for a second.” He pulled back slightly, and turned her in his arms so she was facing him. A small line of worry was creased between his brows.

“You’ve been quiet all evening; something is obviously on your mind.”

Y/N shrugged again and looked down at their bare feet. “Just tired.”

Jensen put his knuckle under her chin and made her look at him. “Y/N. Tell me.”

Y/N was caught completely by surprise as her eyes welled up with tears. She didn’t know where these doubts were coming from or why she was feeling this way. Maybe it was just one too many snide questions.

Jensen’s face crumpled as he saw her tears. He cupped her cheeks and brushed them away as they spilled over her lashes. “Baby.” His voice was worried and confused. “Hey, hey. What’s wrong? What happened?”

Y/N shook her head. “No, nothing happened. Really. It was just this reporter.” 

Jensen waited for her to continue, but his worried expression darkened slightly in anger.

Y/N bit her lip and debated what to tell him, how to explain the feelings she barely understood herself. Finally she just went for the honesty they’d always had with each other; they’d never been afraid to ask for what they needed from one another, and what she needed was reassurance.

“Do you still want me? I mean, the same as you used to.”

Jensen seemed completely taken aback by the question. Clearly that hadn’t been where he expected this conversation to go. He shook his head.

“Why would you even ask that? Of course I do.”

Y/N frowned. “Don’t just tell me what I want to hear. Please, tell me the truth. Are there things about me you’d change if you could?”

Jensen’s expression turned thunderous and he dropped his hands from her cheeks to grip her upper arms. “Y/N.” He said firmly. “What the hell are you talking about? Where is this coming from? Of course I don’t want you to change.”

“I don’t mean my personality, or whatever.” Y/N explained wiping her tears away with both hands. “But my face or my body, the way I look. I know it isn’t the same as when we first met.”

Jensen shook his head, his voice incredulous. “Well no, you don’t look exactly the same as the day I met you over a decade ago.” He blew out an exasperated breath. “But you know, I’m pretty sure I don’t either.”

Y/N felt her skin flush. “But you’ve just gotten hotter.” She frowned. “Guys do that.” 

She opened her mouth to say something more, but Jensen slammed his mouth down on hers, sweeping his tongue into her mouth and invading her completely. She let out a little whimper as his hands let go of her arms to grab her ass and press her hard against him. He kissed her long, deep, swallowing every soft moan.

When he pulled back his voice was husky with want. “Baby, I don’t know where these questions are coming from, but I know the answers.” 

He grabbed Y/N’s hand and placed it on his hard cock where it tented his pajama bottoms, obviously not restrained by underwear. She bit her lip as he closed his eyes and groaned when she wrapped her fingers around him. 

“Feel this? It’s all for you, all because of you. Fuck, Y/N do you see what you do to me? Still? Always?” He pushed aside some of the bottles and jars that littered the countertop and lifted her onto it easily. His hand slipped between her legs and he groaned at her bare, wet pussy. “Believe me when I tell you that I want you. Every day. All the time. Years don’t change that.”

He shook his head. “In fact they just make things better cause now I know what happens if I do this.” 

He dipped his head, sucking her satin clad nipple into his mouth, while his thick middle finger slid inside her body at the same time. A strangled cry left her lips and she thumped her head back against the mirror.

She felt him smile against her. “Exactly.”

He took his hand out of her to tug on her nightgown. She shifted slightly so he could pull the silky material over her head as he continued.  “And yet, your body’s always a revelation to me. It never stops fascinating me.” His eyes followed the path of his fingers as he trailed them down her arms and then over the soft swell of her breasts. Gooseflesh erupted on her skin and her nipples puckered.

He circled his forefinger around the tight little bud, before dipping his head once again to flick the tip of his tongue against it. 

Y/N moaned deeply and wrapped her fingers up in his honey brown locks. “Jensen.” She gasped as he sucked her breast into his mouth and drew on it deeply, causing her cunt to clench and quiver.

He pulled her forward, to the edge of the counter, and then dropped to his knees. He wrapped his arms around her thighs and pulled her wide open so he could reach his tongue up to tease her hole. Y/N plunged her hand back into his hair and tugged on it before pushing his head harder against her dripping pussy. 

“God, fuck Jensen, yes.” She rambled.

He hummed against her folds before nibbling at her clit, making her knees try to lock around his ears. But his superior strength kept her legs spread wide so he could feast. He breathed hot against her, alternating between flicking his tongue against her clit and sucking it between his plump, luscious lips.

It wasn’t long before Y/N was bucking against his mouth as she rode out her climax while he lapped up her juices. She panted desperately and tugged on his hair again, begging him. “Please Jensen, fuck me. I need to feel you, need you inside me so badly.”

Jensen stood and scooped her off the counter, walking back into their bedroom. He laid her out on the bed, making sure her head was propped up on the pillows, before stepping away from her. He moved far enough back so that she had an unencumbered view as he slowly lowered his pajama bottoms. 

His cock sprang free to lean, hard and dripping, against his stomach. Y/N felt her mouth go dry and a keening moan erupted from her throat as he gripped himself in his fist, pumping slowly.

He walked towards her one slow step at a time. His voice was a growl. “Is this what you want?” She nodded, biting her lips and trying desperately not to come again, just from watching him.

“Tell me you want it.” Jensen ordered.

Y/N nodded again, almost frantically. “Yes, fuck. I want it. I want your cock.” She reached for him as he stood barely a foot from the side of the bed. “I need it. I need you.”

Jensen climbed onto the bed on his knees, grabbing up her wrists with both hands and pressing them into the pillows on either side of her head. He stared into her eyes as he spoke. 

“And I need you too, Y/N. I need you desperately, obsessively. I need you every waking minute. I need your love and your kindness. I need your good soul and beautiful heart.” He entered her in one hard thrust and she cried out. “But I also need your soft body. I need to sink into you. I need to feel you move against me. I need to hear you say my name like a moan. I need to feel you clench tight around me.”

He began moving slowly, sliding in and out of her with silky, unhurried movements. “I will always love you. I will always want you. And I will never need you any less than completely.” He cupped her cheek with one hand. “Do you understand me?”

