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#when the streetlights come on

absdoll · 5 months

Note

drug dealer! ellie!! reader’s brother is a usual customer of hers but he’s busy or whatever so he asks reader to go pick it up 😈🤭

cw: car sex ♡ , kinda player!ellie , mentions of weed & smoking it , strap sucking (e!rev) , strap sitting (r!rec) <3 that’s it !

also songs are linked throughout this , just to add to the dealer!ellie hot car sex ambiance hehe ♡

“dude, can you stop being such a fucking baby and just go?!” your brother hisses at you, frantically packing for his soccer match. “if i get home from this game and i don’t have anything to smoke, i’m beating your ass.” he rolls his eyes as he walks out of the door, “i’ll text you her address and let her know you’re coming, don’t fuck this up.”

ellie. ellie williams. ellie auburnettetattedsofuckinghot williams. the scrawny masc you’ve had a crush on since junior year of high school. you’ve maybe said 5 words to each other, in passing when she glares at you with her hazel eyes, making you squeeze your thighs together. “sup?” she’ll nonchalantly throw at you, not knowing you go home and ride your fingers to the sound of her voice.

your phone buzzes as you’re about to get in your car, an unknown number.

8:29pm “yooo, u on the way? i got somewhere to be”

“ohmyfuckinggod” you mutter under your breath. you manically type a response, not even thinking before pressing send.

8:31pm “yeah! be there soon sorry!”

8:34pm “all good cutie”

the butterflies in your stomach are swarming. as if you weren’t already nervous to face your going on 4 year crush, she just … flirted..? with you? it’ll be a miracle if you even survive the drive over there.

you pull up to an apartment complex, the 3rd floor balcony lit up with purple LED lights. your phone buzzes again.

8:59pm “this u?”

you look back up to the balcony, now seeing a lanky figure in a black tank top, grey sweatpants, batman socks, and a black beanie leaning over the railing. she nods her head up at you, and you can just hear her silky smooth voice saying “sup?”, but this time you can’t relieve the pressure between your legs.

9:00pm “do i come up there or??”

it’s been 5 minutes since you sent that text.

before you know it, there’s a subtle knock on ur passenger window. it’s dark outside, no streetlights in the parking lot, but you knew it was ellie. you unlock the door, and she dips her head in, slouching down into the seat next to you.

ellie smirks, eyeing you up and down, noticing the way your thighs erupt in goosebumps at her stare. you’re wearing black denim shorts and a black tube top, ellie’s eyes immediately falling to your collarbones.

“it’s $35” she says in a low tone, handing you a sealed ziploc bag.

your fingertips touch her hand as you grab it from her, causing you to choke on your words, “c-cool, thanks” you smile at her, feeling like your nerves are gonna make you pass out at any second.

ellie’s so calm and collected, watching you nervously fumble with your wallet trying to retrieve the cash your brother gave you. and god, she smells so good. her scent is intoxicating. vanilla mixed with musk and sugar and leather.

all of a sudden you feel her hand fall on your thigh. “nervous or something?” she teases. she grabs at the jelly flesh with one hand and pulls a joint out of her pocket with her right hand. you audibly let a big sigh fall from your mouth when her hand leaves to light her joint. ellie passes the burning paper to you, and you don’t smoke so you’re just holding it, contemplating to make yourself look cool by taking a puff. she’s adjusting her sweatpants — and that’s when you notice it. the thick bulge outlined in her pants, her eyes fluttering up to yours.

“wanna sit on it?” she chuckles, grabbing the joint from your hand. you can’t tell if she’s serious or not, so you just giggle back.

“open up.” ellie takes a long drag, yellowish smoke filling her mouth.

you’re confused, but in an effort to not embarrass yourself, you open your mouth. ellie’s face now inches away from yours, her eyes staring deep into your nervous gaze. she blows the thick smoke into your mouth, “inhale.” she whispers.

within a minute, your nerves have subsided and you feel lighter. ellie watches as you shift in your seat, putting your hands under your thighs. “are you cold? i’m cold. do you care if i turn the a/c off?” you ramble at ellie. she smirks, “first time smoking?”

you roll your eyes at her, the car quieter now without the buzz of the air conditioning. “you ever heard of a hotbox?” ellie says, shifting her body towards you. you shake your head ‘no’ and ellie just giggles. “c’mere” she motions for you to sit on her lap.

“w-what? why?” you spit out, embarrassed immediately.

“your eyes haven’t left my crotch since you noticed my cock that’s tucked in my pants. if you want it, jus’ c’mere.” she hits the joint again, blowing smoke towards your face.

she adjusts her seat, making room by her feet for you sit on the floor. you’re on your knees, looking up at her with reddened eyes.

“go ‘head, take it out” she lowly mutters to you, not even looking at you, she’s preoccupied by trying to connect her bluetooth to your car speaker.

your shaky hands move to the band of her sweatpants, sliding them down just enough for her purple, curved, silicone strap to plop out onto her lap.

her eyes dart to yours, grinning at the look of amazement on your face.

ellie uses one hand to wrap around the back of your neck, guiding your head closer to her crotch, the other hand twisting the volume nozzle up, speakers blaring. “open your mouth angel” she breathes out. as your lips part, she swipes her thumb across your bottom pout, slipping the tip of her cock towards the back of your throat. her hand moves up to grab a fistful of your hair, “gooooood, good job baby” she praises.

as ellie bobs your head up and down, you start moaning around her girth. “mmm you like this baby? like my cock deep in your throat? dirty girl.” you nod up at her, causing her to throw her head back.

ellie’s one hand atop your head, other hand typing on her dimly lit phone screen. “gotta make this quick, told you i had somewhere to be.” she throws her phone into the backseat, moving both hands to the back of your neck. her thrusts are quick and steady, grunts falling from her chapped lips.

“mm fuck, you’re drooling b-baby” she half chuckles and half stutters, the base of her strap striking her clit. “uuuuuhhh fuuuuuck” she breathes out.

“f-fuck, get on top.” ellie grabs you by your hair, hands moving to your hips, setting you down slowly on her long, wet member.

“o-ooh s-shit-uuhhhh” you moan out, the feeling of her thickness sliding deep inside you. her hands still groping your ass, slamming you up and down on her length. “bounce on it baby.” she grunts out as she pulls your tube top down, revealing your fatty tits.

ellie moves her hands to behind her head. watching as your boobs slap against your chest. your moans barely audible as the rap song fills the car, “lemme hear you, l-louder” she’s doing little to no work, her hips every once and awhile bucking up into you, which causes you to yelp and ellie lets out a chuckle.

“mm-ahh ellieeeeuuhhggh” “f-feels s’fucking gooduuuhhh” you’re practically screaming at this point, ellie’s eyes filled with darkness and lust, just watching as you fuck yourself on her cock.

your legs start to shake, inner thighs sore from relentlessly pounding your pussy on ellie’s strap. “need help baby?” ellie wraps her arms around your waist, lifting her hips up. she stops her movements, grinning as you whine from sudden lack of friction.

ellie stuffs her cock deep inside you, watching her girth move in and out of you, agonizingly slow. “m-more ellie p-please” you’re whining and she takes it as her cue to vigorously thrust up into you.

“ommm-mm-g-go-god-dduuuhhh” with every slam of ellie’s hips, your moans get louder.

you start cumming all over ellie’s cock, her dark red bush covered in your slick.

your high is dizzying, you open your eyes in a tired, fucked out state to see ellie, again, typing a text on her phone.

she pats your ass, “that was hot baby, but i gotta go.” as you slide yourself off her lap, falling into your seat and pulling your shorts back up, ellie goes to open the car door. “tell your brother you’ll pick up for him more often.” she tuts with a grin.

you feel your whole face start to burn as she slams the door and walks away.

did that just happen?

a/n : hi hi ♡ i’m well aware this isn’t the best , i’ve mentioned i’m struggling to write lately & it shows ! i’m proud of the concept & whatnot , just bad writing gdjdhjsjs . anyways i need to bounce on ellie’s strap rn u don’t understand .

🌙 @whore4abby @enbesbians @hersweetheart 🌙

#🧸 bee writes ˚ ༘ ೀ⋆｡˚#✧˚ ༘ ⋆｡ ˚ ✉️ : reqs #ellie williams x reader #ellie x reader #ellie williams smut #ellie williams fanfic #ellie williams #ellie the last of us #ellie tlou #ellie x you

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pucksandpower · 1 month

Text

Don’t Touch Her

Lando Norris x Reader

Summary: Lando will do whatever it takes to ensure your safety after the unthinkable almost happens during a night out

Warnings: spiked drink, attempted SA, descriptions of seizure, hospitalization, and the implied murder of a minor character

You sway your hips to the pulsing beat, the colorful lights of the club flashing across your skin. Lando’s hands rest lightly on your waist, guiding you to the music. You lean into him, inhaling the faint scent of his cologne mixed with the tang of sweat in the humid air.

“I’m parched,” you say, turning to face him. “Want me to grab you a drink?”

He smiles, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “I can get them, love. You keep dancing.”

You shake your head, leaning in to give him a quick peck on the lips. “I need to get off my feet for a bit anyway. Same as usual?”

“Please. I’ll be right here waiting for you.”

You make your way through the crowded dance floor, weaving around gyrating bodies and flailing limbs. The bar is packed, patrons jostling for the bartenders’ attention. You manage to wedge yourself into a tiny gap, shouting your order over the commotion.

While waiting for the drinks, you check your phone. A few missed texts from friends, asking where you are. You fire back quick responses before pocketing the device just as the bartender slides two glasses toward you.

Vodka cranberry for you, rum and coke for Lando. You pass over a few bills, waving away the change, and turn to head back to the dance floor.

You take a long sip of your drink as you walk, the bubbly sweetness refreshing after all that dancing.

Lando is easy to spot, standing out due to the size of the crowd surrounding him. He smiles when he sees you coming, his whole face lighting up. Your heart flutters at the way he looks at you, like you’re the only person in the room.

You’re halfway to him when the first wave of dizziness hits. You stumble, drinks sloshing over your hands. Sudden nausea swirls in your gut. The room starts to spin, lights blurring into a kaleidoscope.

“Hey ...” You blink hard, trying to clear the fog creeping over your thoughts. “I don’t … feel so good.”

The glasses slide from your grip, shattering on the floor. You try to take a step toward Lando and the ground rushes up to meet you. Strong hands grab your arms, keeping you from collapsing completely.

“Whoa there, looks like someone started the party a little early.” The voice is unfamiliar, masculine with a hint of mocking laughter. You try to pull away but your limbs feel like lead.

“No, I ...” You shake your head, which only makes the dizziness worse. Through your dimming vision you can see Lando pushing through the crowd, his eyes wide.

“C’mon, there’s a back door this way. Let’s get you some air.” The man starts to guide you away, arms wrapped around your shoulders. Panic shoots through you and you try again to wrench yourself free, but it’s useless.

The cold night air hits you as the door swings open. The alley swims before you, dingy bricks and overflowing dumpsters. The man keeps walking, bearing you along while your weak protests fall on deaf ears.

Fear claws at your insides. You catch a glimpse of streetlights at the other end of the alley before he steers you into the shadows halfway down.

“S-stop,” you mumble, tongue heavy in your mouth. He just chuckles, pressing you against the brick wall.

“Shh, just relax. I’ll take good care of you.” His hand squeezes your thigh, rucking up your dress. Somewhere in the recesses of your fading mind, terror shrieks at you to fight, to run, but your traitorous body refuses to respond.

As the man leans in, the alley floods with light. Heavy footsteps pound on the pavement.

“Get your hands off her!” Lando’s voice booms with more fury than you’ve ever heard from him. The man holding you whirls around just as Lando’s fist connects with his jaw. He reels back with a cry, grip loosening. Lando catches you before you can slide to the ground.

“Hey, hey, I’ve got you.” His touch is infinitely gentle compared to the bruising hold of the stranger. He strokes your hair back from your face, eyes searching yours. “Can you hear me, love?”

You try to respond but only manage a faint whimper. Lando swears under his breath. Scooping you into his arms, he carries you swiftly from the alley. You press your face to his chest, clinging to him like a lifeline as he strides toward the street. Each jostling step sends the world spinning again.

Something is wrong. Terribly wrong.

Lando lowers you onto a bench outside the club, brushing his knuckles over your cheek. “Talk to me, please. What’s happening?”

You lick your dry lips, forcing words out with monumental effort. “Dizzy … everything … blurry ...”

Lando’s face creases with worry. He pulls out his phone to dial for help, but pauses when you suddenly convulse, muscles seizing. Your back arches, head slamming against the hard bench.

“Shit! Hold on, I’ve got you.” Lando slides his hand under your head, cradling it gently as the seizure wracks your body. Tears stream down his face as he murmurs soothing words, helpless to do anything but wait it out.

After endless moments, the convulsions stop. You go limp, gasping raggedly. The world fades in and out of focus, Lando’s anguished face floating above you.

“Please, baby, stay with me,” he begs, taking your hand and bringing it to his lips. “The ambulance will be here any second.”

You try to respond but darkness crowds the edges of your vision. The last thing you see before slipping into unconsciousness is Lando bent over you, shoulders shaking with sobs as he clutches your motionless hand.

***

Beeping.

Hushed voices.

The astringent scent of disinfectant.

You drift somewhere between waking and oblivion, grasping at fractured memories.

Lando’s face, streaked with tears.

Dancing bodies.

Pulsing lights.

The weight of unwanted hands, dragging you into the shadows.

With a sharp inhale, your eyes fly open. You’re in a hospital room, IV line taped to the back of your hand. Pale morning light filters through the blinds. The beeping comes from a monitor tracking your heartbeat.

“Hey.” Lando sits in a chair beside the bed, leaning forward when he sees you’re awake. His eyes are rimmed with red, hair disheveled. “How are you feeling?”

You try to speak but your throat is painfully dry. Lando grabs a cup of water, angling the straw so you can sip. The cool liquid soothes like a balm, washing away the cottony feeling in your mouth.

“What … what happened?” You rasp out finally.

Lando’s expression turns grim. “Someone drugged you at the club. Probably targeting an easy robbery, but ...” His jaw clenches, hands balling into fists. “If I had been even a few seconds later, he would have ...”

Unable to finish the thought, Lando buries his face in his hands. His shoulders tremble. Your heart aches, and you reach out to comb gentle fingers through his hair.

“But you weren’t,” you say softly. “You saved me.”

He looks up, eyes shining wetly. “I never should have let you out of my sight. If I lost you ...” His breath hitches, raw anguish written across his face.

“Hey, no.” You catch his hand, squeezing firmly. “This wasn’t your fault. You found me in time. That’s all that matters.”

Fresh tears spill down Lando’s cheeks. He brings your entwined hands to his lips, pressing a trembling kiss to your knuckles.

“I was so scared,” he chokes out. “Seeing you like that, helpless, shaking ...” He clenches his jaw, looking away. “And not being able to do anything. Just having to watch ...”

He breaks off with a shuddering breath. You tug gently on his hand, urging him up from the chair. He perches on the edge of the bed, enveloping you in his tender arms. You cling to each other, tears mingling as the enormity of what almost happened sinks in.

After long moments, Lando pulls back to cup your face in both hands. He searches your eyes, still flooded with relief and lingering fear.

“I could have lost you,” he repeats in a shattered whisper.

You cover his hands with your own. “But you didn’t. I’m right here. With you.”

His breath leaves him a rush, the frightened tension easing from his frame. Leaning in, he rests his forehead against yours. The beeping monitor and distant hospital noises fade away, leaving just the two of you suspended in this quiet intimacy.

When Lando finally lifts his head, the fire in his eyes makes your heart stutter.

“I love you,” he says, low and fervent.

You meet Lando’s intense gaze, equally overcome by emotion.

“I love you too,” you breathe.

He cradles your face again, thumbs sweeping feather-light over your cheeks. Slowly, he leans in and presses his lips to yours in a kiss that steals your breath. It’s soft yet saturates you with his passion, fear, relief — every shade of the feelings coursing between you in this moment. You sink into it, hands coming up to twist in his rumpled shirt, keeping him close.

When he pulls back, you’re both a little breathless. Lando smooths your hair, regret pinching his features.

“I should let you rest. The doctor said you’ll probably feel weak and foggy for a few days.”

You give a small shrug. “I don’t feel that bad right now. Just … stay with me?”

He smiles softly. “Of course, love.”

Settling next to you on top of the sheets, he loops an arm around your shoulders. You nestle against him, comforted by his familiar warmth and scent. For a long moment, you simply savor being wrapped in this bubble of solace.

“Do they know who did it yet?” You finally ask, unable to quell your lingering unease about the attack.

Lando shakes his head. “The police looked at security footage but the guy’s face wasn’t visible. They’re still investigating.”

You nod, chewing your lip. Lando tilts your chin up to meet his eyes.

“I won’t let him get away with this,” he says, quiet but fierce. “I’ll do whatever it takes to find him and make sure he never hurts anyone again.”

There’s cold fury underlying his tone that you’ve never heard from him before. It reminds you viscerally of that brief glimpse in the alley — Lando transformed in the heat of protective rage.

But now the fire in his eyes is fanned and smoldering. A determination that won’t relent.

He tightens his arm around you, pressing his lips to your hair. You settle against his chest again, comforted by the steady thump of his heartbeat.

***

A few days later, you’re curled up on the couch with Lando, a movie playing quietly in the background. You’re mostly zoning out, still feeling residual exhaustion. Lando plays idly with your hair, a comforting sensation.

When your phone buzzes with an alert, you grab it lazily, expecting a text from a friend. Instead, a news headline makes you bolt upright.

Lando notices your change in demeanor.

“What is it, love?”