Y/N nodded and gasped as his cock slid over her sweet spot. “Yes. Yes.” Was all she could manage to chant. But it satisfied him and he began to move faster.

He switched positions slightly so he could lift her hips off the bed, hooking her knees over his forearms. He began to slam into her, hitting that same sweet spot over and over until Y/N was screaming out her overwhelming pleasure and falling into euphoria. 

Jensen continued to jackhammer into her, grunting harshly with each thrust. He pounded into her pussy over and over until she was once again on the precipice of bliss. As his hips faltered, he dropped one of her legs so he could slide his thumb between their bodies and swirl it against her clit. She screamed again and fell for the third time, clenching around him and pulling his climax out of him, along with her own.

The familiar aftermath of damp skin pressed together and lungs starved for oxygen, brought Y/N a kind of all encompassing satisfaction and peace. When Jensen finally rolled off of her, she rolled with him, so she could slot herself up against his side, wrapping one arm over his ribs and laying her head on his chest as he ran his fingers teasingly up and down her back making her shiver.

They were both quiet for a few minutes before Jensen broke the silence. “Y/N tell me the truth.” He said, and Y/N could hear the protectiveness and anger on her behalf permeating his tone. “Did someone say something or do something to hurt you today?”

But she just shook her head. “No, it wasn’t any different than a million other interviews really.” She shrugged. “Something about it just hit me, I guess.”

She raised up on her elbow, chin in her hand, to look at him. “But if you tell me you love me as truly, madly, deeply as you did the day we met, then I believe you.”

Jensen frowned slightly. “Are you comparing me to a Savage Garden song?”

Y/N giggled, but ignored the question, kissing him softly before laying her head back down on his chest. She smiled against his skin as she spoke. 

“I believe you, but tell me again.”

Jensen’s breath ruffled her hair as he sighed contentedly. “I will love you, and desperately want to devour you, every single day of my life - for the rest of my life.”

Y/N nodded, and her voice was full of confidence as she snuggled closer. “Thought so.”

Jensen RPF and Any/All Characters: @lyarr24 @lacilou @deans-spinster-witch @globetrotter28 @suckitands33 @akshi8278 @evznackles @jackles010378 @impala67rollingthroughtown @krazykelly @candy-coated-misery0731 @envyaurora95 @spnwoman @deans-baby-momma

Any/All Fics Regardless of Character or Fandom: @kazsrm67 @slut-for-evans-stan @sexyvixen7 @nancymcl @waywardcheshire

Everything Incl. Fan Edits: @k-slla @leigh70 @eevvvaa @kickingitwithkirk @foxyjwls007 @notinthislife50 @roseblue373 @mishkatelwarriorgoddess @avanatural @mrsjenniferwinchester @all-alone-he-turns-to-stone

#jensen ackles #jensen rpf #jensen x reader #jensen ackles smut #jensen ackles one shot #jensen ackles fan fic #request fic

[zarvasace]

The last, and probably my current favorites of the bunch: Prince and Mirage, dark Warriors and dark Legend! I keep trying to put the images side-by-side so they don't take up as much room but Tumblr HATES that. Sorry.

My document with all these boys' descriptions on it is over 7k words. Holy heck. Hope you like them. XD Masterpost

More information and art beneath the cut yayyy

Prince

Prince is dark Warriors. 

Cia gave Warriors a lot of unwanted attention, which he spurned. Prince, on the other hand, wouldn't just accept the attention, but would have welcomed it. He wasn't entirely autonomous when he was summoned, but he remembers everything. He knows that he never wants to not be in control of himself ever again.

Instead of championing freedom, however, Prince makes a point of controlling others. If he controls them, they can't control him. Shackle is similar, but they have different methods. While Shackle prefers physical subjugation to be sure they're in his power, Prince uses manipulation. He pretends to be your friend, all the while gaining your trust. His job is made all the easier by his own special talent: Charm. 

Prince’s Charm is a supernatural ability to influence people. Where Madness takes over bodies, Prince sways the mind. His Charm is something he can turn on and off at will, at different intensities. It doesn't work well on any being with too much light, but it does work on criminals or people with guilt and secrets. The other Darks are susceptible to it, though after… an incident… Prince doesn't do it to them. Usually. 

It works like this: Prince identifies his target, which can be an individual or an entire crowd. He turns his Charm on intentionally, and depending on how hard he pushes, his target’s attention is drawn to his face. Because he does not look human, he then has to quickly begin talking, to pour even more Charm on. If he does it right (it does require skill and charisma), the target forgets his appearance is anything out of the ordinary. He needs a minute or two of conversation and rakish smiles to dig his claws deep enough that they don't remember anything unusual once they stop looking right at him. Prince uses his Charm to get information, favors, and generally spread his anti-Link agenda. The riskier or weirder his request is, the more Charm he has to layer on, and some people just straight up won't do some things. The Charm wears off after a while, depending on the target and how long they were exposed to it, which takes anywhere from a few minutes to a few weeks, averaging out at a day or two. 

Prince has to choose his targets wisely, which can be difficult to do because he does not look human and does not have any kind of magical disguise. That last point is a sore spot. He doesn't want a disguise, he just wants people to stop looking at him like he's going to burn their house down, thank you very much. He only has their best interests at heart. Prince is bitter and extremely envious about Warriors winning hearts so easily thanks to his good looks and natural charisma, so Prince does his best to do the same without them. His Charm is better anyway. 

…It's a good thing he hasn't actually been let loose on a population yet. 

(Warriors is a bit of a flirt, but not too badly. Prince makes a game out of trying to make people fall in romantic love with him as fast as he can. (Author’s note: I'm not touching sex. That is not the sort of story I want to tell here.))

Prince doesn't need food, and he doesn't need to breathe, but he does need to use his Charm. Because he magically learns a bit of information about his targets when he's focused on them, his theory is that he leeches from their emotions, or their identities, or something of that sort. He hasn't shared the theory with anyone, but the Dark Chain does know that Prince needs to use his Charm or he starts to get very, very hangry. It's a physical need for him. Of course, pushing too hard or trying to Charm too many people at once gives him migraines. 

Prince considers himself a leader, and it rankles him a bit that Depth is the one in charge. He contents himself with sitting back and letting Depth do all the hard things, though he has Charmed Depth several times into going along with what Prince wants to do. Prince sees Shackle as a sort of protege in the ways of manipulation, and occasionally provides pointers about how to subtly get under people’s skin. Prince and Madness end up working together a lot, since Prince can Charm Madness’s thralls into forgetting they ever lost time, or he can make up memories for them. Sometimes the two of them get migraines at the same time, which spells out lots of “fun” for everyone else. He fights a lot with Mirage and is always trying to catch Agony off-guard to give him a good scrubbing. He's the only reason that Nothing or Dire get baths, too. 

Prince is arrogant and ambitious, yes. He's proud of his appearance and does his best to stay clean and orderly—he doesn't mind the memories of military training that he gets from Warriors, since those routines help him to be efficient. He wears a copy of Warriors’s outfit, but fancier, with a fluffy shirt and a corset on top, and his tunic is purple because (1) it's opposite green on some color wheels and (2) it's the color of royalty. His silvery hair is a little longer than Warriors’s is, and he wears a luxurious red cape.

Sometimes he puts a little too much flair into his moves, but he's proficient with as many weapons as Warriors is, if less practiced. He talks a lot, boasts a lot, and casually jabs where it hurts. He holds a lot of jealousy and hate in his heart, and if he gets a little drunk, he'll go on and on about how much he dislikes Warriors, specifically. 

Prince’s ultimate ambition is to rule his Hyrule as undisputed, beloved emperor. He wants to do that by winning the hearts of every soldier, every servant, every noble. He wants to steal Warriors’s relationships right out from under him without him noticing. Prince knows that he can't rely on his temporary Charm to do that, though, so his plan is to ally with the organizations of traitors throughout Hyrule and add his persuasive charm and Charm to their efforts, eventually rising to become their leader. 

Prince’s best dreams involve him standing over a defeated Warriors on the balcony of the castle, a crown on his head and a queen on his arm (or king. He just thinks stealing Artemis or Impa would make it all the sweeter), with crowds below cheering for him. He has plans to keep the aging Warriors as an honored “guest” in the castle for as long as he lives, doomed to watch his beloved, darkened kingdom flourish under Prince’s ruby eyes. Someday, Prince will change his name to Link, stealing that from Warriors, too. 

Prince Link. Wait, no. King Link. No, even better… Emperor Link. 

Actually, he doesn't like the sound of Emperor. He’ll workshop that title.  

Mirage

Mirage is dark Legend, patterned after the Nightmares that Legend fought on Koholint. He knows Legend will know that immediately. 

Mirage is truly shape-fluid. His form is extremely malleable, though he can't keep up looking perfectly like a human for more than half an hour or so—he starts to melt and revert back to his most comfortable state, which is a close copy of Legend, his matter constantly shifting and dripping and melting. (Most comfortable state, not his true form. Does he have a true form? He doesn't know what it is if he does.) He is best at mimicking nonspecific human forms and small reptiles. He pretended to be a bush once, but wasn't very convincing. 

Mirage’s gooey flesh doesn't have many pain or touch receptors, and he doesn't need any kind of structure beneath the goo to stand up. He's very good at energy dispersion, so punching him means that you're either punching a brick wall or that your fist is getting absorbed. His goo is as warm as flesh and very slightly acidic, so touching him for too long can burn. He doesn't need to breathe, but he does digest organic material or minerals to build on his mass. He's weak against energy-type attacks, like acid or fire or ice, but it doesn't hurt him in the traditional sense and he can always build himself back up. He can drop entirely flat and easily squeezes through small gaps. 

Most traditional dungeon traps do absolutely nothing to Mirage: spike traps don't hurt him, as holes in his form mean nothing; he doesn't really take fall damage, just splatters a bit until he can pull himself together; giant axes that cleave him in two don't actually hurt him, either. There is one small part of Mirage’s matter that is his core. If he gets cut into pieces, the rest of him will shrivel up and evaporate in an hour or two, but his core stays alive and can regrow in a matter of days. If he gets to any cut-off piece before it evaporates, he can reassimilate it. He often messes with his form to take on any physical challenge: looking around corners with an eye on a hand; growing taller to see over a wall; spreading out his feet and legs to float on water; squeezing into cracks in an ice block and expanding in the right spot to make it all shatter. 

Mirage doesn't speak often, preferring to keep quiet. His voice is soft and slithering, with hissing Ss and a pitch that ranges from whispery to shrill. It's the worst voice in the group after Depth’s. He isn't the smartest of the Darks, but he is quite observant and if he does speak up, there's something important to pay attention to. Mirage often just goes with the group decisions, performing whatever role they require, though privately he absolutely resents having to work with anyone else, because Mirage works alone. He doesn't need companions, friends, shopkeepers, or family; he doesn't need vehicles, mounts, money, magic items, or even weapons. When he means alone, he means Very Alone. 

The thing about Legend—despite the masks and attitude he puts on—is that he cares, so so much. He cares about people being happy and safe, he bonds with everyone nice he meets whether he knows it or not, he is self-sacrificing and always working for a better world, even when people don't ask for it. Mirage does not care about much of anything except himself. He would be most content wandering around a mountain, causing a bit of chaos in a nearby town, and using his abilities to traverse impossible paths, especially through caves, just because he can. He doesn't care about the other Darks (that's a bit more of a lie than he thinks it is), he doesn't care about Legend, he doesn't care about covering the world in darkness. He’s just dragged around and knows that they have to finish this stupid mission thing before he can be left in peace. 

Mirage is somewhat fascinated with the way humans work. He's closer to an octopus or other eldritch sea creature himself, and mimics reptilian forms, but the more he learns about humans, the better he can mimic them. He might not care much about many things, but he's curious. He likes to investigate corpses (especially if he can eat them—the Dark Chain’s favorite way of “disappearing” people) and find out new things about their anatomy and chemical compositions, things he knows about and can memorize to reproduce in his own gooey flesh later. As such, he sometimes annoys the other Darks by poking at them or “testing” their senses or limits. 