“That man, the one from the club … he was found dead. I would recognize his face anywhere.”

You continue to scan the article. “Doesn’t specify much, just that he was found in an abandoned building across town. Ruled a homicide but no suspects or motive yet.”

You wordlessly tilt the phone screen for him to see. He looks at it blankly, face impassive.

“Oh. Well, perhaps some justice has been served after all.”

You narrow your eyes at his mild tone. “Did you ...”

“Did I what?”

“Have something to do with this?”

Lando presses a hand to his chest, feigning offense. “Me? Now why would you think that?”

“Lando.” You level him with a knowing look. “Did you?”

He meets your gaze steadily for a moment before sighing. “I told you I’d make sure he never hurt anyone again. A man like that doesn’t deserve to keep stealing breaths.”

You absorb this, unsure how to feel. “So you ...”

“I didn’t personally do anything,” Lando hedges. “But I have … connections. People who know people who can handle things quietly.”

You bite your lip. “You had him killed.”

Lando takes your hands in his. “Hey. Look at me. That bastard drugged you, dragged you into an alley. He would have ...” His jaw flexes. “I did what needed to be done to keep you and others safe.”

“I just ...” You wrestle with your conflicted emotions. “I don’t know how I feel about you essentially ordering a hit.”

He drags a hand over his mouth. When he speaks, his voice is low and controlled. “All that matters is he can’t hurt you or anyone else now. Try to remember what he did to you — how you felt. Helpless. Frightened. I wasn’t about to let him continue terrorizing women.”

You take a shaky breath. “No, you’re right. It’s just a lot to wrap my head around.”

Lando caresses your cheek. “You have the biggest, kindest heart of anyone I know. But some people are simply too dangerous to be allowed to go on hurting people. I don’t take this lightly, but there are times when permanent solutions are necessary. Do you understand?”

Up close, you can see the storm of emotions he’s battling to contain. Anger, satisfaction, hints of doubt and guilt. You cup his face.

“Thank you,” you whisper. “For protecting me, even if it meant ...”

Lando closes his eyes, leaning into your touch. “I would do anything for you. Anything to keep you safe.” His thumb strokes along your jaw. “You never have to worry. You’ll always be safe with me. I’ll do whatever it takes to protect you, no matter what.”

His voice rings with quiet conviction. You cover his hand with your own, meeting his solemn gaze. In this moment, you truly comprehend the depths he’s willing to go for you.

“I know you will,” you whisper. “Thank you. For everything you’ve done for me.”

Lando searches your face, shoulders losing their rigid tension when he finds only acceptance and gratitude shining back at him.

“I would be lost without you,” he murmurs.

You lean in, kissing him softly. “You’ll never have to find out.”

Drawing back, you offer a tiny smirk. “And clearly, I should never get on your bad side.”

Lando huffs a surprised laugh. The lingering shadows in his eyes fade as he pulls you close. You sink into his embrace, heartbeat steadying against his.

Whatever lengths Lando went to in order to protect you, to remove the threat hanging over your regained sense of safety, you know you’ll forever be thankful for this devoted, fierce, and tender-hearted man you love.

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rynwritesreid · 1 month

Text

I like the way you kiss me| Spencer Reid

A/N: So, I haven’t written smut in a good while, but I hope this okay. It’s defo romantic, but I promise soon there will be some good angst.

Summary: Spencer is nervous about being in a relationship with you, because of what his friends would think and the age gap you two had. But when it comes down to it, all that matters to him, is you.

Content: Smut 18+. Fluff. Fem!reader. Use of nicknames (just princess). oral(R!receiving). PinV.

Masterlist| request are open| navigation

Spencer Reid knew dating you was playing with fire. You were younger, and you had never been in a serious relationship. Spencer knew if his friends found out about the two of you, he would never hear the end of it. But when he was with you, he didn’t care, all he could think about was you.

He couldn't resist the way your eyes lit up when you talked about anything you loved, or how your pupils dilated when you were looking at him, or how you laughed when he told any joke. He was infatuated with you, although he knew he should never have got attached to you.

But despite the risks, Spencer couldn't deny the pull he felt towards you. As he watched you across the table, he couldn't help but smile at the way you crinkled your nose when you were deep in thought. Your passion for life was infectious, and he found himself getting lost in the sparkle of your eyes.

Maybe he loved you, or maybe he loved the idea of you, but he didn’t care. He enjoyed been around someone who saw life as colourful and bright, rather than how he saw it and how the majority of everyone he knew saw it.

But if Spencer was to ever admit what he truly liked about you, he enjoyed the way you kissed him. How every kiss you gave him was memorable. He could tell with every kiss you missed him when he wasn’t around, you cared about him and that he was the last person you thought about as you drifted asleep.

As the night grew late and the restaurant began to empty, Spencer realised he couldn't keep pretending that what they had was just a casual fling. He needed to admit to himself that he was falling for you, hard and fast. The way your hand felt in his, the sound of your laughter filling his ears, it was all too much to ignore.

"I can't keep pretending that you don't mean everything to me," Spencer whispered, his voice barely above a breath. “You make life worth living. Whenever I see your name flash across my screen, or every time I remember your face, I want to kiss you.”

“Spencer Reid as romantic, who could have imagined.” You chuckled, you felt the same way, but you could never put it into such words. “I feel the same way. I want to be yours.”

“You’ll always be mine. You are perfect for me, and I am, well perfect for you.” Spencer pressed a soft kiss to your lips, feeling the weight of his confession lifting off his shoulders. In that moment, surrounded by the fading chatter of the restaurant and the gentle glow of the streetlights outside, Spencer knew that he had found something rare and precious with you. As your fingers intertwined with his, he couldn't help but smile, a genuine, unguarded expression of happiness spreading across his face.

Spencer flagged down a taxi, he couldn’t wait to get you home. The taxi pulled up to the curb, and Spencer held the door open for you, a small smile playing on his lips. The city lights glimmered in your eyes as you settled into the backseat, his hand finding yours instinctively. The ride home was filled with comfortable silence, the air crackling with unspoken words and promises.

Once the taxi had arrived outside his apartment, he leaped out and open the door for you. “A real gentleman you’ve got there.” The taxi driver smiled, giving you a knowing look as you stepped out onto the sidewalk. Spencer chuckled softly, a hint of colour rising to his cheeks at the driver's comment. Escorting you up to his apartment, he couldn't shake the feeling of contentment that settled over him like a warm blanket.

Once you were in the comfort of his apartment, he grabbed your face and pulled it closer to his. He gazed into your eyes, seeing a reflection of his own desires and emotions staring back at him. Without uttering a single word, he closed the distance between your lips, kissing you with a fervour that spoke volumes about the depth of his feelings for you. In that moment, nothing else in the world mattered to Spencer except for the connection he shared with you.

As the kiss deepened, a wave of passion and longing swept over the both of you, enveloping you in a cocoon of warmth and desire. Spencer's hands moved gently to cup your face, his thumb stroking your cheek tenderly as if to reassure himself that you were real and not just a figment of his imagination.

Maybe it was out of instinct, but Spencer moved his hands down the back of your dress and felt the smooth fabric beneath his fingertips. His fingers found the top of the zipper and he slowly started pulling down, while his mouth found its way to your neck.

Your breath caught in your throat as his lips brushed against your skin, leaving a trail of tingling sensations in their wake. “You are beyond beautiful.” Spencer gently whispered against your skin; his breath warm against your neck.

Spencer's fingers traced a delicate path along your spine as he slowly lowered the zipper of your dress, his touch felt like feathers dancing along your skin. Every nerve in your body felt alive and electrified under his gentle caress, and you couldn't suppress the soft gasp that escaped your lips.

His lips found yours once more, the kiss deep and hungry, filled with a raw intensity that threatened to consume you both. Lost in the heady rush of desire, you tangled your fingers in his hair, pulling him closer as if trying to fuse your very souls together.

Spencer was never the kind of man to hurry into get you naked, he liked taking it slowly, savouring every moment and committing it to memory. His hands moved with purpose, but also with a tenderness that spoke volumes about the depth of his feelings for you. As the dress slipped off your shoulders and pooled at your feet, Spencer's eyes roamed over your exposed skin, drinking in every curve and contour as if committing them to memory.

“I don’t how I ever got so lucky.” His voice was barely above a whisper, his eyes filled with a mixture of adoration and desire. Spencer guided you towards the bed, his eyes never leaving yours. In the soft glow of the moonlight filtering through the curtains, tonight felt more romantic, more intimate.

Spencer gently laid you on his bed, his gaze never wavering from yours. The room was imbued with a sense of intimacy and affection, as if every object bore witness to the love shared between you and Spencer. His fingers traced delicate patterns across your skin.

Though Spencer was still fully clothed, you didn’t feel vulnerable, you felt loved and adored. You felt as if Spencer was your biggest fan. But Spencer, been the gentleman he is, wasn’t going to allow you to be the only one naked. He unbuttoned his shirt slowly, revealing the expanse of his chest as he shed the fabric, every movement deliberate and filled with a silent promise.

As his shirt fell to the floor, Spencer lowered himself onto the bed beside you, his body radiating heat and a quiet intensity. His mouth left a trail of kissed down your body, igniting a trail of fire along your skin as he worshipped every inch of you with his lips and tongue. Each touch was a testament to his adoration, a silent vow of devotion that echoed through the room.

His lips started moving down your body, his lips finding your nipples and gently sucking them, his tongue flicking over them. But they weren’t the centre of his focus, because if Spencer was one thing, he was giving. He loved hearing you moan for him, how you complete surrendered yourself to him. He enjoyed knowing he had ruined anyone else for you, because he knew you the best, he knew what made you squirm. He wasn’t usually the type of man who wanted to ‘own’ something, but you were different. He had always wanted you for himself, even if at the start he was nervous.

His hands moved lower, caressing your hips, your thighs, his fingers dipping into you, the warmth of your body accepting him wholeheartedly. He felt you tremble under his touch, your body responding to his every move, and he felt a surge of power and desire within him.

Your breathing quickened, every gasp and moan a testament to the pleasure that was building within you. Spencer's eyes met yours, the fire in your eyes mirrored in his own. He knew then that this was more than just a physical connection, it was a soul-deep bond that took his breath away.

He paused, the tip of his finger hovering over your sensitive spot, teasing you. You knew what you wanted, and you could tell that Spencer knew it too. He smiled, a warm and genuine smile that made your heart flutter.

"Please," you said, your voice barely above a whisper.

“Please, what princess?” Spencer teasingly asked, stroking your inner thigh with his fingers.

You swallowed hard; your desperation clear in your eyes.

“Use your words.” He insisted, his gaze never leaving yours.

“I need you,” you whispered hoarsely, your cheeks flushing with embarrassment.

His lips were soon on your clit, his tongue plunging inside you, tasting you, exploring you. Your body arched beneath him, a silent plea for him to keep going, to never stop. And he obliged, his tongue darting in and out of you, his fingers working in perfect rhythm, driving you higher and higher until you finally shattered apart underneath him. You came with a cry, your body convulsing beneath his, and he felt the wave of your release wash over him, taking him to a place of pure ecstasy.

As your body relaxed, he pulled away, his eyes never leaving yours, his face a picture of pure satisfaction. He moved up beside you, his hands steadily exploring your body, his lips brushing against the sensitive skin of your neck.

But Spencer was far from done. He knew exactly what you needed; he could read your body like an open book.

Spencer slowly slid inside you, feeling the walls of your body cling to him like a force of nature. He moved slowly at first, savouring every moment of the connection that flowed between them. Your body arched towards him, eager to feel him deep inside, seeking the completion of a desire that had been building for so long.

As he thrust deeper, Spencer's eyes locked onto yours, the intensity of the moment making your heart race and your breath quicken. You wrapped your legs around him, pulling him closer, your body craving the warmth and connection.

He picked up the pace, each stroke more fervent than the last, the sounds of your breath and his groans filling the room. The air was thick with desire and the scent of your arousal, heightening the passion between you.

Your hips met his with each thrust, matching his rhythm and pulling him deeper into you. Every movement felt more intense, every touch more electric. In that moment, you and Spencer became one, moving as one, feeling as one.

Your fingers dug into his back, pulling him closer, every sensation heightening, every touch becoming more intense. Spencer's breathing was ragged, mirroring yours. The room was alive with the sound of your bodies moving in a primal dance, lost in each other's eyes.

Your breathing became higher pitched, signalling your orgasm was coming. You arched your back, your head falling back as you screamed his name. Spencer felt the walls of your pussy clenching tighter around him, and he knew that he was going to cum too.

He thrust harder, feeling the heat of your body engulfing him, taking him over the edge. His orgasm was explosive, shooting wave after wave of pleasure through his body. He held you close, his lips pressed against your neck, his breath still ragged with desire.

Spencer collapsed beside you, his chest heaving, his face flushed with exertion and desire. You lay there, breathing heavily, your bodies still connected. Spencer gently stroked your hair, his expression filled with love and affection. "You are my everything," he whispered, his voice hoarse with emotion. “And I can’t wait to tell the world about you.”

~join my taglist~

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@iluvreid @nomajdetective @drspencieee@katieeeee314@evvy96 @oliviah-25 @starkid024 @emalynvtgtgfhvgg @krokietino @xohoneybun @spencerreidwifeee@purplepistachi0 @pleasantwitchgarden @bitchassbecky691 @piperb400@queermaxwooo @gemofthenight @luvpiercethekaty@anna-belle-xd@catsareawesomek@drreidsfavwhxre@oureternalbond@beth-gallagher22 @keiva1000 @k3nzxx@lookingforgodintheclouds @firstunmannedflyingdeskset @matthew-gray-gubler-lover @r-3dlips @keiva1000 @peppersapro @just-a-harmless-patato @spenxerslut @skulliecadaver-blog@svnfully@reidsgirlhottie@amethysssssst@bluepuppethidinginafilingcabinet@lover-of-books-and-tea @Indigosamsblog@jem08 @ladylincoln @khxna @Kimm4710@Karenfranco

#spencer reid smut #spencer reid #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x y/n #criminal minds #dr spencer reid #spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer reid x you #criminal minds x reader #spencer reid imagine #criminal minds smut #criminal minds fluff #criminal minds fic #criminal minds fanfic

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gimmethatagustd · 4 months

Text

morals on sundays | myg

You're still in love with your ex-boyfriend. Yoongi offers some help to get over him.

○ Pairing: BFF!Yoongi x f!Reader

○ Rating: Explicit/18+

○ Genre: Friends with benefits, angst, smut, fluff

○ 6 / 100 Drabble Challenge (FWB)

○ Word Count: 2,177

○ Warnings: MC's boyfriend cheated on her, post-breakup blues, questionable decision making, fingering so good you'll try to run away from it, pussy eating, too much tongue sucking probably, Yoongi is a boob guy, they have matching Spongebob and Patrick coffee mugs so why aren't they married?? Idiots

○ Notes: Shout out to @sailoryooons for also writing about a daegu boy eating pussy tonight 😌 And, as usual, I wrote this with scrambled eggs for brains and didn't proofread it, so if you see any errors, no you didn't

○ Post Date: January 22, 2024

○ Masterlist | Send me ur thots

○ What was Jai listening to? Imported - Jessie Reyez ft. 6LACK

Lately, you’ve felt like disappearing – not into a crowded city street in another country or down an unlit dirt road into the unknown, but into the warm folds of Yoongi’s hoodie. You’re already halfway there, with your fingers interlaced with his, shoved into the large front pocket, and your face tucked into his shoulder.

“Fuck, I hate taking the bus,” he curses, his words turning into a cloud that disappears into the cold air.

“How much time do we have?”

Yoongi turns his head, and his lips briefly touch the cold curve of your ear.

“You’re mumbling. What’d you say?”

“How much time until it comes?” You squint up at him, cheek still pressed against his shoulder. It’s too warm here to want to move.

“Can’t check the app on my phone unless you give me my hands.”

“No.”

Yoongi chuckles and jostles your head by bobbing his shoulders.

“I thought our date would cheer you up.” His complaint is playful, eyes sparkling in the streetlights when he returns his gaze to the empty road. You should have gotten a taxi.

“I’m gonna die alone. Doesn’t matter how much late-night pizza I eat or how many stupid action movies I watch,” you grumble into Yoongi’s shoulder.

“Even when the action movie lead has a super hot sex scene that’s poorly timed and irrelevant to the plot?”

“Nope.”

“Even when the coolest guy on the entire planet was the one who took you?” Yoongi smiles cheekily, his gaze back on you. He wiggles his shoulders again, hard enough to bounce your head.

Annoyed, you straighten up, hands still shoved in his pockets. The movie wasn’t that bad. The pizza was actually great. You’re just depressed.

“I didn’t think it would take this long…” You whisper into the little space between your body and Yoongi’s. He knows you aren’t talking about the bus.

Yoongi squeezes your hands inside his hoodie. The rest of you might be freezing in the winter night air, but at least Yoongi keeps your hands warm. He keeps your heart warm, too, with his sincere gaze when he looks at you.

“You were too good for him.”

Yoongi’s right. He’s always right.

You’re sufficiently frozen by the time the bus finally arrives. Yoongi pays for you both because he’s trying to make life easy. No bumps in the road, no unnecessary stress. He lets you sit in a window seat so you can stare out at the blurry night scenery and have your sad main character moment for as long as it takes to get to your apartment.

Once you arrive, he follows you inside and heads straight to the kitchen while you slump down the hall to your bedroom. The cold seeps so deeply into your bones that the sweatpants and sweater you change into barely help increase your body temperature.

Maybe it’s because the sweatpants and sweater are your ex-boyfriend’s, and the universe wants to keep your body as cold as his heart was.

In the kitchen, Yoongi uses a wooden spoon to stir hot chocolate in a small pot, your favorite kind that comes in a block of chocolate that melts with milk. It’s likely been years since Yoongi has made you hot chocolate. Cozy winter nights indoors were once commonplace, the two of you alternating between apartments to make each other snacks and treat cuddles like currency. The appearance of your ex put an end to the comfort you shared with Yoongi. It put an end to most things that brought you comfort.

As you expect, Yoongi has two mugs out on the counter. You reach for yours, twisting it in your hands as you wait for him to finish.

“Remember when Spongebob tried to become best friends with Squidward instead of Patrick?” Yoongi asks, turning off the stove. He uses a ladle to pour hot chocolate into his pink mug, then pours some into your yellow one.

“Yes.”

“He was Squidward. I’m just mad I didn’t get to blow up his house–” Yoongi laughs and nearly spills his drink when you smack him in the arm, “–with bubbles! With bubbles. I’m not homicidal.”

Rolling your eyes, you set down your mug next to Yoongi’s, both drinks too hot to drink quickly.

“Thank you,” you mumble, hooking your finger into his hoodie pocket and tugging lightly, the action absentminded. You keep your eyes cast downward because you don’t want him to see your tears if they run. “I’m sorry I’ve been in such a shitty mood. I know it’s been a while, but, it just… I don’t know. I can’t stop thinking about him, and everything fucking hurts…”

Yoongi slips his fingers under your sleeve and circles your wrist, pulling your hand away from his pocket so he can lace your fingers together. They’re so much warmer now, defrosted by the heat blasting through your apartment and Yoongi’s hot chocolate.

“Maybe you could start by not wearing his clothes?” Yoongi offers quietly. “Can’t imagine it’s easy to get over someone when you keep them on your body like that.”

You sniffle and nod. Again, Yoongi is always right.

“Easier said than done…” you mumble, giving him a weak smile when you finally meet his eyes. There’s something there in his expression, something that seems different.

You don’t move away when Yoongi steps closer, even when he has you backed against the counter, even when you feel like you’re going to swallow your heart.

“I could take them off for you,” Yoongi says softly. He lets go of your sleeve to pinch the hem of your sweater, tugging it lightly. “If you can’t do it, I can.”

“Yeah?” You feel out of breath, maybe because you suck in your stomach when Yoongi’s fingers brush against it.

“Yeah,” he echoes, fingers sliding along your ribs as he pushes your sweater up. “So you can get over him.”

It’s a terrible idea, but your stomach flutters when he looks at you with sleepy eyes weighed down by the late hour and lust. He bites his bottom lip, and you feel your resolve slip as easily as Yoongi’s fingers do beneath your clothes.

“I want to.” The declaration is desperate, and for a moment, you can’t do anything but stare into Yoongi’s eyes with an all-consuming sadness that eats at your insides, gnawing on bones and biting holes into your lungs. “God, Yoongi, I want to.”

Yoongi touches his forehead to yours, making you close your eyes because he’s too close and you’re too much of a coward.

“I’m sorry,” Yoongi whispers. His voice is as gentle as his hands on your bare waist, his thumbs caressing your sensitive skin.

You raise your arms for Yoongi to pull off your sweater. He’s confident when he squeezes your tits, doesn’t even seem caught off guard when he realizes you’re not wearing anything under the sweater. He brushes his thumbs over your nipples as he leans in to kiss you, his tongue tasting sweet from the hot chocolate when he flicks it against yours.

“Yoongi,” you call out with an airy sigh that harmonizes nicely with the sound of him sucking open-mouthed kisses down your neck.

“Hmm?” Yoongi hums against the base of your throat, the vibration sending a tingling sensation straight to your clit. He keeps one hand on the counter beside your waist, caging you in, while his other hand cups your pussy over your sweatpants.

“Oh,” you gasp, your hands immediately finding Yoongi’s firm shoulders when he starts rubbing your clit, occasionally dipping his fingers lower to press against your entrance, soaking the fabric.

“These are his, too, right?”

“Y-yes,” you moan as Yoongi pulls down your sweatpants, taking your underwear with them.

You can’t say you never thought about how attractive Yoongi is; it’s hard to ignore. It’s just that Yoongi is your best friend. If anything were to happen between the two of you, you don’t know if you’d be able to survive losing him, too. You love him.

But you also love your ex.

It’s hard to think about that, though, with two of Yoongi’s fingers pumping in and out of your pussy. They’re long, reaching deeper than your own can when you finger yourself, always late at night when you’re lonely. It never feels good after. The clarity always seems to hit too quickly, like being dunked in a pool of ice water.

Three months. That’s how long it’s been since another person touched you, since you found out your ex-boyfriend had been cheating on you. You didn’t realize how much you missed it until you’ve got your head thrown back and your thighs quivering as Yoongi fucks you with his fingers. You nearly climb up the counter, both wanting him to touch you more and trying to get away because it’s too good.

Your ex never searched for the spot that would make your legs shake, but Yoongi does. He curls his fingers against your front wall and keeps up his rhythm, moving with your body when you can’t control where it goes.

“Fuck, right there.” You’re burning up, veins turned to lava that’s rushing toward your core as Yoongi fucks you closer and closer to your orgasm until you’re on the verge of tears because you haven’t been touched in so long and you’re so lonely and you weren’t good enough. You weren’t enough.

“Wanna make you cum,” Yoongi groans, deep and gravelly, between licking a stripe up your tits and sucking your nipples.

“Please,” you moan, “Please, I’m so close.”

Your arousal gushes around his fingers, slicking them up and making your pussy squelch when Yoongi flutters them inside you. He keeps his thumb pressed against your clit, almost too hard. It stops you from bucking your hips, but you can barely stand as it is.

Yoongi’s lips are back on yours, red from sucking your nipples until it hurt. He whispers against your lips and opens his mouth to let you suck on his tongue with a pathetic whimper.

“Not yet, though.”

“Wha– Yoongi, no–” It’s embarrassing how loudly you cry out when Yoongi slips his fingers out of your pussy. You feel the fire in your core simmer until you’re left with a painfully throbbing clit and your juices smeared on your inner thighs.

“Shhh, you know I always take care of you.” Yoongi shuts you up with a bite to your bottom lip. He leans down slightly to squeeze the backs of your thighs and hoist you up onto the counter. “Lean back.”

The cold marble counter sends shivers across your body, but it can’t keep up with the heat of Yoongi’s mouth on your pussy. He kisses your lips so gently that you think you might actually cry before he pushes your thighs back, opening you up.

“Oh fuck,” you moan as Yoongi goes straight for your clit, sucking on it as he swirls his tongue around it. You dig your hands into his hair and tug the strands hard enough to make him moan into your pussy. “Use your, use–”

Yoongi laps at your clit in quick, consistent bursts that fall in line with the tempo he’s fucking you to with two fingers again. His free hand presses against your lower abdomen, keeping your body taunt so you don’t buck into his face or curl inward. It’s bad enough that you can’t stop your legs from shaking when one rests on his shoulder and the other drapes over the crook of his arm.

It’s messy and loud, Yoongi licking and sucking your pussy like he really is trying to empty your mind of everything but the way the tip of his hot, wet tongue feels swirling your clit and the stretch of his fingers when he slips a third inside you and focuses on massaging the sensitive part of your walls. It’s working. He completely consumes your senses, down to how gorgeous he looks staring at you from between your thighs.

Your Yoongi, fingerfucking you and sucking your clit like you’re his favorite meal.

You try not to bang your head against the counter when you finally cum, instead focusing the overwhelming energy into pulling Yoongi’s hair to keep his face in your pussy.

He continues fucking you with his fingers through your orgasm, to the point that you can’t lie still any longer.

“Yoongi, oh my god, Yoongi, it’s too much,” you whimper and gasp, thighs closing around his head until he finally eases his fingers out of you.

Strings of your arousal connect his lips with your pussy until he swipes his tongue along his bottom lip, cutting them off. His bangs are pushed off his forehead and his hair sticks up from you pulling on it, but his eyes sparkle and his cheeks are just as rosy as his pink, slicked-up lips.

“Shit,” Yoongi murmurs, leaning over you on the counter to kiss you. He shoves his tongue in your mouth and lets you suck your juices from it.

You think you taste better on Yoongi’s tongue than on your ex’s.

Disclaimer: All my writing is fictional and for entertainment purposes only. None of these characters are meant to actually represent the real people mentioned in the stories.

All rights reserved © @gimmethatagustd - Do not copy, repost, modify, or translate any of my writing. Do not use my writing for any AI purposes whatsoever. Do not use my fics for anything aside from reading and commenting on them. My fics will only be posted on this Tumblr and on AO3 (gimmethatagustd & daddytaehyungie). Request an AO3 account here.

@jooniesxbby @seokteoksworld @taegeum @dprmoon @chimmisbae

#yoongi x reader #bts x reader #yoongi smut #bts smut #yoongi angst #bts angst #yoongi fluff #bts fluff #yoongi fanfic #bts fanfic #jai writes #gimmethatagustd #mos #100 drabble challenge

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bettysupremacy · 4 months

Note

eddie you say? 👀 if we’re talking eddie again can i request relationshipy fluff? Like sleepovers or something??

okay so verdict is .. we all missed eddie?

When Wayne Munson slid you a key to his house over coffee, he didn’t expect to have you sneaking in at two am.

You’d snuck in quietly, crept into Eddie’s room, toed your shoes off, and peeled the puffer you wore—over your pajamas—off your chilled body. His room smelt like lingering weed and cologne as you’d entered, but as you crawl into his bed the smell subsided.

“Eddie,” you whisper into his neck, preening for the reciprocation of his touch. “Eddie.”

He moves, shuffling in his sleep. He’s pretty like this, though you’re afraid he’s always pretty. Cheek pink from where it dug into his arm, hair mussed from sleep. He’s shirtless and warm, heat emanating from his smooth skin. Eddie’s always been like this; a heater. In the summer he can’t stand the way you move away from him in your sleep, desperate for some air.

“Baby,” you whisper a little louder, like a child commanding the attention of their mother. Any other night this may embarrass you, but you’re too desperate for his affection right now.

Slowly, he rouses. He doesn’t notice you at first, too occupied with the floating feeling of the in between sleep realm, or maybe too used to the feeling of you next to him to notice discrepancy. When he does though, you can’t help but feel a pang of guilt at his initial fear. Flinching, he moves to shuffle away before the streetlight casting in from his bedroom window catches on your face.

“Hi, I’m sorry.”

“Y/n?” He murmurs, voice thick with sleep. “Baby..” he rubs his eyes forcefully and you can’t tell if it’s apart of his usual dramatics or his sleepy stupor. “What are you doing here?”

You frown moving closer quietly, nestling yourself into him. He peers at you with the curiosity of a scientist and his creation. You’d’ve never done this in the beginning. Too scared to ask Mr. Munson Wayne for a glass of water. “Missed you.”

“So, we’re just breaking and entering now?” His hand comes up to cradle your head gently. He’s not serious, anything but it. His girlfriend appearing in his bed is a gift horse he’d never be stupid enough to look in the mouth. Leaning down, he nuzzles his nose in your hair, pressing a long kiss to the skin he finds. “You have work tomorrow, my love.”

“It’s not breaking and entering, I have your house key.”

You manage the sentence like it takes the most out of you; like you want the preserve the feeling of sleep holding you down; to stave away any alertness you can find.

“You have work tomorrow.” He repeats, sleepy concern lacing his voice.

“Steve can open without me.”

Eddie grumbles. It’s true. Slowly, he lowers himself back down to lay beside you, letting you climb your way on top. Your arms snake around him, desperate for any skin you can find. You want to feel him, to be as close to him as possible. You’ve missed him so much over vacation, lying with him right now doesn’t feel real. It’s carnal the way you squeeze his back, though there’s nothing lustful in the touch. He groans, letting himself wrap around you as well.

“You missed me?”

You’re too lost in his heartbeat to register his voice, too sleepy to respond. “Mhm.”

His nails drag up and down your back slowly. “Missed you too.”

You shiver, kissing his chest in response. There’s no need for words when the both of you feel like this; tired and in love. He pulls the old duvet higher up over the both of you to cover your back completely.

And that’s how Wayne finds you the next morning. Tangled in each other like sticky spaghetti.

“Hey, boy, have you seen..”

He pauses, hand on the cold doorknob. It’s certainly a sight Wayne thinks. Eyeing the shoes and backpack of work clothes on the floor, his eyes flit back up to the tangle of lovers. You lay practically all the way on top of Eddie, long sleeves and pants you’d picked out to protect you from the chill drowning you. Under the fabric that is your pajamas, Eddie snores softly, arm still around your middle. This is the type of parenting Wayne never thought he’d have to do with Eddie. He shakes his head, weary smile playing on his lips as he leaves the room to find his boots himself.

He’d given you the key for a reason.

#eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson x you #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson x reader fluff #eddie munson x henderson! reader #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson comfort #eddie munson fanfiction #eddie munson fem!reader #eddie munson x fem! reader #eddie munson x yn #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x fem!reader fluff

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vanderilnde · 3 months

Note

I don't know how much it fits but, keeping with the theme of butcher!simon's neighborhood being a bit dangerous:

where I grew up (rough neighborhood) there were often bars/pubs and even gas stations nearby that operated all afternoon/night and guys often congregated outside smoking cigarettes and what not. they never bothered the residents, but they damn well worked as guard dogs and warded off strangers.

so... idea: simon and his buddies hanging out outside the corner pub when reader is coming/going to her second job in the weekends, watching closely to make sure she makes it from the bus/train stop to the building door, especially after dark.

alternatively!! simon who stays up and checks out of his window when reader is coming home after dark and doesn't let himself go to sleep until he hears her door unlocking and her making some type of sound (like closing her rickety door or whatever).

i dont think you understand….. reading this altered my brain so viscerally. guard dog simon. yeah.

“Still got yer balls in her purse?”

Simon lights his cigarette. The soft smoulder of it barely offsets the flickering streetlight above them, scarcely illuminates the sidewalk. It shines over his face, hanging from the threshold of his lips.

“Yup,” he hums. “Right where I want ‘em.”

Johnny cackles through the plume of smoke curling up and out of his lips. He pats Simon on the back, taking a long drag of his cig, and bumps his shoulder with Kyle’s.

“When’d’ya reckon he’ll let us meet the Bird?”

Kyle rolls his eyes. “When he finds someone to pay.”

“Put a sock in it,” Simon snarls. Taps the ash off his cig.

Photo is a generous word for it. But it was the only thing Simon had to testify to your existence. A blurry, smudgy picture taken on his phone. Half-eclipsed by his thumb which was accidentally in the corner of his camera. A picture of you leaving the lift—a shallow angle of you walking in some leggings, returning from work.

It was privy to Simon. A likeness to indulge in during his work days. But in a flitting moment, Johnny laid his eyes on it. Read him to filth for it.

And now, they’re here.

Off-white sheets of rain running off the canopy they’re situated under. Each holding a cigarette to their lips, resting against the wet brick of a hole-in-the-wall pub. The warm hum from inside pooling into the empty streets of Manchester.

A thin sound arises from it. The chime of a shopkeeper’s bell, signifying the door is being opened. Into the diving rain, you step out, clutching a backpack against your shoulder, your uniform sticking to your skin.

It’s a heavy mass of muscle you almost run into. You stop yourself with a hand split against their chest, against the fleetly rise-and-fall of their jacket.

You have to hoist your neck up to see him. It takes you a while to reorient yourself, to recognise the depthless copper of his eyes. And it takes you even longer to register the underside of his face. Bare, flooded under the soft light of streetlights.

“Simon!” You squeak. The succession of his heartbeat pumping under your palm. Two men hovering behind him, exchanging puckish smirks. “What are you doing here?”

Simon’s eyebrows purse like he’s confused. He tilts his head, looking at you like a puppy, and shrugs. “I’m here to pick you up.”

“Pick me up–” a chord of bemusement strikes you, collapsing your sentence. Your reservations catch up to you, hitting you like bricks. “Pick me up?”

Simon grunts. His eyes flicker down to your skirt, how it flurries in the wind, and pulls you beneath the awning.

“Getting y’rself all wet under there,” he grumbles. “Brought you this.”

Simon holds up an umbrella. He waits for you to take it before splaying his big hand on the hind of your spine and turning you around, shepherding you forward.

Your voice is warped with bashfulness when you speak. “Where’re we going?”

“Home,” he says. Three pairs of footfall tread on your heels. Each one more intimidating than the other. Sticky and wet as they trail behind you.

“Just keep walking, Trouble,” Simon mumbles. “‘m here.”

It’s a shield that keeps everyone away. The invasive eyes, the creeping men that usually accompany you on your walk home after work. But today, they’re silent.

The three men are a pack of dogs behind you.

Simon, kissing the ground before you walk on it.

#simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley #simon riley #simon ghost x reader #ghost x reader #ghost/reader #cod x reader #cod mw2 #simon writing #writing

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luxurychristmaspudding · 4 months

Text

Pickup Truck

summary: frankie hates your boyfriend. in fact, everybody does. but he’s willing to give him a chance. you’re his best friend, after all.

until frankie discovers something he can never forgive.

pairing: frankie morales x f!reader

ratings/warnings: 18+. MDNI. this fic contains allusions to, but no descriptions of, domestic abuse. please do not proceed if you know this will upset you.

frankie's pov. no lady and no baby for our boy. drinking, violence (against pos bf), angst, lots of hurt, allusions to dv. comfort, fluff. frankie to the rescue. unprotected p in v (wrap it irl!). oral, f receiving. creampie. bad spanish (again). kings of leon references. happy ending, of course.

wc: 9.8k

an: whew, this was an emotional one to write. but i hope a good love comes to all of you in time, no matter where you are at the moment. and if you already have it, may it always keep you safe. lovely divider from @saradika.