He gets along best with Lost, who doesn't care much, either, and doesn't get mad at his questions or testing. Mirage responds by taking Lost babysitting duty more than his fair share. (His apathy means he's really patient with Lost and Nothing and Madness.) He makes a good team with Agony, who he sees as very similar to himself, except Agony is clearly more driven. Agony is the quick and sharp counterpart to Mirage’s slow and inevitable destruction. (And it doesn't hurt that Agony is the electricity wielder among them, so if Agony sort of likes Mirage, then all the better.) 

In a normal fight, Mirage is all but indestructible, walking through battle without problems. He doesn't bother attacking until someone hurts him, usually with fire or something similar. Then Mirage will focus to get rid of the threat—and he’s aware that the others expect him to target and take out Legend, so he does that if he has to. He's all but impossible to fight without elemental aid, and while he isn't too quick, he hits HARD and has a lot of tricks up his metaphorical sleeves. 

Still, the fact remains that if you manage to hurt him, you hurt him a lot. Mirage isn't complicated, but he's very flexible and can do things nobody is prepared for. 

(sorry for the low contrast. But hey, my goo-drawing skills are finally relevant! Look at that hat! And the foot!)

#my art #linked universe #lu z darks au

[deathblacksmoke]

today’s filthy, disgusting thoughts are brought to you in part by a request i got from @somebodyels3 that’s been burning a hole in my brain. liberties were taken (and it’s a little longer than i planned). enjoy a little nicky x noah x f!reader phone sex thingy 🩷

part of the euclid polyverse / 18+ nsfw below the cut

nicky is back home in richmond for a little bit while you’re staying with noah in LA.

it’s a lot of lazy days in — lying on the sofa observing while noah is fucking around in the home studio, sprawled on the living room floor or on the couch having anime marathons, mid-afternoon naps all bundled up in bed with the AC blasting.

an early morning make out session in bed — slow grinding bodies, whispered praises, and roaming hands — devolves into something else when there’s an unbearable, painful pang in your chest.

“i wish nicky was here.” you say. you just can’t help it. it’s the only thing you can think about sometimes, how wrong it feels to be doing anything without him, how incomplete it all is. noah’s expression lets you know that he feels largely the same.

“i miss him too, sweetheart.” he responds, pity in his tone laced with what you know to be sadness. longing. the a lot goes unspoken, but you know it’s meant to be there. the so much is unsaid, but it doesn’t need to be. it’s clear in his tone, in the energy that lies heavy over everything when nick is gone. noah misses his boy just as much as you do. a gentle hand strokes your side, drawing you closer to him. “only a few more days until he’s back with us.”

you let yourself sink into him, barely soothed but happy to at least be here with one of your darlings. you love him so much and he is so good to you; he deserves to feel appreciated even if there’s a pit of misery in your gut as well as his.

it’s a comfort to the both of you when you start making your descent down his body, placing kisses to his exposed skin until you reach the waistband of his sweats. his belly tightens and relaxes beneath your palms and it dizzies you. his sigh when you pull down his waistband and sink your mouth onto him sends a rush of blood to your head — you almost miss the distant ringing and a familiar voice.

“hey, no.” comes a voice that can only be nick’s, and an excitement buzzes through you. you remain focused on your task, hoping to hide the sudden thrumming beneath your skin caused by the sound of your love’s voice. it’s something you’ve discussed before, for when the boys are on tour. you didn’t know it would be so soon, or like this, but you can’t find it in you to be displeased. you don’t want to.

“hi, nicky. we miss you, baby.” noah tells him. you work your mouth further down on him to distract yourself, wait your turn. noah gasps, it breaks off into a moan and he sounds so pretty — you find yourself basking in the sound of nick’s sweet laugh.

“i miss you both so much.” nicky responds, and you feel a little pitiful. you wish he was here. you miss him more. “what are you two doing?”

“our darling is a little occupied.” noah says as he runs his fingers through your hair, pushing it away from your face. you flit your eyes open to meet his, and there’s something mischievous in his eyes. you do your best work, gagging on him and feeling your eyes brim with tears. “do you want to talk to her?”

“please.” comes nicky’s reply without pause, and you feel as your cheeks heat. noah hands the phone down to you, but he shakes his head, a hand on the back of your head when you try to lift your head up. it becomes clear what he needs from you, as you work harder, sloppier, noisier for the both of them. “oh, sweet girl. our noah is putting you to work, huh?”

normally you’d nod, and he’d tell you to use his words, but you have a task and he’s not here. all you can do is whine, and nick’s groan is so unmistakable, and you really wish he was here with you. you wish he was here to help move your head on noah and hold your hair back how you know he likes to.

noah takes the phone back, clicks it off speaker and puts it up to his ear. it’s torment, but it only serves to make you work harder, make both of your boys happy and proud.

“yeah, nicky, her mouth is so good. you miss it, don’t you?” you wish you could hear the other end of the conversation — you wish you could hear nicky. the way he speaks to noah, so gently and so teasing, the way noah tenses and relaxes. you need to know what he’s saying, what causes noah to tighten his hands in your hair and buck his hips into your mouth. “i wish you were here. we wish you were here.”

almost none of the attention is on you other than noah’s hand in your hair, lost in flirty conversation with nick. envy courses through you and you find yourself needing noah to finish. the sooner he does, the sooner you can get the phone back and nick back in your ear. you pull almost all the way off, sliding your tongue through noah’s slit and basking in it when he yanks on your hair again and releases a painful, broken groan. there’s barely a tug on your hair as a warning when noah spills down your throat.

it’s with pleasure when you crawl back up his body, kissing him deeply before snatching the phone from his hand and putting it up to your own ear.

“come back soon, nicky.” you say. his breathing is heavy in your ear — it seems you interrupted something. you’re pleased to help him finish, too. “you miss my mouth too, don’t you, honey?”

#noah sebastian fic #nick ruffilo fic #bad omens fic #noah sebastian x nick ruffilo x reader #fic: euclid

[ivystoryweaver]

Decadent chapter 3

prev || Fic Masterlist || My Masterlist || next

Summary: You and Miguel can't keep your hands off each other. Will he be able to tell you the truth about himself?