Frankie really doesn’t like your boyfriend.

Scratch that. Nobody does.

Nobody really knows where you found him, either. A sweet, smart girl like you, moved back to your small town from your big city life, and it looks like you picked up the very first guy who sidled up to you in a grimy bar.

Which, if you’re really honest, is exactly what happened. Because he was nice at first. Real nice. He was charming and sweet and interested - he bought you drinks all night and didn’t push to come in when he walked you home. You went for dinner a few times, and sure, he could be a little rude to the waitstaff, but it was only because he was so focused on you. He bought you flowers and took you for rides, and sure, sometimes he’d come home far too drunk after seeing his friends and get a little too close, a little too loud, but he always apologised.

And sure, he sometimes made you cry, but he always made it up to you. Sweet promises, small gifts. And he'd never laid a finger on you.

Not until last week, anyway.

You don’t know what to do. You don’t know who to turn to. The thought of it makes you so sick you have to lock yourself in the bathroom at work. How did this happen? How did it turn so sour?

And how do you get out?

Walk you home to see

Where you're livin' around

And I know this place

Frankie walks you home from the bonfire. He always does.

It’s his favourite moment of the night.

He gets to have you all to himself. Gets to watch your cheeks cool in the night air, watch as the blush from the heat of the fire subsides. Your giddy, wide eyes, your tipsy babbling about stories which had been swapped over the flames, picking out particularly scandalous details for you two to giggle about before doubling over into breathless laughter over something Benny had said.

He likes to hold your elbow, your hand, as you catch him in your amusement, gripping onto his bicep. He loves to lose himself in this little pocket of time with you.

He loves the sparkle of the stars, the glow of the streetlights as they light your features.

Frankie loves you.

And he’s so glad you’ve moved back from your life in the big city to come and be around your real friends again. So glad that you’ve all found your way back to each other. Tonight has left him with such a mellow tingle in his bones that he finds he can’t stop smiling at you, looking at you, on your walk home.

Bonfire nights have always been your monthly hangout, a time when you can be sure you’ll get the whole gang together. There used to be more of you through highschool, and still a fair few during college. It dipped when the boys joined the forces, when people moved further east and further north. But eventually Frankie, Benny, Santi, and Will had come back. Jessa, your other best friend, had returned too. A few others coming and going - Lily, Marcus, Maggie - also back and forth from their new homes to their old ones. And then eventually folk had just… settled.

Frankie felt like he was one of the last, like he was maybe the one finding it the hardest, retired to a life of civvy duties. Unable to hold down a girlfriend, struggling to stick at a job, sofa surfing around friends’ places. He was still flying whenever he could, but then this coke allegation happened, and it was like the world was finally swept from under him.

You were the first person he had called, the first person to talk him down from his panic, that debilitating squeeze around his heart when he thought about the future. The first person who made him feel like it would be okay.

So of course his joy when you had come back had been immeasurable. Maybe this time, he’d thought.

And then you’d met Tanner.

He’s pulled from his thoughts as you drag your hand out of his, skipping a little further up the dark street until you reach a corner. Frankie watches as you spin on the spot in the quiet neighbourhood, gesturing down the pathway before you.

‘This is me.’ You say.

But you don’t turn to keep walking. You watch him, a small, excited smile on your lips. Like you’re waiting for him to work it out.

Frankie drags his eyes from you, away from thoughts of your new boyfriend, to look up and down the street you’ve led him to, and for a second he is pulled beneath the ebbing flow of memory, towed with the riptide of things forgotten.

This is his grandmother’s street. Was his grandmother’s street.

The cracked concrete, the peeling paint of the porches. The weeds, the flowers, the smell.

He breathes your name like you’re the only thing tethering him to the now.

Breathes your name through the bright, sunny flashes of his childhood. His mama bringing him here with his brother, his papa swinging him by his legs in the flower-riddled front garden. Cartoons in the ripe heat of the afternoons, him and his cousins stuffing their faces with Guagitas and Frugele until they’d made themselves sick while the younger siblings napped in the sunbeams of the bedroom next door. Cycling over on his bike after school to sit at her kitchen table to do his homework, letting her fuss over him - his height, his friends, his grades, girls -

A skinnier, younger Frankie stopping by his abuela’s house with you to pick up her up for his nineteenth birthday party, along with her homemade tamales, her chiles rellenos, and specially made pumpkin sopaipillas for later on. The way you had chatted to her, natural, easy going, how you had made her laugh, her eyes sparkle. How, when you had taken some of the plates to the car, his abuela had pinched his cheek. I like her, she’d said, Será tuya algún día, mm, mijo? And Frankie had flushed bright red, batting her arms away as she chuckled at him. He had hidden in the back bedroom when you came in from outside, and listened a little longer to your conversation as he waited for the heat of his face to die down. When he reemerged, you had helped his grandmother into her shoes, her cardigan, and kept ahold of her arm until she got into Frankie’s beat up old car. At the end of the night, his abuela had kissed both your cheeks several times, rocked you back and forth in a hug, and clapped her hands as she said how she looked forward to seeing you again.

When you came home from college every summer, you’d have tea with her in her garden. She always asked Frankie about you, about how you are doing. When he told her you were coming home, she’d been so excited. Quizás este sea el momento? She’d said to him, squeezing his hand. He’d smiled, his heart quietly full of hope. Tal vez, abuela, he’d said.

When he called you two weeks later, his voice weak from crying, to tell you that she’d passed, you had been heartbroken. And it seemed like her wish, the red thread she’d seen between the two of you, had been snipped, too.

Pour yourself on me

And you know I'm the one

That you won't forget

Frankie likes to listen to you talk, because he’s never much been one for talking.

He supposes you just bring it out of him, though. Because here on this street, in the moonlight, he tells you more about his grandmother. You spend hours walking up and down the pavement as he recounts every story he can remember; him and his brother, his parents, aunts and uncles, cousins. Birthdays, weddings, funerals. The street comes alive with the ghosts of people, the spectres of feelings. You and Frankie talk of growing up. Of falling in love. Of each other.

Your small, well-loved house is half way down the street, four up from his abuela’s. It does something strange to his heart to have two of his favourite people, who loved each other in their own ways, so close but so far away.

Your fingers hold his wrist as he shows you a scar on his palm from eating shit on his bike when he was eight, and when he looks up, your eyes are shining under the streetlights. There is a glint of moon in your teeth, and a shocking want so clear on your face, but when he meets your eye there is suddenly hesitation, a realisation, a shuttering. Frankie stops his story. There is a moment, and then it slips away like sand.

You shiver, chilled all of a sudden, and wrap your arms around yourself. Frankie tries not to look too hard at the goose bumps blossoming on your bare skin, tries to fight off the urge to kiss the little raises until you’re warm again under his touch.

‘Cold?’ he asks, and you smile back up at him. God, his heart.

‘As a hole,’ you giggle, and he feels himself smile goofily back at you. ‘We gotta warm up.’ You say, and then freeze.

It takes Frankie a little while longer to hear the inadvertent invitation in your words.

Boyfriend. Boyfriend.

You both stand on the porch, frozen, like some great frost has swept over the land. If Frankie squints, he can imagine the glitter of your eyeshadow, now fallen, dusted on your cheeks, is a collective of tiny constellations of ice.

Your body is wracked with a shiver again, but when Frankie looks you in the eye, you’re burning up from the inside. He swallows.

If he could only make the steps towards you. If he could only will his heavy feet to move, if he could summon his nerves to do exactly what his brain says, he would already be in front of you. He would have your face in his hands, be able to look into your eyes to see that deep, hidden want again, and kiss you. Again and again and again, and he wouldn’t stop, because things like that shitty boyfriend of yours wouldn’t matter anymore.

No. The whole world would be glitter and stars and constellations of ice crystals.

And then you blink, smile softly, and wish him a goodnight.

When he can finally lift his foot to move, your door is already closed.

And in your denim eyes

I see that something's awry

And I see you’re weak

You don’t see Frankie for a while after that, always finding a way to brush off his attempts to hang out.

At first he doesn’t worry too much about it. You’ve just moved back - you have a new job, a new place, new friends to get to know. Tanner.

Frankie finds other things to do. He gets business cards made up for the flying school he’ll be setting up next month. He pilots people across the state, sometimes across the country. He sees the boys for drinks, even sees Jessa for a coffee. He starts to worry when they say their texts have gone mostly unanswered, and they haven’t seen you either.

It must be why he turns up on your front step one day, a six pack in hand.

You open the door on the second ring of the doorbell, and Frankie finds himself rendered speechless. You look… different.

Tired and wary, a little thinner. And when he gets you chatting, you say you haven’t really been anywhere, done anything. You’ve been settling in, getting used to it. You have two beers each, but you seem on edge, like you’re waiting for a knock on the door. And then Frankie asks about Tanner, and your eyes linger on the entryway a little longer.

‘Yeah,’ you say, ‘He’s okay.’

Frankie’s jaw twitches, his stomach clenching uncomfortably.

‘Just okay?’ He asks.

Because you should be excited. You should be gushing and giddy and falling in love. But you’re not.

‘Yeah,’ you shrug. ‘He’s good.’

There’s something in your eyes. Something which shrinks away, skitters back. Something drained, something sapped of life, of energy. Hurt, maybe. Fear, perhaps.

When Frankie thinks back now, he knows he should have pressed you harder. Maybe should have taken you to his, made you talk a little more for a little longer. Away from Tanner, the threat of his presence. But he didn’t. He didn’t.

And he hates himself for it.

When he comes around

I see you're fixin' to shine

And my face won't speak

When Frankie next sees you, you’ve had a hair cut, and there are deep, dark bags under your eyes. Both of these things worry him equally.

Your beautiful hair that you’d been growing out since you were young, hair that you swore you’d never cut shorter than it was in seventh grade, when your mum had to chop it into a bob after you got gum caught in it. And here it is now, much shorter.

Jessa says she likes it, and you give her a watery smile, a weak thank you. She asks where you had it done, when. She asks if you like it, and you shrug. You say you’re trying something new. You say Tanner likes it.

Over your shoulder, Frankie exchanges a look with Santi.

You’re quiet the whole time you're at the bar. Far too quiet, so far from the bubbly conversation you usually hold, your loud cackle, your bent-double amusement. Your affection for your friends - the hands on knees, arms around shoulders, kisses pressed to cheeks. It’s hardly there.

Frankie offers to walk you home, but you wave him off kindly. Tanner’s picking me up, you say, he’s probably outside. Jessa frowns at you.

‘Are you sure, babe?’ She says. ‘It’s not even late yet.’

You smile and nod at her, gather your stuff to go. Jessa catches your arm.

‘We’re still on to go shopping Saturday, though - right?’

You smile at her, the first warm one you’ve mustered all night.

‘Of course,’ you say, ‘I’m looking forward to it.’

When you stand to leave, you hug everybody goodbye. Tightly, for longer than usual. Frankie doesn’t give you an option when he walks you out to Tanner’s car. The smug prick is hanging out the driver’s seat window. He watches Frankie as you walk up, hostile, threatening, arrogant, and somehow still ridiculous. And, Frankie thinks cruelly - ugly.

Frankie pulls you into his arms a few steps away from your boyfriend. He kisses your hair, and you sigh.

‘Have a good time on Saturday,’ he says softly. You twitch a smile at him.

‘Thank you, Frankie.’ You say before stepping back and walking to open the passenger door. As you climb in, Tanner winks at him.

‘Gettin’ a new one tomorrow,’ he says, stupid fucking grin on his face. ‘New car. Exciting stuff. Anyway, better get this one back,’ he says, squeezing your knee a little too hard. You don’t look at Frankie, something like humiliation colouring your cheeks. ‘See you around, Frank.’ Tanner says.

Frankie steps back from the car as it glides forwards, and he watches it disappear up the street.

Deep anger burns in him. And a kind of fear. It crawls over his skin, cooling the sides of his neck. His heart churns uncomfortably in his chest.

He tells your friends about it when he returns to the table. And they form a plan. Jessa texts you a time she’ll pick you up on Saturday. You say you’re excited again, you need some new clothes.

But Frankie knows Jessa won’t take you shopping.

No, she brings you here, to the beach, to the bonfire. To him, to Santi and Benny and Will. Because they’re worried.

So worried, they tell you.

They sit you down in one of the chairs around the fire, and they explain why they’re worried. They tell you they love you - so much - and they just need to know if you’re okay. Because they can help. They want to help, want you out of this, because he’s not good for you. The silence, the hair, the clothes you were going to buy. They tell you they hate the way he doesn’t let you speak, how he speaks to you. And you are so quiet through all of it, Frankie begins to get more worried. He speaks to you gently over the fire, but you can’t meet his eye. He tells you his worries, their love for you again. He swallows down his own confession, anything to make you see. How they don’t want you pushed closer to him, want you to be pulled closer to them instead.

But your eyes are so vacant, so far away, that Jessa leaves her deckchair next to you to sit on the burned up log closer to you on your other side. She takes your hands, and you finally, finally look at her. You open your mouth, and you say so quietly -

‘You’re right. You’re right.’

It feels like the biggest gulp of oxygen Frankie has ever taken. He feels lightheaded from the relief, from the knowledge. They were right, they were right, which is a terrible, terrible thing.

Will clears his throat, and Frankie looks at him to see similar thoughts flicking over his face like film reel. He licks his lips, opens his mouth, and -

Hate to be so emotional

I didn't aim to get physical

But when he pulled in and revved it up

I said, ‘You call that a pickup truck?’

And in the moonlight I throwed him down

Kickin', screamin' and rollin' around

A little piece of a bloody tooth

Just so you know I was thinking of you

Whatever Will is about to say is cut short by the sweep of headlights over the brush near the dunes.

A beat up old pickup truck bumps up the track and pulls up alongside Will’s Ranger. The driver’s side window slides down, and Tanner’s face emerges from the gloom. He revs the engine loudly, making you and Jessa jump. A sick feeling curls in Frankie’s stomach as he watches him, this piece of shit who’s been so busy crushing you down.

Tanner leaps out of the truck, and slams the door. Frankie looks over at you, visibly panicked on the other side of the fire. How the fuck did he find you?

‘Hey baby,’ Tanner says, sickly sweet as he strolls towards you, ducking to press a kiss to your unresponsive mouth. He turns to the rest of the group, eyes skating over Will and Ben until they land on Frankie. Tanner steps towards him, offers his hand.

‘Good to see you again, Frank,’ he says, ‘Told you I’d be getting a new ride.’

Frankie stares at his hand. He takes a deep swig of his beer, breathing deeply before looking Tanner in the eye, refusing to shake it.

‘I’m surprised to see you.’ He says to the dirty-haired man.

Tanner tries his best to appear unfazed, but there’s a glimmer of something hot behind his eyes.

‘’Course man, wanted to show off the new pickup.’ He says, grinning broadly. He looks around again, eyes falling hungrily on Jessa. She shifts uncomfortably on the log, rearranging her body so there’s less for him to look at. A deep heat begins to rise in Frankie’s chest.

He glances again at the ancient car that Tanner’s driven up in. The front bumper almost hanging off, the red paint aged and scratched, bumps caved in all up the sides, the roof sagging.

‘You call that a pickup truck?’ Frankie says lightly. Tanner narrows his eyes at him, angry, before he catches the sound of Santi’s laugh.

He whirls around to the other man and spits -

‘Who the fuck are you?’

Frankie almost laughs, too. Almost.

Pope spreads his hands. He looks up at him through his brows, a glint in his eyes that Frankie is violently familiar with. You must notice it, too, because you clear your throat and say -

‘Santi’s one of my friends.’

Tanner doesn’t even look at you. Just keeps staring at Pope.

The moment seems to last an eternity. Frankie feels like he’s watching everything through sludge, like he’s in someone else’s dream. His whole body is on edge, vibrating, ready to lunge - he’s just not sure at who. He looks between the two men before he catches your eye through the flames. The adrenaline in Frankie’s heart gutters at the look of panic in your eyes.

Please don’t let them do this. Please help me stop it.

Frankie glances back to Pope, and says, so softly only he can hear it -

‘Pope.’

And Santi immediately looks away, taking a swig of his beer.

Tanner stands there still, clearly baffled at Santi’s sudden lack of interest. Then he turns to the rest of the group like a petulant child, a toddler who has been ostensibly robbed of its favourite toy.

‘It’s a good truck,’ he says, before turning to you. ‘Ain’t it, baby?’

You hum your agreement as Tanner scoops a beer from the pile by Will’s chair, shucking off the top with his teeth. Jessa looks away, disgusted. He settles himself in the deckchair at your side.

‘Y’aint allowed to touch it, of course, sugar,’ he says to you, before laughing into his bottle. ‘Ruin everything you come into, anyway. Root of all my problems, ain’t ya?’ Tanner takes a pull of his beer. The group is silent around him. Around you. Tanner notices.

‘Boy, fun bunch you are.’

You look at him through your eyelashes.

‘Baby, that’s enough.’ You say as softly as possible, and Frankie cringes at the pet name.

Tanner looks at you sharply. Dark, furious. It’s in the pinch of his jaw, the anger at what you’ve said so obviously rolling around in his skull.

Frankie hates him for it. And he hates that he hates him for it. There are already so many things he hates him for, but he’s so fucking stupid it’s almost funny. Not your equal in any way. In kindness, in conversation or in intellect. And not even willing to try. To learn. For you. Just trying to dumb you down instead, squash you into smaller, more digestible bites to chew on.

When it comes down to it, Tanner has nothing smart to say back. He just pushes a short breath from his nostrils and mutters out a little -

‘Well, well, well.’

Then he flexes his fingers against the chair, and you flinch.

You flinch hard, your brows coming together, chin scrunching, waiting for the blow to land. And when it doesn’t, your eyes flicker open slowly. Hollow, bereft, drained and dim.

Tanner hasn’t noticed, but everyone else has.

The awful unveiling of your last secret.

Frankie forces the bile down his throat. His head swings forward to the ground of its own accord, a faint, resonant ringing in his ears. When he looks at his hands, they aren’t his own. In fact, he recognises no part of his body as the ringing gets louder, as he gently places his beer bottle on the floor. When his eyes leave the dirt, the mix of faces around the fire are all mirror reflections of each other. Horror, disgust, grief. Grief that this is what you hid from them, this is what they have taken too long to pull you from. The burning building splintering around you, your shell of a body immovable in the middle.

You won’t meet his eye. You won’t meet anyone’s eye as your hand shakes around your bottle. Jessa notices. She stares at your trembling fingers for too long, but she can hardly say anything. None of them can. Her eyes shine like beacons from her seat, wet with tears. Frankie sees her bottom lip quiver, her chin dimple. And then she swallows, swallows again, and reaches for your hand.

You flinch again, softer this time, and Frankie is sure everyone around the fire - everyone in the town, the world, must hear his heart crack. Because he feels it so keenly, so deeply, that it takes the air from his lungs. His breath is caught in his throat, and no matter how hard he tries to draw it, it seems impossible to claw it down. He’s drowning. He’s drowning right here in front of everybody, and it makes it all the worse to know that this is how you must feel. Every damn day.

Come on, he hears Jessa say, Let’s go and get another drink. And through the dark swirling of his mind he watches the two of you stand slowly and disappear towards the back of Frankie’s truck. He waits until Jessa has you hidden from view, her arms around your hunched back as you bring your hands to your face - crying - and that’s when the thread snaps.

Frankie gets to his feet, slowly.

Pope and Will watch him. Benny is still staring at Tanner.

Tanner looks up at him, chin jutted out, smirking as Frankie approaches.

He’s challenging him. He’s waiting for a war of words, for the shouting to begin, for the insults, the observations to fly.

He expected the wrong war from a soldier.

The first punch sprawls him out of his seat. It makes a satisfying cracking sound, and the first trickle of blood starts to bleed from behind his lip.

Then Frankie kicks him. He kicks him hard in the ribs, making sure he doesn’t have enough time to recover from the punch to deflect Frankie’s boot.

Tanner clutches at his abdomen, wheezing, gazing up at Frankie with bewildered eyes. Fucking coward.

Frankie grabs him by the front of his shirt, pulls him upwards. He has nothing to say to him, but the fury he feels, this deep, endless, swirling pit of rage, he lets him see. He lets it fill him from the soles of his feet all the way up through his eyes, and he lets it bleed out. He lets the blackness flood the ground. He lets Tanner watch it, lets it petrify him, and then Frankie swings again. Tanner takes it on his chin this time, his jaw snapping closed, and when it goes lax, a couple jagged bits of tooth fall out. Frankie grunts in satisfaction and swings again, again, until blood spouts from Tanner’s eyebrow and his cheek begins to bruise and swell. Frankie breathes deeply, in rhythm, doesn’t even feel it when Tanner manages to land a lucky punch to his eye socket. He plants a knee into the other man’s crotch, lands him an elbow to the back of his head when he keels over, and then shoves him to the ground. Frankie gets on the floor with him, raining blows down on Tanner’s body, his face. He’s methodical about it, a punch to each eye, the crack of the cunt’s nose, one to either side of his mouth, then bloodying up his jaw. He’s aware, somewhere, that Tanner is screaming. Strangled, gargling sounds trying to claw up his throat. And then he’s aware of two pairs of hands around each armpit, dragging him away, pulling him up. Will is saying something in his ear, that’s enough, Frankie, alright now, and Benny is speaking, too, panicked - you’ll kill him, Fish, come on man.

Frankie blinks, really looks at Tanner where he lays bleeding on the dirt. His eyes already swelling, a couple more teeth scattered on the ground next to him. His face different shades of red and purple, a mess of a man, and Frankie is pleased. He could keep going. He wants to see him bleed much, much more. Will and Benny keep their grip on him.

‘Leave,’ Frankie growls, low, without a quiver in his voice. ‘And don’t you ever come back. You ever look at her again, I’ll gouge out your fuckin’ eyes. You ever touch her again, I’ll break every bone in your body. I’ll make sure they don’t find anything left of you.’

Tanner doesn’t say anything, which must be the only smart thing he’s ever done in his life. But he still doesn’t move.

The four men watch him for a moment, the silence heavy, broken only by the crackle of wood and Tanner’s heavy, wet breaths.

Then Benny lets Frankie go, steps forward and picks the man up by his collar, swinging him around to the direction of his truck. He throws him down on the dirt.

‘Move,’ he spits. ‘Get out of here. And if you have the courage on the way, wrap your fucking truck around a telephone pole.’

Tanner finally has the good sense to crawl over to the vehicle. He hauls himself up the scarred body work before creaking open the driver’s door and slipping inside. The truck sputters to life, yellow bulbs flooding the bonfire site again before it quickly backs away, turns, and drives off. Frankie watches its blinking red brake lights until he’s sure the cunt is gone, and then he turns around.

You’re stood with Santi’s arms wrapped around you, back from the fire where Tanner’s blood is drying. Pope strokes your hair, squeezes you tightly as your body shudders. And Frankie can only stare.

Minutes might have passed. Hours. And Frankie is terrified. Terrified that he’s scared you, broken you, pushed you away. And then you turn your face on Pope’s chest, moving your head from shoulder to shoulder, and you’re looking at him. Eyes red-rimmed and raw, face flushed and damp, and it’s like Frankie’s trance breaks.

Frightened, he takes a step forward. He breathes your name.

‘I’m sorry,’ he says, and you shake your head. Fuck. What has he done? What has he allowed himself to do? ‘I’m sorry, querida, please - I know, I know -’ but what does he know? He looks to Santi, pleading for help, and the man offers him a small smile as you step out of his arms.

Through a fog, you come towards him. Your chin wobbles. Your eyes swim. You’re a little wide-eyed, a little shocked. And something else, something beyond his reach.

You get to him, and your arms make their silken way around his middle as you begin to cry. Hot tears stain the front of his shirt, and he cradles you to him, holding your skull gently, enveloping your abdomen. A loud sob looses from your ribs.

‘I’m sorry,’ he whispers, ‘I didn’t mean to scare you.’ You wrap your arms around him tighter, press your nose into his sternum.

‘I’m not scared of you, Frankie,’ you sob into his chest. He clutches at the back of your head, holds you even closer, strokes your hair. When you speak again your voice is higher, strained with your tears. ‘I could never be scared of you.’

The sting in Frankie’s throat becomes hot, burning. He doesn’t know whether to pull you impossibly closer or to push you away, to run as far as he can from your broken, heaving body in his arms. Because what he’s done should scare you. It should. He’d lost all control. The only thing he’d been able to see, to feel was his all-consuming, depthless fury. And Tanner’s face as it splintered, bloodied, swelled. And he’d wanted to keep going, until there was just pulp. No nerve endings, no teeth, no eyes, no mouth, no body that he could ever hurt you with again. He doesn’t want you to hurt any more.

‘I’m sorry,’ he whispers into your hair.

Trembling misery

And as cold as a hole

I hug your bones and skin

Frankie holds your hand the whole way home, the drive passing in a dazed silence.

You still don’t talk when you get to his place, when he unlocks the door, lets you in, and locks it behind him. You take his hand in the quiet cool of the house, lead him upstairs. He follows, slowly, sore, exhausted. Trying to process it all.

When you reach the landing, you turn on the bathroom light, and he trails behind you. He stands propped against the sink as you dig around in his medicine cabinet, finding wipes and bandages and anything else you think might be useful. You take Frankie’s hand again, examine his bruised, bleeding and swollen knuckles with solemn eyes. You are so gentle, twisting his hand in the light, inspecting. You look over it for a while, and Frankie watches you. When you reach for an antiseptic wipe, your hand is shaking.

Frankie winces silently when you start to dab at the blood on his knuckles, cleaning it away with minute swipes. You chase the dried rivulets of blood down his fingers, over his palm. The scar there from when he ate shit riding his bike.

‘I’m sorry,’ he says. You ignore him, breathing shallowly as you inspect his hand, holding his wrist, cleaning blood which is no longer there.

‘Might be a hairline fracture or two,’ you say, distant. ‘I won’t bandage it, gonna let it dry out first. But you’ll need to rest it. And we’ll need to ice your eye.’

‘I’m sorry,’ he says again, into your hair. You shake your head, and the light catches the different colours in every strand. Frankie’s throat tightens.

‘Please stop apologising.’ You whisper.

A shaky breath pushes itself from between Frankie’s lips.

‘No, querida,’ he says softly, ‘It wasn’t right. Shouldn’t have done it. And I shouldn’t have let you see -’ he swallows thickly, throat bobbing. He looks over your head at the white tiles behind you as your grip on his wrist tightens. You still don't look up at him. ‘But it’s not how you treat someone you love. Not how it should be. Should be protecting them, treating them right, loving them the way you love -’ him. He cuts himself off, because he realises as he says it he’s wrong. So wrong.

Right to be like you in your gentleness. In your care, your touch, your tenderness, your loving. But Tanner deserved none of those things. He didn’t deserve your faith, didn’t deserve your protection or your silence either. None of it.

He closes his eyes.

An image of you flickers through Frankie’s mind. Your fingers on his wrist as they are now, your eyes shining under the streetlights. The glint of your teeth, and the want so clear on your face, then the hesitation, the fear, the shuttering -

And if only he had kissed you then. If only you had taken him inside. He could have shown you what it was supposed to feel like. He could have saved you from the hurt, the fear which lay ahead.

There’s a splash of warmth on the pale skin of the underside of his forearm, and he opens his eyes again. You’re still hunched over his hand, but your movements have stilled. Frankie waits, confused, before another warm drop lands on his arm and you hiccup a sob out. He whispers out your name, and you turn your face up to him, devastated.

Frankie’s face crumples, and your grip on his wrist loosens enough for him to lift his hands to your face and cup your cheeks.

‘I’m sorry,’ he says, ‘I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have said it. I wasn’t thinking -’

‘You think I love him?’ You croak.

Frankie’s jaw works around his next sentence, his next thoughts. He tries to process what this means. That look in your eyes, your tears, your implication. His lips move, but no sound comes out.

‘I don’t love him, Frankie,’ you choke, ‘I don’t. Christ - I don’t think I ever did, I never could -’ you suck in a deep, stuttered breath. ‘I’ve never - never hated anyone more. I couldn’t stand him, couldn’t have him near me, couldn’t have him touch me -’ Frankie flinches at your words. ‘But I was so scared. And embarrassed. I didn’t know how to leave - I didn’t know how to tell anybody about what was going on. I was terrified of what he’d do. To me, to you guys, if he found out I’d spoken about it. And he made it so hard for me to see you, so hard for me to get away.’ You sob now, panic and relief forcing out your words. ‘I thought - wherever I go, he’ll find me. He’ll track me down, and he’ll bring me back - and somehow - somehow that was worse than if he tracked me down and - and - I don’t know, killed me or something -’

Frankie’s eyes shutter. He can’t even follow your thought, so awful is the image, the gaping emptiness. He pulls you close, he lets you cry. Curled into his chest, your body wracking with tears, shaking, tense and uncontrollable, the sounds you make rooting in his brain. They file themselves away in a box where very few things go. Deployment. Tom. The darkness after his investigation. You break and break in his arms, and it’s all he can do to hold the pieces of you together. To press kisses to your head, breathe in the smell of your hair, rub his hands over your back, cradle you like a child.

He doesn’t know how long the two of you stand there for. He waits until you stop sobbing, stop crying softly, stop hiccuping, stop sniffing. He waits for a few more minutes in the silence, too. And when he pulls away, he presses a long, sweet kiss to your forehead.

You blink up at him through red, swollen eyes.

‘You’re safe here.’ He says, and you nod.

‘I know. Thank you. For - everything.’ You say thickly. Frankie swallows, nods. You know it all anyway. Any time, for however long you need.

He pads downstairs to get you a glass of water, and while he’s pouring it, he can hear you blow your nose, wash your face. Somehow, they are the most perfect sounds in the world.

Crackling wood’s gone white

And my eye swole up now

I can see the light

Frankie gives you one of his sleep-stretched t-shirts and an old pair of shorts for you to wear to bed.

The clothes dwarf you a little, and he can’t wipe the small, thrilled smile from his face, even when he looks away. You look fucking adorable.

You giggle at him every time you see it, your little what? only making him smile harder. It stretches his mouth until it hurts and his cheeks start to cramp up, squishing his swollen eye. Stop he tries to say, but it comes out as an equally breathless huff of laughter - and that only makes you giggle more. So much so that he sweeps you up into his arms to stash you under the covers, and you laugh even harder as he tucks the sheets in tight around you, just like his mama used to do when she wanted him to stay put.

He looks down at you from the side of the bed, hands on his hips, and you laugh back at him - eyes shining, mouth open in wide hoots of delight, your hands coming up in a desperate attempt to contain yourself. He points a finger at you.

‘You need to calm down,’ he says, voice tight with bridled amusement. ‘It’s bedtime.’

But you cackle back at him, this glorious puddle of sunshine in his bed, only howls of laughter for a response. Unable to help himself, he returns your joy, turning off the bedside lamps to slip in beside you.

In the darkness, your snorts subside into ragged breaths, and you turn on your side to look at him. You study him as though you never want to forget a single line on his face; such warmth, such affection in your eyes that Frankie’s whole body swells and lifts.

You take his hand beneath the sheets and hold it between your faces, smiling softly at him.

The first and only girl he’s really ever loved. This brilliant, fierce, bright, intelligent woman damped down by the waste of fucking space who had bled by the fire. At the thought of it, Frankie feels his heart fall out of his chest, down through the floorboards, and plummet towards the middle of the earth.

And finally, he begins to cry.

He tries to stop it, he really does. It’s selfish, he thinks, so awful and selfish to cry in front of you when it’s you who should be wrapped in his arms, swept away by emotion again if you needed to be, safe and warm and unworried, never having to fret about anything again.

But he can’t stop it. It comes out in great shuddering breaths - pained, wracked sounds slipping past his lips, and he can’t help it. He tries to gather them in his hands to shove them back in his mouth, tries to scoop them in his arms and press them back into the caving ache of his chest, but he can’t.

When Frankie was a child, he saw his dad cry once. Only once, and exactly like this, after his father’s brother was killed in a car accident. He had seen it through a crack in his parents’ bedroom door, and it had hurt him. It had wounded him, as a child, to see his father break with such grief, such pain, such emptiness, and to know there was nothing he could do about it. And now, he is split into those two people - younger self, older self - as he thinks of you lying next to him on the bed. This person who he loves so much, who is now so full of the knowledge of the worst parts of living, wound up so tight within you that you let it settle, let it unfurl around your bones. He sees your hurt, your grief, your pain refracted around him tenfold, and he hurts with you. He sees you as the boy he once was, this poor creature looking in at a heart breaking, as he has unknowingly watched yours break for months.

And he’s so sorry, he doesn’t think he’ll ever be able to stop saying it.

But here you are, still, performing the ultimate act of kindness. Comfort.

He feels the mattress move as you slide closer to him, and then your hand is on his back, swooping in gentle movements. He feels the scrabble of your fingers under the ribs he has pressed into the bed, the pressure of your arm moving under him so you can hold him properly. Frankie sobs harder, but he opens his body to you. You press closer to him, burying your face in his neck, and he breathes you in as he cries. Your scent is here, you are here. And like you heard him, you whisper -

‘It’s okay, Frankie. It’s okay. ’M here. I’m safe.’ And this realisation allows a little more air, but it doesn’t make Frankie’s guilt, his shame any better. But you’re right, he knows it. And somewhere in his crying, this turns his gasps to tears of relief. Softly, you retract your arms from around him.

You take his hands away from his face, and kiss the palms. You kiss each fingertip, each bruised and cracked knuckle. You lean forward and press a kiss to each tear, each trail of saltwater on his face. And you are so beautiful in the moonlight. Soft and wide eyed. Safe. Kind, always kind, and full of understanding. Frankie sees now that you have been crying against him, too, your eyelashes cloyed with tears. Sees his thoughts in your eyes as though you have had each of them zip to you through the air. When you were a child, you saw your dad cry once. Only once, and exactly like this, after…

A smile breaks through your eyes, chasing away the remnants of tears, glazing down, softening your lips.

And Frankie doesn’t think this time. His feet don’t fail him. He doesn’t think of stars or glitter or constellations of ice crystals. He just kisses you. And kisses you and kisses you and kisses you. And he doesn’t stop, because nothing else matters anymore.

You’re safe. You’re warm. You’re in his bed.

You’re here.

You tip your head back, deepening the kiss, licking into Frankie’s mouth. He gives in so easily to you he’s almost ashamed. But then your fingers clutch at him, ball at the bottom of his shirt, tangle in the thick of his hair, and all his thoughts are forgotten. He feels you slip a soft, strong leg over his, pulling him forward. You groan against him, and Frankie’s cock twitches. You feel it, you must do, as you pull your body closer to him, tight against him. Frankie is so lightheaded he doesn’t know where his hands are, what they’re doing - and when he concentrates, he finds them skating over your back, squeezing the tension out of the back of your neck, gripping your hip.