Pairings: Miguel O'Hara from the film Spider-Man: Across the Spider-Verse x female reader

Word Count: 5.1k

Warnings/notables: NSFW 18+, cursing, p in v, masturbation, oral -m and f receiving, mention of a period, but just a mention. (non period) Blood, violence, numbness: reader is partially paralyzed and not in control of the situation for a bit. sex is consensual but the paralytic is not. nor is the biting/feeding. Miguel is a bad boy. You've been warned. not beta'd

PREVIOUSLY on Decadent...

"Talk to me, Miguel," you softly ordered, halting your motions. You needed some feedback.

"Fuck, don't - don't stop," he husked, his hand joining yours to jerk him off. It took him a little bit longer than the first time, but as his warmth coated your hand, running down your wrist, you realized that working with Miguel could end up being a lot of fun.

Every day at your new job was an adventure - a mind-expanding, challenging, thrilling, orgasm-inducing adventure.

Miguel did not sacrifice one moment of work in the lab, nor behave in any way as if he'd been inside you on a daily basis.

But just like the first time, once you were back in his office...

Pretty much every day for the last two weeks, he needed you to "come over here and look at something," - which would inevitably end up with you on his lap. He really did have things to show you, but they varied in range, from deep, scientific hypotheses, to deep, frantic thrusts of his cock inside you.

Miguel loved for you to ride him, sitting on his lap, at his desk. Seeing how he appreciated your legs so much, you made sure to wear a skirt and the sexiest possible panties. He had a shredded collection of them in his desk drawer, and he'd already gifted you several new pairs.

So you were this girl now: working a challenging, fullfulling job in your dream field, while also letting your boss fuck your brains out.

Lucky you.

"Fuck, Miguel, fuck!" You gasped as he gripped your hips, roughly dragging you back and forth on his lap. Gripping the edge of his desk, you pushed your ass back to meet him thrust for thrust, bouncing and moaning the way he loved.

While he lived to work you up slowly and get you all needy and begging beneath him, when you were on top, he knew you liked it fast.

He had, a time or two, added the slightest bit of super speed to his hips rabbiting up into you, drawing the most obscene little noises out of your pretty mouth. He hoped you hadn't noticed the odd things about him yet - how he would never finger you, fearing his talons would slice you. How he would fuck you so fast that he might as well be your personal vibrating fuck toy.

Or how he never kissed you.

God, how he wanted to. But no. You had clearly seen his fangs by now since they weren't retractable like his talons, but he couldn't risk hurting you. And if he cut your tongue - fuck - he couldn't even dwell on how the mixture of your tongue and your blood would taste inside his mouth.

He had to control himself. But, with each day that passed, with each time he spread you across his desk and worshipped your gorgeous body - he wondered if he had the strength to keep his fangs out of your supple skin.

You came suddenly, your cries of pleasure shamefully loud. Feeling Miguel slowing inside you, you managed to lift up off his lap and turn around, kneeling in front of him.

"Baby, what are you--oh shit..." he gasped as you took his slick, coated length into your hot mouth. You had been on your knees for him before, sucking him relentlessly until he came.

Then it evolved. Instead of quick fucks on his lap, with your skirt bunched up around your waist, Miguel started asking you to strip for him. You found that the slower and more deliberately your pulled your clothes from your body, the more desperately he fucked you.

Being stark naked in his office became this unexpected thrill for you. Sometimes you would work that way -not in the lab -never there. But you would arrive in the morning, give Miguel a little striptease and promptly sit down at your desk wearing nothing but high heels.

His newest thing was to give you instructions. He would coyly mix questions about work with sexual requests and commands.

"Tell me what you think of this article..." blurred with, "spread your legs for me."

Miguel liked to give you instructions while you were naked. "Show me your pussy... touch yourself... play with your nipples..." and one day he folded his massive arms over his chest, leaned back in his chair and said, "Crawl to me."

Without hesitation, you eased out of your chair, completely naked, and slowly started crawling toward your boss on your hands and knees. You thought he would demand that you suck him off, but instead, he rewarded you.

Spreading your naked body across his desk, he kept his fangs safely behind his lips - and with no sucking whatsoever, he used his tongue to wring two orgasms in a row from your soaking wet cunt.

You could die happy - really, you could. Miguel O'Hara - genius, sex god - had fucked you with his tongue.

You were fully aware that a "relationship" like this was probably a bit supernova, and would likely run its course. Miguel would eventually get bored of all the sexy games and move on to his next source of entertainment. It might even get weird, but you felt like you would be able to keep your professional relationship in tact.

And in the meantime, you were having the time of your life with the most gorgeous man you had ever laid eyes on.

Sure enough, one day, Miguel was different. As soon as you walked into his office, ready to lift up your skirt and show him the royal blue, cheeky panties he'd given you - he held up his hand and told you to stop.

"Don't - not today." He never explained himself, except to say he wasn't really feeling well. The two of you remained fully clothed and then headed to the lab for a completely normal day of work. At the end of the day, he offered a weak apology.

"Don't come in tomorrow," he ordered, avoiding looking at you. "Actually...take a few days off. I need some time to think."

Okay, that offended you.

"Miguel, if you want to get more work done, I understand that," you explained, wondering if he thought all the fooling around was interrupting the research. "You don't have to send me home."

"I don't recall asking for your input," he all but snapped. "I don't care what you do. Work from home. Just don't come in the rest of the week."

Narrowing your eyes, you decided to keep your mouth shut. You were not going to get emotional in front of him, even if he was being rude. You left without another word.

Miguel had never felt more like a monster, nor more disgusted with himself. He was growing rather attached to you, and you still didn't know what he was. The problem was...he smelled you. Your monthly cycle was imminent. He'd never had a problem like this around other women, but it had been a while since he worked so closely with one.

Repulsed by his own anatomy and thoughts, he slammed his fist into the nearest wall, leaving a gaping hole. How was he supposed to get any work done with a brilliant mind like yours if he couldn't even handle your womanly body doing normal things? He knew the answer. You were the perfect one - he was the monster.

Fuck.

This wasn't going to work. He couldn't send you away for a few days a month. What kind of misogynistic asshole would he be? Apparently, the kind who would do what he just did!