He moans against you as you rock your hips over his thigh, as he feels the heat of your sex against his skin. He feels like he’s on fire.

You slip a hand under his sleep shorts and palm him, brushing his silken length with two fingers, feeling him grow harder, thicker against you. You take him in your hand, pump him once, twice with the perfect grip, the perfect speed, like you were made for him. He’s gasping against you, panting as you suck his lower lip into your mouth.

‘Baby,’ he groans, breathless, ‘We don’t have to. We really don’t -’

You look up at him through gorgeous, glazed eyes.

‘I want to,’ you say, ‘Do you?’

Dangerous, dangerous question.

Frankie tries to shake his head, look away, think of anything but the tight fist of your fingers around his cock.

‘I do,’ he says, ‘I do. But I don’t think - this is the right thing -’

You loosen your grip, draw away from him. His body aches with a shudder.

His eyes flick back to yours again - confused, hurt - fuck, he can’t do that to you, ever -

‘I - I don’t want to take advantage of it - of you,’ he says. Your eyelashes flutter against your cheeks as you look down the sheets towards your toes. His jaw tightens. ‘And - and I don’t want this to mean - different things for us. I don’t want it to ruin what we have.’ Frankie breathes out heavily through his nose. He has to tell you now. He has to. ‘I don’t want it to mean different things, because I love you. I always have. And if we do this, if I have you even just for a night, I - I’ll never recover from it.’ Tears spike in his eyes again. He tries to smile. ‘You’d ruin me. And I don’t think I’d ever forgive you for it.’

Your breath hitches in your throat, and Frankie watches as your eyes flit back up to his. They search his face, the dribble of his barely-shed tears, the slope of his sad smile. You bring a hand up to cup his cheek, running your thumb over his scraps of beard. He closes his eyes.

‘What you said earlier,’ you begin. Frankie swallows. He waits for the blow of rejection. ‘About me - about me loving him.’ He opens his eyes slowly to find yours, bright and clear. Something begs to bubble over in them. Something golden and warm. ‘You were wrong - obviously. And I couldn’t tell you truly why, because I was afraid. So afraid of pushing you away, even though I think that’s all I’ve ever done. I’ve never thought I was worth it, Frankie. I don’t deserve you. And I am terrified of how much I love you.’ You beam at him, eyes bubbling over with that thing - love - ‘I love you,’ you say simply, like it’s not the most beautiful thing he’s ever heard.

A stunned little laugh ripples up his throat, and you copy it. He grips your face in his hands, and kisses you again, again, again.

‘I love you,’ he says.

‘I love you, too,’ you giggle.

‘And you are,’ he presses to your lips, ‘You are absolutely worth it.’

He rolls over on top of you, and begins to kiss your jaw, nipping at the skin there, before moving down your throat. He kisses you with a hot, open mouth, sucking marks into the sensitive skin at your pulse point. Mine, he groans, and you whimper against him, rubbing your thighs together.

Frankie pushes your shirt up - his shirt - so he can bite at your chest, press kisses to every bit of exposed skin. Every single part of you that deserves to be loved, every single place which has so far been unknown to him. He sucks each nipple into his mouth, delighted when you keen beneath him, panting, please, please Frankie, before he sinks lower down, peeling his shorts away from you to expose your glistening cunt.

He groans, unable to take his eyes away from it as he leans forward, pressing his body into the mattress to lick a stripe from your asshole to your clit.

‘Frankie -’ you groan down at him as he begins to work at you, sucking and licking, nipping at your thigh before slipping his tongue into your hole, swiping and tasting everything you’re giving to him. He grinds himself into the mattress, hissing at the relief, the uncomfortable weight of his cock dragging below him.

‘Taste so good, baby,’ he tells you, and he doesn’t think he ever wants to taste, wants to smell anything else ever again. All he can do is eat at you, breathe you in, until you’re begging him -

‘Frankie, your fingers - please -’ And he flexes his hand at your hip before brushing a fingertip against your entrance and gasping at the pain.

You try to bear down towards him, but he rips his hand away, lifting his head towards you.

‘Can’t,’ he gasps, and you mewl, bucking your hips up to his face, desperate. ‘Hand’s fucked,’ he says, and you still your movements before beginning to laugh again. It’s loud and from your belly, and it's bizarre. But Frankie gets it. He gets it, and he giggles too. He doesn’t try to fuck his broken knuckles into you, but he does try to continue lathing you with his tongue. You’re making it pretty fucking difficult, though.

‘Stop laughing,’ he huffs against your clit, ‘I’m trying to make you come.’

‘Okay,’ you say, gasping for air, ‘Okay. I’m sorry. I’m very sorry. You’re doing really well, by the way.’ But this only makes him laugh. He groans, leaning his forehead against your inner thigh. ‘This is impossible.’ He pouts.

‘Nooo,’ you cry, leaning up on your elbows to pout down at him. ‘Please, baby. I’ll be good. I’ll be so good. I won’t laugh anymore.’

‘Promise?’ He says. You hold out your pinky to him.

‘Pinky promise.’ You say.

Frankie stretches his hand out to you and tries to extend his pinky. He winces at the sharp pain which shoots from the movement, and grunts at you, your eyes sparkling with mischief.

‘You bastard,’ he says, trying and failing to hold his smile, ‘You knew I wouldn’t be able to do that.’

‘Just keeping you on your toes,’ you grin, and then before you can make any more smart remarks, Frankie resumes his ministrations, lapping and tonguing at your clit, your hole, mouthing hot, wet kisses to your pussy. He shakes his head from side to side, running your bud in tight, hard little circles until you’re a moaning, whimpering mess beneath him. Your hips buck unconsciously, and Frankie hooks both his arms around your thighs to hold you down, flattening his hands against your belly to keep you firmly in place. He reaches up to twist at your nipples and you gasp.

‘God, Frankie, tongue feels so fucking good -’

He can feel you begin to pulse against his chin as your whines get higher in pitch, and he groans as you twist handfuls of his hair.

‘Come on, baby,’ he says, ‘Give it to me. Wanna see you come, querida. Wanna taste it. Come on my face.’

And you do, the sensation of it arching your back tight like a bow, a strangled moan cutting off into the ceiling.

‘Fuck, Frankie, fuck -’ as he drives you through it, nodding and murmuring against you as you try to wriggle free, squealing in protest until you manage to twist a leg and set a foot against his chest, pushing him off.

‘Fucking - hell -’ You pant, and Frankie grins down at you, smug.

‘Good?’ He asks, quirking an eyebrow.

‘Oh, fuck you, Morales.’ You laugh, pulling him in for a sloppy kiss, moaning when you taste yourself on him. Your tongue explores every part of his mouth, every crevice behind every tooth, like you can’t get enough of him. Like there'll never be enough of him. ‘Now fuck me.’ You whisper.

And Frankie does not need to be told twice.

He rips his shirt up and off his back, shucks his shorts down his legs, and squeezes himself tight as he can in his left hand. He ruts into his palm, thumb swiping to slick his heavy beads of precum down his length.

‘Ready?’ he asks, looking down to find you staring wide-eyed at his cock. It twitches under your gaze.

‘What?’ He says, and you shake your head in quiet disbelief and amusement. You lift your eyes back to his face, and they are so dark with arousal he almost melts into the mattress.

‘Nothing,’ you shrug. ‘I just somehow never believed Pope and the boys when they said it was like two coke cans put together.’

‘Jesus Christ.’ Frankie laughs, his face pulling tight with a grin as he lines himself up at your entrance, swilling the head in your arousal.

‘I mean, what if it doesn’t fit?’ You babble, and he shakes his head.

‘It’ll fit, baby,’ he says. ‘We’ll make it fit.’ Then he sinks the first inch in, and just waits. He waits and watches you, watches as your mouth falls slack, all the smart things coming out your mouth grinding to a halt. He throbs at how tight you are around him, at how you clench already, trying to suck him in further. And fuck, you are so wet.

‘You okay, querida?’ He asks through gritted teeth.

You manage a nod, a broken whine escaping you.

‘Move Frankie, please baby -’ you beg, and he groans as he pushes further inside you, watching the obscene stretch of your pussy around him, the way it pulses, the way it gets wetter and warmer and tighter around him. When he bottoms out, he feels the hot rush of his orgasm leap towards him a little too quickly.

‘Fuck, baby,’ he breathes, closing his eyes just to make sure he doesn’t come right away. You squirm beneath him, canting your hips up, trying to fuck yourself. Frankie grips you, gritting his teeth. ‘Stay still,’ he hisses, flushing a little. ‘God, fuck, please - just for a minute.’ He opens his eyes to find you watching him, your bottom lip caught in your teeth. His eyes glaze down your body - his t-shirt bunched up around your chest, perfect tits, perfect belly, and your sweet, sopping cunt split open on his cock.

He groans again, slipping out, watching as he retreats, soaked by you, before pushing back in. A high pitched whine leaves your lips, and you twitch your hands up to play with your tits. Frankie doesn’t think he’s ever seen something more sexy in his life.

‘That’s right,’ he says, ‘Keep playing with yourself like that, gorgeous. Look at you.’

So you do, looking up at him with doe-eyes as he fucks into you, soft at first, letting you adjust before quickening his pace, readjusting his angle, feeling you leak around him. His balls slap against your ass loudly, and you keen up at him, eyes wide, begging for something as you tighten like a coil around him, something you can’t quite voice. But Frankie knows.

He swipes his thumb against your clit, and your eyes roll into the back of your head, your back arching again. He groans at the sight, and works the bundle of nerve endings in tight circles, faster and harder, harder and faster, until you’re gripping him so tight he thinks you might push him out.

‘Come baby, come,’ he pants, ‘Please, querida, need to feel you - need to feel you soak me. Need you to come for me, come on this cock, baby, please -’

And he groans, long and loud as you clench and pulse around him, milking him, pulling him impossible deeper - fuck, Frankie, oh my god, feels so fucking good - the delicious pressure at the base of his spine at breaking point as he fucks you through it, as he pants and gasps -

‘Come, Frankie,’ you plead, ‘Please - want you, need you -’ and he spills himself deep inside you, hips stuttering, eyes clamping shut, overwhelmed and short circuited. He’s never known it could feel like this - good to the end of every synapse - and he’s fucking it in with three long thrusts, pulling out slowly just to watch it dribble out of you as he twitches against his thigh. He thumbs your clit just to watch you seize and sigh against him, then sits back on his knees to look at you.

‘You are something else,’ he says in disbelief.

You smile lazily at him.

‘Ain’t so bad yourself, Morales,’ and he laughs, throwing himself down next to you, kissing anywhere he can. I love you, I love you, I love you. Safe.

You lay there for a while afterwards, just feeling each other, calming your ragged breathing. Eventually, Frankie rises from the bed to grab a washcloth, coming back and swiping between your legs tenderly, gently, before collapsing back into bed and pulling you into his chest.

He feels like he’s in space, and he tells you as much. He spills secrets like a child at a sleepover. He tells you about the glitter and the stars and the constellations of ice crystals. You match him with a galaxy of feeling spanning the time he’s known you. And he feels that this is a dream, this love which floats like a nebula within the bed. He tries to keep his eyes open for as long as possible, even as you sleep. And even when he does drift off, he dreams of you. He dreams of you sparkling with stardust, waiting for him with your arms open.

When he wakes the next morning, you’re still there. Safe, soft and warm against him, furled into his ribcage, heart beating against the hand that’s pressed against your chest.

Everything’s okay. That red thread still intact, after all.

When the sun rises, bloody and mild, it’s never been so sweet.

A little piece of a bloody tooth

Just so you know I was thinking of you

#pedro pascal fanfiction #frankie morales #frankie morales x reader #triple frontier #pickup truck #kings of leon #Spotify #pedro pascal x reader

2K notes · View notes

ki-yomii · 4 months

Text

down on you | jjk

➥ pairing | jeon jungkook x f!reader ➥ word count | 4.5k ➥ warning(s) | 🔞 smut; dirty talk, pet names, mild praise kink, squirting, hair pulling, standing missionary, rough sex, porn w/ plot, mafia!jk, detective!reader, established relationship, mild angst, mild violence ➥ summary | It’s true, he owns you: blood, bones, and all. ➥ notes | the mafia!jk au no one asked for aka an excuse to write smut w/ feeling lol.

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On his knees staring down the barrel of a loaded gun with a mouthful of blood, he knows this is the end of the line. He’s going to die like a rat in the gutter - no mercy to be found, loopholes to exploit or bribes to be made.

This is the real deal, and there’s no coming back.

Judgement Day comes in the form of a man with dark eyes and a dangerous smirk: Golden, the deadliest guard dog of the underground.

Credited with dozens of hits, you won’t know he’s there until it’s too late. Trying to keep him pinned is like trying to catch smoke with your bare hands, or a whisper on the wind.

And you won’t know he’s coming until you feel the breath on the back of your neck, hear the crack of a bullet ringing in your ears.

Belonging to one of the most powerful men in the world: Kim Namjoon, he’s more war machine than man.

“Go ahead, do it!” He spits at Golden’s feet, a mess of blood and drool staining the crisp leather of his combat boots. “Killing me won’t change a goddamn thing.”

A coy smile tugs at Golden’s mouth, his grin all sharp teeth and violence. He stays where he stands, his silhouette haloed by distant streetlights.

Water laps at the docks, the tang of salt heavy in the mid-summer Seoul air. There’s no rush; they both know he’ll be dead and dumped just like all the rest of the garbage in this rotting city.

“Come on, you prick! Pull the fucking trigger already.”

Golden cocks his head, and hums in the back of his throat.

“Tch! I hope you’ve got a lot of bullets - we’re gonna knock the crown off Kim’s head one way or another.”

Golden thumbs at the safety of his gun, the barrel glinting through the shadows. “Ahh, is that what you think?” He shrugs, a lazy ripple of muscle. “Well, I have to say: I’d love to see you try.”

The night is shattered by the resounding crack of a gunshot and an echoing splash of something heavy dropping into the water below.

You climb out of the nondescript government-issue car. The faintest tremble of your fingers nearly gives you away but you’re able to reign in the impulse to smooth your hands over your clothes at the last second.

Showing weakness is the last thing you need to be doing right now.

Especially here.

Right in front of where you’ve parked - shoved between two looming apartment complexes - sits a quaint, vintage building. The rough brick face is at odds with the sleek surroundings, but tinted windows keep prying eyes at bay while the classy signing hanging above the door reads The Red Bullet written in caps.

If you didn’t know better, it would be hard to believe this otherwise mundane storefront is a cover for one of the most dangerous international organizations based out of South Korea.

Not only do they hold the keys to the kingdom, but their success is largely in part because they spearhead operations from government espionage all the way to simple blackmail.

Even though it’s been several months since you darkened its doorstep, the familiar sight is enough to steal the breath from your lungs. Send your heart galloping into a tailspin as your stomach swoops.

While time away helped clear your head of stolen kisses and promises whispered in dark rooms, it also drove the longing bone deep.

In those quiet moments to yourself, when you have nothing else to distract from how lonely you are, you miss this place like one misses a limb.

You didn’t realize how attached you were to these four walls until it was too late: the hazy air filled with whorls of smoke, the overhead lights that bathe everything in red, the plush chairs you spent many nights sprawled across, the glossy black stages.

You don’t know how, you don’t know when but at some point it (he) started feeling like home. A luxury you can’t afford. Not again. After all, if you give in, any progress you made outside of his gravitational pull will be for naught.

Which puts you in a dangerous position as you find yourself back where it began; feelings at war with duty, mind vs heart. Because even if it leads you to a place you could go a million years without ever seeing again, you have to follow the trail of bodies.

A bouncer grants you access, the heavy door slamming shut behind you like a death knell as he herds you towards the back of the club.

It’s outside of official operating hours but it’s no less busy inside, men and women alike in scattered conversation as you pass through.

“It’s nice to see you again,” the bouncer murmurs, chancing a quick glance at your profile. “Been a while.”

You swallow, gaze darting down to your shoes. “Ah - yeah… Got busy with work. It’s - it’s nice to see you too.”

The small talk fizzles out, a snuffed candle as you arrive at a cordoned off room, “Here we are. Mr Kim is already expecting you.”

Any further pleasantries grow stale on your tongue as you enter the private booth, fighting against the lump in your throat to manage a hoarse ‘thank you’.

And then you find yourself left alone with the man himself, Kim Namjoon. He’s as intimidating as you remember, lounging back into the leather booth with his ankles crossed.

A lukewarm smile stretches across his lips, the slightest hint of a dimple peeking out from the valley of his cheek. Standing at attention on either side of his reposing form are two massive bodyguards. Their hands rest on the butts of their guns, daring any who enter to try and make a move.

“It’s good to see you again. But I gotta ask - what’s the occasion, Detective?” Namjoon hums. “I thought we were past all this.” He waves a nebulous hand between your bodies. “After all, you’re practically family.”

You ignore the hidden barb with a wince. “Mr Kim, you know why I’m here.”

“I used to know why a long time ago.” A well-groomed brow raises, his gaze glacial as it spears you in place. “But now I’m not so sure.”

“Please, Mr Kim. I don’t want to make this more difficult than it is. I just need to know about the man they fished out of the harbor, and then I’ll be on my way. So… who was he?”

Namjoon scoffs. “What makes you think I know more than the police?”

There’s a flash of a smirk, barely noticed, before his face returns to its neutral expression. As calm and cool as a placid river. “A john’s a john. What I do want to know is why you care so much?”

The underlying question is clear; why are you really here?

“I’m afraid I’m not at liberty to discuss such matters with civillians.”

“Oh? So I’m a civilian now.” His expression is not unlike the cat that caught the canary: vicious and delighting in the discomfort his evasions are causing. “Gotta say that’s a new one for me.”