Reaching for his phone, he sent you a message.

'Hey, I'm really sorry about today. I was an asshole. I wasn't feeling very well. You can come in to the office if you want to get your work done. I'll be out of town for a couple days. We can talk then, if it's okay. Sorry again.'

He was both relieved and nervous to read your reply.

'Thanks for letting me know. If I did something wrong, please just tell me. I can handle it. Are you sure you're okay?'

It took him an hour to figure out a response.

'It's not you. You're doing amazing work. And I love the time we spend together. Can I make it up to you when I get back? Have dinner with me.'

You freaked the hell out. Was Miguel asking you out? And where was he going for the next few days? If it was a work trip, why didn't he tell you about it? You supposed he might explain a little more when he returned.

The big night arrived. Miguel actually sent a car for you - to bring you to his home. You were expecting dinner in a nice restaurant, but as the car pulled up to a posh skyscraper not too far from the office, you realized Miguel lived here.

To your delight and surprise, he met you in the lobby, smiling warmly as you entered the building.

"Hi, you look incredible," he sweetly complimented, taking your hands and kissing your cheek. "Come on, I'm on the top floor."

Of course he was.

The two of you took an elevator up a few floors - then got out and switched to a private elevator which was operated by a key. An attendant greeted Miguel and was promptly dismissed so the two of you could ride up to the top floor alone.

"This is all very you," you commented, feeling your stomach flip-flop as the elevator zinged upward.

"Is that a good or a bad thing?" He questioned, narrowing his eyes playfully.

"I'm still deciding." Shrugging one shoulder, you winked at him.

Dragging his bottom lip between his teeth, he inched closer to you. "You still mad at me?" He stared down into your eyes.

Batting your eyelashes, your nose wrinkled with a cute smile. "I'll let you know."

The elevator doors gave way to the penthouse, and Miguel offered his hand to lead you into his home.

If this were another man, you would have felt this momentum - this film-style, rush-off-the-elevator and fall into one another, kissing wildly thing. But Miguel never kissed you. And he didn't now.

You were tempted to yank on his arm and pull his lips down to yours, but something made you stop, feeling hesitant to be rejected this early in the evening.

"I hope you like Mexican food," he chirped, leading you to his gourmet kitchen.

"You know I do," you grinned, "considering how many empanadas and tamales we've eaten."

You paused, taking in the incredible spread before you, "Holy shit, Miguel, did you make all this?"

"No," he laughed, "it's mostly catered, but I did make the empanadas," he opened the fridge and produced a clear, crystal pitcher, "and - the margaritas."

"Oh my god - if these are any good, I just might have to marry you," you teased, as he reached for a glass with salt around the rim.

The two of you ended up eating at the kitchen island, sitting on bar stools, making a mess of the spread of Mexican food and enjoying a few margaritas each.

"How did things go while you were out of town?" You politely asked, and you could have sworn he stared at you for minute as if he had no clue what you meant.

"Oh, yeah...uh...it went fine," he finally answered, taking a long drink as if needing a moment to think. "Sorry again about that. It was...unexpected."

He was totally lying. He didn't go out of town, he was just avoiding you. He felt like an idiot. But that's what tonight was for. He was going to try to tell you the truth. Or maybe break it off with you? He wasn't sure, but he couldn't do that to you again - punish you for being a woman and having bodily functions.

"It happens," you shrugged, reaching for your drink for a little more liquid courage. You had a lovely buzz going and you were honestly ready to jump on top of Miguel. "I missed you though."

Your eyes dipped down as you waited for his reaction.

"Me too," he quietly admitted, reaching for your hand. "That's why I wanted you here tonight."

You thought he would elaborate. Or if he had no intention of talking, it was the perfect opportunity for him to kiss you, especially with the way he was staring adoringly into your eyes.

Maybe you mistook adoringly for hungrily - because he slid his long fingers under your dress, up your inner thigh. Okay, maybe he missed your body more than your actual company. Either way, you weren't going to complain if you could spend the night with this gorgeous man inside you.

"You're wet," he murmured, brushing his knuckles over the lace of your panties, beginning to rub up and down deliciously. "You're always wet and ready for me."

"Yes," you panted, arching into his touch. He teased you for a moment longer, then abruptly pulled his hand away, pulling a whine of protest from deep in your chest.

"This way, baby," he softly instructed, reaching for your hand and leading you up a winding staircase. Your heartbeat quickened as he led you into a luxurious den - spacious and decadent, with a roaring fire.

"Holy shit," you marveled, taking in the half dozen shelves filled with books, the expensive-looking paintings and antiques scattered around the room. "If this is one of your moves - it's a good one."

Miguel chuckled, the corners of his eyes crinkling in delight. "I don't bring anyone here, sweetheart. Just you."

A thrill zipped through your body. Even if he was lying - even he brought other women here - you were more than happy to be the focus of his attention for the night.

"Now, why don't I get comfortable," he chimed, easing down into an oversized leather chair. Leaning back, he spread his legs, thrusting up slightly as if putting himself on display.

Wondering if he wanted you to join him, he gestured to your body. "Take your clothes off."

Biting your lip, you eased into your office routine, thrilled at the thought of a private striptease for Miguel, in his home.

Deciding to stretch it out a bit, you pulled one thick strap of your dress off one shoulder, pausing to lock eyes with him, making him wait just a moment before pulling down the opposite strap. Your dress had no zipper - it was pretty form-fitting. So you started to push it down over your breasts, pausing as the material pooled around your hips.

Shifting his own hips, Miguel stretched one arm out on the back of the chair, his eyes fixed on your lace-covered tits.

Pausing just a moment longer - just to feel like you had a little bit of power - you finally turned around, giving Miguel a generous view of your ass as you pushed the dress over the swell of your hips. It dropped to the floor and you leaned all the way over, showing off your lace thong as you pulled the dress off your feet.

"Stay," he ordered, wetting his lips at the sight in front of him. The thin slip of lace barely covered your pussy and left your round ass bare for him.

Bracing yourself on your fingertips, you obeyed, your body folded in half - ass on display.

"Get on your hands and knees."

You thought he would join you - maybe fuck you like this, but he wasn't done giving orders.