Sighing in defeat, you say, “Alright, enough. I get it. I’m wasting my time with you. Let me ask this instead: where is he?”

“He doesn’t know any more about this than I do,” he says, waving a blase hand towards a door off to the left, “But if you insist, you can find him in the office. Oh, and Detective?”

“...Yes?”

“Take your time, I’ll be out on business all afternoon.”

With a curt nod, you flee the room amid low-throated chuckles and enter the office. Standing near the desk, his broad back turned towards the door, you find the man you simultaneously want to see the most and run from the fastest.

He turns around, the muscles of his back rippling with the movement. Your breath stutters in your chest, and you nearly swallow your tongue as your eyes trace over the cut of his body.

The moment your eyes meet, those many months spent cultivating time and distance turn to ash. You forgot how even the mere sight of him affects you, any resistance to his many charms virtually nonexistent as the world falls away.

Rich, coffee dark; his gaze sucks you in until it’s all you can do not to reach out, to brush your fingers over his edges and feel them soften beneath your palms.

Rocking back on your heels, you clear your throat and glance to the side as you remain standing in the entryway, more than a little off-kilter.

Coming back after so long apart, only to find him the same as the day you left… How do you reconcile everything that’s changed with everything that was?

“Well, hello there.” Jungkook croons, leaning his hip against the corner of the desk with a roll of his shoulders. His arms cross over the trunk of his chest, accentuating the bulk of his chest, the flex of inked bicep. “Long time no see.”

Shifting, you gulp. “Ah - yeah…”

The burn of his gaze - a palpable sensation prickling across your skin - tracks a path from the crown of your head to the tips of your toes as he gives you a thorough once-over.

“You’re looking good,” Jungkook hums in approval, “real good. I’ve missed those pretty eyes of yours.”

“You - you too.”

Your attention doesn’t know where to settle: drifting from the curve of his shoulders to the jut of his bloody knuckles, the tuck of his trim hips to the thick-soled combat boots.

Tiny hairs at the back of your neck stand on end, and your palms slick with sweat.

“I mean, you look… y’know, uh, good too.”

A flash of a crooked smirk, the raising of a pierced brow gets your blood pumping, your heart tattooing a rhythm against your ribs. Emboldens you to reach back with shaky fingers to turn the lock. The sound grates down your spine, bolts of anticipation slicing through you.

It was dumb to think coming here, seeing him again, would end any other way than his taste on your tongue and his cock in your cunt. Hope makes fools of us all.

Should’ve known better but you’d been hopeful those days were long behind you. Now you realize it was inevitable.

After all, Jungkook is magnetic.

The black hole at the center of your universe, consuming everything in its path until he’s what remains in your head, your heart. You’re helpless, ceaselessly drawn to him like a moth to flame.

And try as you might, you can’t say no to a face like that.

Never could, in fact.

Failure to extract yourself from his orbit during your not-relationship is nothing new. That doesn’t mean you can’t make it difficult.

After all, you still have some dignity intact.

So try, try, try again.

“Ahem.” You try to banish the heat from your cheeks, guiding the conversation into the correct territory. “I’m not here on a-a social call, Jeon. I need to know: were you the one that killed and dumped the john in the harbor?”

Stalking closer, a lazy jungle cat on the prowl, Jungkook crosses the distance between you. He only stops once your bodies brush with every labored inhale. Heat radiates from him, and you’re achingly aware of every point of contact.

The light scent of his cologne teases your nose, and his eyes - god, his eyes. They’re shaded and hungry, devouring your expression with single-minded possessiveness.

“What makes you think I know anything about that?”

“Jeon -- Jungkook.”

He hums.

Your heart thrums, pulse rushing hard through your head until you feel faint, blood surging the longer you stay in close contact. The shameful clench of your cunt makes your cheeks burn all the brighter.

The last time you were looking up at him like this, his hand was on your jaw while his cock thrust balls deep.

“C’mon, you know that isn’t going to work. This is me you’re talking to, not some rookie.”

“Mm,” he purrs, “it is you I’m talking to, isn’t it?”

You manage to bite back the groan but can’t stop your eyes from rolling even if there’s the slightest hint of a stutter when you reply, “Please, I just need to know if you killed him.”

Jungkook looms tall and proud, crowding closer. “And if I did, baby?” he asks.

Instinctively you back up, only to be followed step by step. A game of cat and mouse that finds you pinned against the wall before long. With nowhere to run, you watch, heart in your throat, as Jungkook dips his dark head.

His nose runs along the length of your neck, breath puffing across your sensitive skin as he inhales the pleasant scent of your perfume.

“I - I…”

“Would you see me in handcuffs?” His lips caress the underside of your jaw, a soft groan escaping him. “… C’mon, answer me. Would you?”

“I would - if I had to.”

As much as you wish that was true, you know in your heart of heart's you would do everything in your power to make sure that never happens.

No matter how much you like to think you’d do the right thing when push comes to shove, you’d choose him a thousand times over.

His eyes dance playfully. “Careful, I might like it.”

“I can’t say I’m surprised,” you say with a snort.

Jungkook chuckles low and warm, using the arm around your waist to tug you into the safety of his body. The softness of your breasts presses into the hard planes of his chest, your nipples pebbling through the thin cotton shirt you wear.

With a deep-throated groan, his hands encircle the curves of your hips as a thickly muscled thigh slots between yours.

An answering quiet sigh gets his blood pumping and his cock twitching.

“Mm, something tells me you’d enjoy it just as much, Detective.”

The use of your title is a rude awakening.

“Jungkook,” You warn, moving to push him away. Only once you start touching him, you can’t stop. His muscles flex beneath your curious fingertips. “We really shouldn’t.”

You’re sure if he could, Jungkook would spend days worshipping between your thighs, velvet heat wrapped around his tongue and hands in his hair as he brings you to peak again and again until you’re a sobbing, sopping, boneless mess beneath him.

“Come on, I know you want me - that you’ve missed me. I can see it in your eyes.”

He kisses the corner of your mouth, tongue flickering out for a brief taste before a rough thumb skates across your bottom lip, tugging down to expose your teeth, the glitter of your tongue as it darts out to flick over the pad of his finger..

“I’ve certainly missed you, baby. Want me to show you?”

Even though you refuse to admit anything out loud, you can’t help but angle your throat back and grind into his hips pressed against yours.

Jungkook tsks, “That’s alright. I’ll get that pretty mouth open one way or another.”

Before you can retort, a mouth swoops down to fuse with yours in a fierce, all-consuming kiss. A low, broken moan punches from your chest.

Reaching up, your fingers sink into the mane of dark hair that brushes the cut of Jungkook’s jaw. Soft, thick, and wavy in your grip; you tug at the roots.

Jungkook hisses.

Teeth nip at your lip, kittenish licks soothing away the string as blood bursts across your tongues. The thigh shoved between yours grinds up with every wet, sloppy pass of your lips.

Thick muscle spreads your pussy open through the thin slacks of your work uniform. Sparks of pleasure dance down your spine with every rock against your swollen clit.

“S-Shit!” Your shoulders curl in, a shudder jerking through you. “K-Kook, I… !”

“Fuck, you’re so wet for me.” Jungkook growls, rutting his cock against the jut of your hip. The wet patch you’re making on his jeans grows larger with every filthy grind. “You’ve been gone too fucking long. Never again, you hear me?”

You claw at his shoulders, stuttering out, “there’s noth-ing you can do t’stop me.”

“If you don’t come back to me,” his eyes are dark and stormy, voice whiskey rough, “I’ll find you.”

It’s not a threat - it’s a promise.

“Then make sure I never want to leave,” you challenge breathlessly, staring into his blown out pupils, “Make me want to stay.”

Above all else, you think.

The words are barely past your lips when Jungkook accepts your challenge with gusto (just like you knew he would). Without delay, he thumbs open the button on your pants.

Refusing to let you look away, Jungkook yanks them to your feet and swings you up into his arms one-handed. They hang from your ankle like a chain.

Your surprised squeak is quickly swallowed up by a moan when he settles you over the bulge in his pants, your cunt hovering over his erection.

The heat of his skin sinks through the thin cotton of your panties, so, so close to where you need him. Slick soaks into the fabric, and clings to your inner thighs.

Every shift is a smooth, sticky glide of folds that stirs, and stokes the ember of desire smoldering behind your navel.

“Kook,” you breathe. “Please.”

Your head rolls back, and you sag into his chest. Your hips twitch in pathetic little attempts, trying to get pressure where you need it. Having him hot and hard and all for you; any distance between you is suddenly unbearable.

He needs to spread you wide and stuff you full with every inch of his thick cock until he’s so deep you won’t be able to walk for days.

“Shh baby, I’ll give you what you want,” he says, gaze heavy and possessive. “I’m gonna ruin you so good, you’ll have no choice but to come back. You’re mine.”

“Says who?”

“Hmm. You don’t think you are?”

Nibbling on your ear, Jungkook slips a finger under the hem of your panties. He smirks when you keen, rubbing his knuckle up and down your sloppy folds with teasing pressure.

“How about I show you what your body already knows?”

Wasting no time, he lifts you off his cock, the scrap of cloth fluttering to the ground. His free hand dives between your bodies. Then comes the clink of a belt, the sound of a zipper pulling down.

Your heartbeat thunders in your ears, your body coiled with anticipation as your stomach swoops at the brush of his fingers along the underside of your thigh.

“Look so pretty like this, baby.” Jungkook twists his wrist, hips arching back. “And it’s all for me. Fuck, I can’t wait to get inside this pretty pussy.”

Any response dies on your tongue, brain short-circuiting as the slick, fat cockhead rubs along your slit. Pressing against your entrance the slightest bit before slipping up to nudge at your clit - coating himself up in your sticky juices.

The ultimate tease - something Jungkook’s always been overly fond of doing until you’re out of your mind with desperation.

“Please, please, please,” you chant, cheeks on fire and eyes half-lidded as you circle your hips. “Stop playing around. I want it - want you, Kook.”

“Oh, baby,” he smiles, ducking down to kiss your forehead. “You’ll take whatever I give you.”

You can’t stifle the broken sob, tears prickling at the corners of your eyes. Liquid fire surges through your veins, a thousand bolts of lightening crackling beneath the surface of your skin. Your pussy is tender, swollen. Walls fluttering in time with your heartbeat.

“Ha, you’re so needy for me.”

Jungkook’s lips brush away the moisture around your eyes, his thumb drawing soothing circles into the base of your spine. All the while, his torturous grinding never ceases.

“Aren’t you?”

You croak, “I can’t – Kook, please. Anything, I’ll do anything you want just fuck me.”

The flash of his eyes is your only warning before he’s right there, your walls embracing the girth of his erection inch by inch. Every ridge, every jerk as he seats himself as deep inside your silken heat as he can is absolute heaven.

The stretch as you take him to the hilt sends you careening towards the edge, eyes rolling back and toes curling in your shoes.

“Shit, shit, shit, shit!” you whimper.

“Shit!” Jungkook grits his teeth, squeezing the base of his cock as you tighten around him. With every deep inhale, his pelvis brushes your swollen, needy clit. “Forgot how good you feel wrapped around my dick, baby.”

“Me too,” You gasp, tightening your legs around Jungkook’s hips.”Me too, Kook.”

Dropping his forehead to yours, he says gruffly, “‘m not gonna last long.”

Making a noise of acknowledgement, you wiggle your hips. Sinking your teeth into the side of Jungkook’s jaw, you bite and suck at his skin, wanting to leave a mark to remember you by. His reaction is instantaneous, releasing the grip on his shaft to grab a fist full of hair.

He yanks back.

The long, elegant line of your throat is exposed to his butterfly kisses and scolding love bites.

“Now you’ve really asked for it,” Jungkook huffs out with a dirty chuckle.

“Then give it to me.” You lick your puffy lips, looking up at him from beneath your lashes. “Show me who I belong to.”

The brewing hurricane in his eyes is unleashed. Wide palms and strong fingers grip your hips so tight you feel bones grind together. His stance widens, his unwavering gaze locking onto your face, brow pinched, and mouth slack.

His lip piercing glints in the light, his tongue sliding out to wet his bottom lip. Dark curls tussle about his head, a wild halo that sweeps down into the burning umber of his eyes.

Helpless, you succumb - enchanted by the darkness peering at you from behind those dangerous eyes. He’s ethereal; a siren song that threatens to drown you, swallow you whole.

You’d happily let him, you realize with a shiver.

It’s true, he owns you: blood, bones, and all.

“Hold on tight,” Jungkook says, hooking his hands under your bottom.

And then, he’s jackhammering into your cunt so hard and fast all you can do is hold on for the ride. Punch drunk and moaning as he manhandles you how he likes, spreads you wide and stuffs you full until you’re panting for breath and clinging to sanity by your fingernails.

“Fuck yes, that’s it. Look how well your pretty pussy always takes my fat cock.”

His low voice whispering filthy praises in your ear makes you whimper, whine, and writhe as the band of pleasure coiling tight in your belly comes close to snapping. It’s the fastest he’s ever fucked an orgasm out of you, and it feels so good you don’t even care.

The pace is brutal, slamming into you so hard you’re sure you’ll have bruises on your hips come morning. But it’ll be so fucking worth it. You’re going to cum hard and long, you just know it.

About to melt as Jungkook fucks the slick out of you, groaning as you drip down the base of his cock, his balls - his very own pretty little mess.

“Yeah, you gonna cum, baby?” he laughs, pressing a sweaty kiss to the side of your face. “Can feel how - haaah shit - how tight you’re squeezing me.”

“Uh-huh,” you cry, holding onto the tops of his wide shoulders. Every thrust has his cockhead dragging over the spongy patch of your g-spot, sending fissions of pleasure rocketing through your nervous system. “So - so close, baby. Just a little more, I--”

Balancing yourself, you lift up only to slam back down, meeting Jungkook’s thrust with all the force of gravity. “Oh fuck, oh fuck!”

Crashing over you like a tsunami, your orgasm shoots through your limbs and zips down your spine. A warm rush of cum soaks Jungkook’s shaft, the wet and messy sound of your squirt splashing against the floor secondary to the cry that claws its way out of your throat.

“K-Kook!”

Jungkook grunts, his fingers digging into the fat of your hips as he helps you keep bouncing up and down on his erection. “Yeah, that’s it - keep going, baby. Wanna feel you keep cumming all over this cock.”

Aftershocks slice through you like lightning, tiny jolts of electricity. As you come down from your high, your gummy walls pulse, milking at Jungkook’s thick shaft.

He groans softly whenever your muscles tense, release; your body a worn-out rubber band as your breath stutters from you.

Then a hand pets down your flank, your skin shivering with hypersensitivity at the tender touch. “S’okay. Just breathe, baby.”

Peeling open your heavy eyes, you look up at his face. Take in the crinkle of his brow and the ravenous expression. Even floating on a sea of bliss, white noise fills your ears, you want more.

You slur, determined, “Kook, baby, please. Cum in me, want you s’bad.”

“Fuck! Can’t just say shit like that to me or I…” Jungkook bites down onto the tender crook of your neck, muffling his grunts in your flesh. “Shit - ’m so --”

You cry out, nails digging into the meat of his shoulders, “A-haah, K-Kook!”

Snapping his hips forward one last time, Jungkook grinds as deep as he can get and lets go. The fat head of his cock kisses your cervix, his length throbbing in time with his heartbeat as a rush of cum floods your insides.

“Yeah, just like that,” he grunts, rutting once - twice into the cradle of your body, “take it like a good girl.”

He croons when you whine at the press of his pelvis against your oversensitive clit. Thready sparks of pain shoot down your legs that hang limply over his forearms. Every breath stutters from your lungs, slow and deep.

“No more, can’t - can’t…” Shifting, you arch your spine and burrow your head into his chest, nearly catatonic in his arms. “S’too much.”

“Shh, it’s okay. I’ve got you.” Fingers brush over your closed eyelids, smoothing over the arch of your brow. With every kiss dropped to the top of your head, he mumbles in dulcet tones, “I really have missed you, you know.”

You mewl in response as strong fingers knead the backs of your thighs.

“You’re not allowed to go anywhere.”

“Oh,” you can’t muster up enough energy to say anything more, body tender and trembling with little aftershocks, “s’that right?”

“Yeah, that’s right.” He chuckles. “You’re staying here - right where I want you.”

In lieu of a response, you pick your head up off the pillow of his chest and seek out his gaze. Liquid soft; he’s looking at you like you hung the world on a string.

“I’ve missed you too, Kook,” you say with a gentle smile.

You’ll allow yourself this moment of weakness when there’s no space between your bodies or hearts. Titles don’t matter much when he’s cradling you to his chest like a piece of precious china.

Between the two of us, you’re the one who hung the moon and stars, you think while combing back his sweaty bangs.

And I think I love you, you whisper voiceless against his lips.

#jeon jungkook x you #jungkook x you #jungkook x reader #jeon jungkook x reader #jungkook smut #bts fanfic #jungkook fanfic #jungkook fic #bts fic #jungkook #bts jungkook

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stevebabey · 9 months

Text

As Steve had found, sleeping beside Eddie is perhaps the most fantastic nightmare-repellant out there.

It’s why it’s so surprising when Steve lurches out of his sleep, sudden and unexpected. He startles a bit, confusion muddling in his brain as it braces for the familiar wash of terror… that never comes.

Instead of feeling doused in cold water, gasping and aghast, there’s a grogginess moving through his veins— something else, besides a nightmare, has woken him up.

It takes him another second to realise it’s Eddie’s hand. Eddie’s hand on his face.

“Wuh?” Steve rasps out.