"Turn around and crawl."

Fuck. Something about his new crawling command made your pussy quiver. You quickly complied, slowly crawling toward him in your lace bra and thong, noticing the huge bulge in his black pants.

"Good girl," he purred, his eyes flashing wildly at you on your hands and knees for him.

After ordering you to stop, he asked you to take off your bra. "Want to see those pretty tits," he almost growled. "Play with them for me."

You did as he asked, grabbing two handfuls of your breasts and kneading them, putting on a show for him, before rolling your nipples tantalizingly.

"That's it, baby," he panted, reaching to stroke his hard length over his pants. "Look so pretty for me."

"Don't you want to touch me, Miguel?" You pleaded, working your breasts and rolling your hips downward temptingly.

Damn you were breathtaking. Miguel unfastened his pants and slid his hand inside to pull out his cock, needing some friction.

He ignored your question, instead demanding that you get your panties nice and wet for him. You rubbed your panties up into your center before removing them and making sure they were sopping. Reaching for them, Miguel draped the soaked lace over his cock and began to jack himself off.

A really embarrassing sound left your mouth at the sight. This brilliant man was filthy and you could not get enough of it.

"Show me your pussy," he commanded, his voice strangled as he pumped his cock with your panties around it.

Leaning back on your elbows, still on the floor, you spread your naked legs wide for him.

"Use your fingers," he panted, "and fuck yourself."

"Miguel, I want you," you begged. "I'm so wet, baby. I need you so bad."

Disobeying his command, you closed your legs and got on all fours again, crawling toward him.

He almost came at the sight. But you weren't listening to him.

"I told you what to do," he warned, halting the motion of his hand on his cock.

"I don't want to," you pouted, reaching up from the floor to place your hands on his thighs. "We're not at work - you can't tell me what to do."

Growling, he tossed your panties aside and grabbed the nape of your neck, yanking your head forward. "I'm nice to you at work, muñeca, but this is different."

"Prove it," you challenged, a little on the bratty side. "Because I'm getting bored over here by myself."

His crimson irises flashed angrily. "Bored? And what is it that will keep you from being bored?"

Reaching for his cock, you used both hands to twist it almost painfully, causing him to hiss in pleasure. "I want you to fuck me."

Pushing your hands away from him, he kept his grip on your neck with one hand. Standing up, he used his free hand to push his pants and underwear down to his knees.

"Oh, I'm going to fuck you," he darkly whispered, using one hand rub the tip of his cock along your cheek and then over your lips. "Show me your tongue."

Peering up at him expectantly, you complied, the heat between your legs pooling and beginning to drip as he laid his thick, heavy length on your waiting tongue.

"I'm going to give you what you want, baby," he lowly purred. "I'm going to fuck your face until you cry for me."

Snapping his hips forward, he thrust his cock to the back of your throat, making you instantly gag on his tip, which made him groan in pleasure.

"You're gonna take me - all of me - and show me you're my good girl," he ordered, fucking your mouth deeply...steadily.

Ignoring the plush rug burning your knees, you struggled to breathe in through your nose, hollowing your cheeks to make it good for him. Tears burned your eyes as he hit the back of your throat again.

He growled at the mess he was making of you, but there was a small part of him that wondered if he would push you too far. You hadn't been quite this rough with one another in the office. Loosening his grip on your hair, he slightly slowed his thrusting when he felt your soft hands reaching around to grasp the round curve of his ass. Then you pulled him hard down your throat, sucking and swallowing so deliciously that he almost came from that one motion.

If Miguel wanted to be rough with you, then you would be rough right back. He was going to fucking pay for it later though. You wanted some things from him too.

Ramming him back into your face, you worked him fast and deep, moaning against his cock until you felt him wet and hot on your tongue. You drank him down, your pussy fluttering at the animalistic noises you'd managed to pull from him while he finished.

Pulling off his softening cock, you wiped your messy mouth with the back of your hand, taking a moment to catch your breath.

Your eyes flickered up to his fucked out expression and you held his gaze, standing up, ready for the next round.

"My turn," you purred, taking his hand and pulling him toward the plush leather chair he'd first sat in. Easing down, you spread your legs. "Get on your knees."

Still reeling from the life-changing things you'd just done with your mouth, Miguel huffed out a laugh. "Funny."

Narrowing your eyes, you closed your legs and crossed your arms over your tits. If he was going to deny you, then he wouldn't get to gawk.

"You fucking heard me, Miguel," you warned. "It's my turn."

Feeling a little apprehensive about eating you out, he decided to remind you, "I thought you wanted me to fuck you."

"Yeah, I do," you teased, "with your tongue."

You spent the next several minutes in absolute heaven. Miguel wasn't about to deny you. Something about you bossing him right back had him hardening again, quickly.

Being careful with his fangs, he dragged his tongue up and down your slit, toying with every fold and crevice, teasing you, tasting and relishing you. You had expected Miguel to eat pussy like a demon, but this slow sampling thing was making you feral.

What started as begging words descended into the most desperate, filthy sounds that had ever emanated from your throat, ever. Flattening his tongue, Miguel pressed hard on your clit, moving side to side before rapidly fluttering the tip. The change of motion and the faster pace made you come instantly.

Somehow, your first orgasm only made you hungrier for him. It hardly relieved any of your desire for him to completely ruin you all night long.

Sliding your fingers into his dark waves, you turned his head up to face you. "I want more," you desperately whispered, easing off the chair and shoving him down onto the rug. Pushing his shirt up his ripped abdomen, you stopped as your fingers toyed with his nipples.

"Get out of these clothes and fuck me."

"So bossy," he smirked, rolling you over and laying you on the soft carpet. Ripping his shirt over his head, he enjoyed the sight of you licking your lips at his rippling muscles. Shedding the rest of his clothes, he eased back onto the chair, preparing to pull you backward onto his lap like usual.

Safer that way.

He could tell you wanted him to kiss you, but maybe you could go a couple rounds and blow off some steam before he tried to confess to you why he hadn't.

"Come down here," you purred, stretching your hand out to him. "Lie down with me."

"You like giving the orders, don't you?" He smiled at you and decided to join you on the floor.

Wrapping your arms around his neck, you inched your body underneath his, allowing your legs to fall open. "I want to see your eyes while you fuck me," you admitted to him, your gaze flickering to his mouth.

His tongue darted out to wet his lips before he could even think about trying to control the signals he was giving you.

Easing up just a little, you pressed your lips to his, reaching to ease his stiff cock inside you.

"F-fuck," he whispered against your mouth, shifting his hips to sink into you fully. "Always feel so good around me, baby."

"Kiss me," you begged, wrapping your legs around his waist to pull him deeper.

This was such a bad idea. But he kissed you. Just your lips. Slowly fucking into you, he pressed his mouth gently to yours. Then he nibbled your top lip before switching to your bottom. It all went to hell when you slid your tongue inside his mouth.

His first instinct was to roughly push you away, but he managed to sit up, his back hitting the chair and his cock still inside you. You eagerly shifted to this new position, easing down in his lap to ride him, letting out a soft whine as the two of you rocked back and forth.

"Feels so good, Miguel," you gasped, twisting your beautiful body, your tits bouncing as you moved a little faster.

Strong hands slid up the curve of your back as he took a nipple into his mouth, careful to lick rather than suck. You moaned, gripping his hair and fucking yourself down on him harder.

He switched nipples, pulling the most deliciously desperate sounds from your mouth. But once he eased back to look at you, you pounced. You kissed him hard, gripping the sides of his face, slowing your thrusts as your tongue plunged into his mouth.

Then the tip of your tongue ran across his fang and sliced open.

His eyes shot open as the warm, metallic taste of your blood filled his mouth. Gripping your hair, he sucked hard on your tongue, his hips fucking up into you at a rapid, bruising pace.

Everything he was doing had turned suddenly rough, but you were into it, moaning into his mouth as he sucked your tongue. Then you felt his other fang slice into your tongue and Miguel growled like an animal into your mouth.

Letting out a little whimper at the sting, you thought maybe he'd just gotten carried away, when he ripped his mouth away from yours and buried his face into the crook of your neck.

"Taste so fucking good," he darkly growled, fucking you so hard and so fast you could barely think straight.

You started to say his name when you realized he was licking your throat. Your brain short-circuited when he kissed you there. You felt like a limp rag doll, unable to keep up with his wild bucking.

A sudden pain zipped through your body as you realized Miguel had bit you. Hard. You had noticed his sharp teeth before. They looked like fangs, but you just assumed they were very prominent canines.

You were wrong. They were definitely fangs because now, Miguel was drinking your blood. He was actually sucking blood out of you.

You should have been afraid. You should have been disgusted. But your body simultaneously ascended to a euphoric bliss and began to go strangely numb. You were coming - it was the strangest, wildest, best orgasm of your life. But at the same time, you felt as though you had been drugged.

Miguel was sucking and sucking and growling and fucking - he finished inside you, and by then, you couldn't even feel his warmth. When he pulled away, his eyes were wild and glowing bright red, matching the blood - your blood drenching his chin.

You felt so weak, so limp in his arms - strangely safe but never more vulnerable. You wanted to reach up to touch his face, to somehow connect with him in some way, or to calm his eyes, which were franticly scanning over your body. But you couldn't move your arm.

Realizing you were somewhat paralyzed, you let out a little whine of desperation, and started to feel afraid.

"Shhh, shh, it's okay," Miguel soothed, cradling you close and rocking you in his arms. "It's okay, you're okay."

Your eyes burned with tears but you could barely feel them roll down your cheeks.

Miguel should have felt awful.

But as you laid there, limp in his arms, crying for him, numb and bleeding from your throat - he'd never seen a more perfect sight. What he wouldn't give to fuck you again, just like this.

He knew he was a monster, and that he was never going to see you again after this night. But just for a moment, he allowed the beast to revel in the madness.

Scooping you up in his arms, he carried you down the hall to his bedroom, a thrill spiking through him as you whimpered in fear.

"You were such a good girl for me," he whispered, laying you down and brushing his fingers across your cheek. "I'm going to take care of you now."

He left the room just long enough to get a couple of damp cloths - one to wipe up the mess between your legs and one to clean the bloody wound on your throat. Just the sight of his spend leaking out of you and your blood dripping from the punctures in your neck made him hard - again.

That was the thing about regenerative powers and superhuman stamina. He was always ready to fuck.

The animal in him wanted to climb on top of you and take your limp body, listening to your sweet whimpers and drinking and drinking until he'd had his fill. His gaze roved over you hungrily as he reached to brush one hand over your breast.

But as your beautiful, desperate eyes flickered up to his, he wanted to be more for you. He wanted to be human again. "I'll get you some clothes," he said softly.

When he returned, he was dressed in a pair of black joggers, his mouth clean of blood. Lifting your body up, he slid a soft t-shirt over your head. Then he slid a pair of his boxer shorts over your legs. They were hilariously big, but it would signal to you that nothing more was going to happen between your legs.

Lifting you up a little, he pulled the covers out from under you before tucking you in gently. He eased down beside you and reached for your hand.

"The numbness you feel will wear off soon. I'm going to get your things. If you feel tired, you can sleep. I won't bother you." He sighed, realizing how badly he'd fucked everything up. Nodding to the bedside table, he added, "There's a phone if you want to call for a car. Whatever you want to do is fine."

Giving your hand a final squeeze, he stood and turned to leave the room. Hearing a distressed whimper, he turned back. "It'll wear off, I promise."

He was right. In a few minutes, you could start to feel your fingers and toes and your tongue didn't feel like sandpaper. But with the returned feeling, you distinctly felt the sharp stab wounds in your neck.

Miguel returned with your dress, handbag and shoes and set them on a nearby chair, before placing your phone on the bedside table.

"M-Miguel," you managed to whisper, your fingers twitching as you tried to reach for him.

Seeing your distress, and hearing his name on your lips, brought him back to reality. The guilt he felt was crushing, but he deserved it. He was an animal and he had hurt you.

"I won't bother you again, sweetheart. Just rest, okay?" Then he turned to leave.

You said his name again, making him halt.

"Stay."

@deputy-videogamer

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