He blinks slowly, the ceiling bleeding into his field of vision. It’s still dark out, indicated by the faint amber glow of streetlights spilling through the slit in the curtains. As sleep trickles out of his system, confusion takes it place — what is Eddie’s hand doing on his face?

As if the thought summons the action, Eddie’s hand on his face shifts, splaying across his cheek with a soft slap. He pats Steve’s cheek once, twice.

“Gone skip to town, baby.” Eddie says loudly.

What? Steve feels his face screw up, brows drawn together as he tries to make sense what Eddie’s just said. Gone to what? He pushes the hand off his face and lifts his head, peering across the darkness to the other side of the bed.

“What?”

“The river rapids told ‘em.” Eddie says, making no sense.

Steve squints and, wait, holy shit, is Eddie still asleep? A grin sneaks onto his face and just to be sure, he leans across and waves his hand an inch above Eddie’s nose. Nothing, not even a twitch. Holy shit.

“Told them what?” Steve asks, shifting up on one elbow to see if Eddie will respond.

“Where to go.” Eddie says, matter-of-factly, his eyebrows raising and falling as he says.

Steve snorts, his head ducking forward to smother it, even though Eddie seems far from waking. In fact, he snuffles a bit and turns his head towards Steve, nosing into the pillow. Steve can see his feet wiggling beneath the covers.

“Who are you talking to?”

“Mmf,” Eddie mumbles into the pillow. “Muffin man.”

“The muffin man?”

“What’s it to ya?”

Steve guffaws at the sudden Cockney accent that’s taken over Eddie’s voice. It makes him laugh so much that, incidentally, it’s loud enough to wake the other up. Steve’s pressing his face into his pillow, silent laughter shaking his frame, when Eddie’s bleary “…Steve?” reaches his ears.

He can’t stop laughing, a funny sounding squawk coming out his throat the moment he tries to explain. Eddie takes it the wrong way, a hand on Steve’s shoulder in a moment, that soft hushing voice dipped in sleep. “Steve? Baby? Was it another one?”

Steve rolls his face out so Eddie can see his stupid smile, can hear his laughter escaping out into the quiet night. He sees Eddie freeze as realisation moves slowly through him.

“You’re… laughing?”

It’s said with a breath of relief and Eddie’s entire body relaxes a bit. He swipes his hand up Steve’s shoulder, thumbing gently at his neck. “What? What’s s’funny?”

“You—” Steve manages to wheeze out one word. “—Sleeptalking.”

The two words are instantaneous, Eddie’s entire frame flopping down back onto the bed, bursting into his own sleepy giggles. Apparently, this is not the first time someone’s had this conversation with him.

“You fucking slept-talked, man.” Steve continues, his laughter finally beginning to die down. He’s still grinning, especially at the mirrored mutual, but slightly embarrassed, joy on Eddie’s face.

“It only happens sometimes,” Eddie admits bashfully. He grins across the pillow at Steve, wiping at one of his eyes tiredly. “When I sleep real deep.”

He lets out a deep yawn as if to prove it and Steve can’t help but yawn too. Damn, he was having a really good sleep— still, he can’t be mad at being woken for this.

“What exactly I’d say?”

“Ah, just,” Steve considers the truth and then discards it for a lie. “Talkin’ about how much you love my ass.”

Eddie’s cheeks turn red enough that it can be seen even in the dim light of the nighttime. He groans and buries his face in the pillow for a moment, before digging it back out. He darts across the sheets, pressing a quick kiss to Steve’s shoulder.

“Well, it’s true.” He says, before turning over. His voice is a little muffled with his face turned away. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, if I get back to sleep quick enough, I’ll have the same dream.”

Steve’s sure he’s got that dopey smile on his face that labels him positively whipped. He snuggles closer anyways, hand crawling over the dip in Eddie’s waist to tuck in, his body pressing up flush behind Eddie’s, a pair of perfect spoons.

“I’ll let you get back to that then, baby.” Steve hums, planting his own kiss on Eddie’s shoulder. Sleep claims them both, Eddie first and Steve… much later. But, well, Steve figures he’s lost sleep over a lot of things worse than this.

—

saw sleeptalking (and walking) eddie in this piece by @dwobbitfromtheshire and i literally. i was thinking bout sleeptalking eddie all day like headcanon freaking accepted— that boy talks stupid shit in his sleep 🫶 hope it’s ok to tag u! i wanted to give u credit

#crack written in an hour 🫶 enjoy #i love sleepwalkers that make no sense it’s so funny to me for no reason #also why Does it make sense that eddie is a sleeptalker. out here planning campaigns in his sleep i bet #ruby writes steddie #steddie #steve x eddie #steddie fic #steddie ficlet

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allfearstofallto · 3 months

Text

A Once a Week Arrangement

Yandere! Childe x AFAB! Reader

Synopsis: Childe no longer wants to force you to be intimate with him, so you agree to it, but only once a week.

Word Count: 2.3k

TW: Yandere, Dub/Non-Con, Violence, NSFW, Smut, Oral, Forced Marriage, Manipulation, Unprotected Sex, Mentions of pregnancy/breeding

The way you kicked, bit, and screamed was a bit of a predicament. Your kitten-like punches did little in the way of actually hurting him, it felt more like feathers against his strong chest.

But he hated what he had to do to get you to behave for him, the welts and bruises he'd leave on your body hurt him more than they hurt you. And he hated the silent treatment you'd give him after your nights together. How you'd flinch away from his touch, nursing one of your swollen wrists.

“I don't like hurting you like this,” he'd say to you, his tone sincere, “but we've been married for a year and I do have needs.” As he said this he squeezed the fat of your thigh to add urgency to his words. And you let him. After the night you had, your will to fight was flickering out like a candle in the wind.

He took your lack of a response as a response itself and continued his little lecture, “So I thought, let's put things on a bit of a schedule. I get what I want and you get your well deserved rest. How does three times a week sound?”

“Once.” You spat back quickly. You wanted to say never or not at all, but you knew he wouldn't take that for an answer. Not the sex crazed maniac that was Childe who claimed to crave your body like a drug.

“Deal,” he replied with a smirk.

You should've known there was a catch with how quickly he agreed. And the catch was your submission.

The lingerie you wore was little more than a few stings and lace, something that he insisted that you wear, as it would make the night better and easier for the both of you. You felt your body prickle up with goosebumps as the cool air of his bedroom tickled your practically bare skin.

“I am truly blessed by the Tsaritsa,” he said this line like he was out of breath as he shut the door behind him. He slipped the robe off of his shoulders and left him in nothing, but his underwear.

His body was one you'd seen many times before when his urges took over. He was toned and firm, a rock hard stomach with a thin waist. Years of fighting left him littered with battle scars. All over his torso was burns, cuts, bruises, some looking worse than others, depending on how long it took to treat them.

You didn't want to look him in the eye, instead you stared out the window. You hated Snezhnaya, but when you had to admit, it had the best night sky. With little in the way of streetlights, the sky here looked like it was bursting with stars.

“None of that,” he gripped your face in one of his hands, squeezing your cheeks and making you look at him. At this angle, you were face to face with his erection. His thick, long, hard length was pitching a tent in his underwear, the tip of his aching cock was damp, practically dripping with precum, “It needs your attention.” Childe moaned as he pressed the leaking head against your cheek.

You scowled at the demeaning way he was toying with you, but based on what you agreed upon, you couldn't say no. It's just for one night, you had to tell yourself, and it was better than what he was doing before.

With little grace, you grabbed the hem of his underwear and ripped them down. His large cock sprung free, hitting his abdomen and continuing its insistent twitching. He held the back of your head, petting you like an animal and urging you to come closer.

“Your mouth first,” he began, his lips still on that stupid fucking proud smile.

Still sitting on the edge of your bed, you leaned forward and opened your mouth. He met you halfway and pressed his hips forward, pushing his dick into your mouth. His precum already began to coat his tongue, a salty taste that you could barely focus on as he'd already begun to thrust into your mouth.

You held his hips as you tried to match the pace of his thrusts with your mouth, but also keep him from pushing too far. Of course, he still tried it and with the hand that was on the back of your head, he pushed you all the way down to the base of his cock.

The tip of it hitting your throat made you gag immediately, but much to your dismay, he held you there with a strong grip. Your nose was nestled up against his orange bush of pubic hair, lips already began to secrete drool that dripped down your chin.

It felt like he was trying to kill you with it. The noises your poor throat was making could only be referred to as lewd with the way you gagged and choked on it. But even the glare you shot up at him with tear stained eyes didn't make him wish to stop, instead it only made him fuck hard, until he was using your hair as an anchor. Gripping the base of your scalp so hard, you were sure he was going to rip you bald, he made sure you didn't move a muscle as his hips moved back and forth, in and out of your mouth.

“Ah! Yes! Yes! Just like that, my angel,” his sickly sweet moans dripped off of his tongue, head thrown back in pleasure, while his hips seemed to not cease.

Your jaw was hurting and it was hard to breathe, every thrust made you gag, and most of all you hated the man doing this to you. All and all, you were miserable, but there was nothing you could do, other than let him fuck his twitching member into your mouth and hope that he'd stop stop.

Childe looked down on you, those deep blue eyes looked like they were glowing in the darkness of the room. He had a smirk on his face, an expression that you hated on him, it meant he was thinking of something in that sadistic mind of his.

“All over that pretty face,” he grunted to himself and before you could even register what he meant, his cock was pulled out of your mouth. Silver drool from the back of your throat connected your lips to his dick, a disgusting sight for you, but a turn on for him.

That drool of yours was used as lube as he began to hastily stroke his shaft. The noise was loud, as it was right by your face, you couldn't pull away if you wanted to, he still had a tight grip on your hair.

“Close your eyes. Now.” He ordered in a strangled grunt. And you did as you were told quickly, clenching your eyes shut.

You could hear him stroking himself just a little longer, before he began those familiar moans. Then you felt it. A hot liquid hitting your face. You grimaced knowing what he was doing, he loved showing his ownership of you and what better way to do it then to splurge rope after rope of his semen all over you.

Disgust was only the beginning of your feelings as you felt some of it land on your hair, your cheek, even on your eyelid and breasts.

He finally released the death grip he had on your hair, which prompted you to open your eyes. His dick was softening and his chest was rising and falling quickly as rose through the waves of his afterglow, but you knew better than to think he was done for the night. Oral was just an appetizer for him.

A finger was placed near your lips, his tired eyes watching you intently, “Open.” He directed you and begrudgingly, you did.

A little of his cum had landed on his hand, you recognized that familiar salty, bitter taste. He thrust that finger in and out of your mouth before pulling it away and stroking your cheek in a gesture that would be tender, if he wasn't the one doing it.

“On your back, legs spread,” his cock had already started twitching to life again. Apparently that forced, little show you'd put on with his finger was enough to get him started again.

Much to your dismay, he didn't just pull your panties to the side and start fucking into you, getting this over with as quickly as possible. He often complained that the sex wasn't passionate because of how hard you were fighting him off, but who would want passion from someone like him, someone you didn't even care for.

He started up top instead. Your heart was thumping in your chest as he climbed on top of you, placing both of your thighs on his hips, keeping your legs spread for him. You could feel his dick pressing against your thin panties, a sensation that made your stomach churn and knot.

He presses kisses against your neck and chest. His touch felt like fire on your skin, a disgusting feeling that you just had to allow. You hate to say it, but you preferred the way it was before. That way it would be over quickly. That way you didn't have to watch as he kissed and licked all over your body.

With a teasing hand, he slid the lace of your bra to the side, exposing your nipple to the air. His pink tongue wasted no time darting out of his mouth and lapping at the sensitive bud. You hated this the most, hated when he was making you feel good.

Your teeth were clenched together painfully as you tried to not moan from him. Tried to not enjoy the feeling of his cock grinding between your wet lips, pushing the fabric of your panties against your clit.

Another smirk from him and you knew you were in for something awful. He lifted up and grabbed his now hard dick in his hands, pushing your panties aside and rubbing the tip of his length up and down your slit.

“Ask me to put it in,” he said while pushing the tip against your hole, but not completely filling you. He'd do this over and over again, barely fucking you with the tip before pulling it out and doing it again.

You wanted to roll your eyes, wanted to spit in the face, to kick him and punch him, to fight him rather than asking him to fill you. Anything is better than the alternative, you told yourself.

“Just fuck me already, Ajax,” your grumbled, unable to force yourself to be submissive in the way you wanted him to be. But your brattiness seemed to make his eyes light up, his cock twitching even harder against your entrance.

He pushed into you hard, a sadistic grin on his face. You mewled out from the pain, he knew his length was larger and hard for you to take, but in this very moment, he didn't care. The way you defiantly asked for him was something he didn't think he'd enjoy and he wanted to fuck the attitude out of you.

His pace was brutal, but that was something you were here used to when it came to sleeping with him. How he fucked into you so hard, you tits would bounce and the sound of your skin slapping against each other would echo off the walls. Without your usual struggling, it felt completely different. You could feel each and every inch of him sliding across your walls that were growing slicker by the minute.

He was letting out those same tender moans while he pounded your cunt, fucking you just the way he wanted you. One of your legs was lifted up and he placed it on his toned, large shoulder, managing to thrust even deeper into you.

“This pussy is incredible,” he moaned while still fucking you into the mattress. He reached a hand down and made you look at him, “I'm close, my angel.”

Those words made a pit form in your stomach. The implications of him cumming inside not going past you. You turned your head away as he continued to pound you, based on the rules of your agreement, you couldn't say no to him for the duration of the night and Childe always mentioned how badly he wants to see you swollen with his children. That thought only made you more sick to your stomach.

He pumped inside you a few more times, sweat dripping down his forehead, before his hips start stuttering and his thrusts become sloppy. His pace slows down to a slow crawl and he lets out a guttural moan.

“Fuck fuck fuck,” he whines while balls deep inside of you. He twitches and writhes with his eyes shut tightly drinking in every delicious inch of you, then pulls out quickly.

You gasp in surprise as he begins to shoot ropes of cum onto your body. His shot so far, so much, some of it even managed to hit your face again. He let out a sigh of content, then flopped down on the bed next to you, wrapping a territorial arm over your body.

“I was gonna cum inside you,” he admits with a cheeky grin, “but I want it to be just the two of us for a little while longer.”

You merely scoffed at his answer, rolling over so that you were faced away from him in bed. You just wanted to go to sleep and for the night to be over with, but much to your dismay, you felt a hand on your hip and his body grinding against you from behind.

“You must've forgotten the terms of our agreement. I've got you all night,”

#yandere genshin #genshin #genshin x reader #yandere genshin x reader #yandere childe x reader #yandere childe #childe x reader #yandere smut #childe smut #genshin smut #genshin childe #mdni

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tenelkadjowrites · 9 months

Text

Attention - Seonghwa x Reader (NSFW)

🤳 Summary: Your attraction to Hwa, a camboy you enjoy watching late at night, unexpectedly spills into the real world.

🤳 Word count: 17.5k

🤳 Genre & warnings: smut one shot. camboy seonghwa with inexperienced reader. fem pronouns for reader. depictions of cigarette smoking. jerking off. biting, reader receiving. oral sex, both reader receiving and giving. messy blowjob with some gagging. 69. reader swallows. lots of dirty talk, reader is called "whore", "slut", and "good girl". fingering. pussy spanking. choking, reader receiving. unprotected sex. creampie.

this fic is not meant to represent seonghwa in any way, shape or form.

Snuggling down into your bed clutching your phone, you turn on your side and look at the time. It’s late, past midnight. You should be sleeping but you’re wired, too awake from work. The blueish glow of your phone casts a translucent tint to your skin.

You’re scrolling through Instagram but you know where you really want to go. Even though you’re entirely alone, you still are embarrassed while closing out of the app and bringing up the site. There is something tinged with desperation every time you go to his page. The feeling is even worse if you spend money; come morning, you scold yourself, the same lecture every single time about needing to go get laid or find a guy nearby to at least have a good time with.

At least it would be better than throwing money at a cam boy, you argue, and cheaper to boot. Yet the promise never seems to stick. Sure, you might go a week, even two, before you end up on his page. But you always crack and crawl back.

You aren’t even sure if he would be live tonight. But it’s Friday night and the chances are higher than usual that he might be. Some part of you hopes that he is, the other part of you dreads it. You ignore both emotions, navigating to his page and clicking on it.

The profile loads – catboyhwa1117 – and there is a tiny green dot in the corner of his photo, indicating he is live. Your heart skips a beat while entering the stream.

It connects, the picture is grainy for a few seconds and then snaps into clarity.

“No, it’s supposed to rain tonight,” Hwa is saying in that deep familiar voice of his, “Supposed to rain all weekend.”

He’s outside, going for a walk, most likely to grab a cigarette because he’s said before his roommate doesn’t want any smoking in the apartment. It’s too dark to make his face out but you can see the outline of the buildings behind him with their small windows glowing like fireflies in the dark.

“Wait, I’m gonna stop here cuz the café is closed,” He says and there is a shuffling of his phone, a blur of streetlights and then it comes to a rest propped up on the table, “Okay, that works.”

You can see him now, your heart constricting enough that a tide of embarrassment hits you in the chest over having such a reaction to someone you don’t actually know.

There are a couple of things that make following Hwa on his cam for a year now both mystifying and agonizing. The first is that there is nothing about his appearance that usually lends itself to your type of guy. He smokes, which you typically find off putting, he has a ton of tattoos, his tongue is pierced, and he wears a lot of jewelry. He wears thin black t-shirts and jeans that hang low off his slender hips, sometimes even crop tops that show off his stomach and abs. He fits the stereotype of bad boy almost painfully so which would also be a turn off if it was apparent that nothing about it felt false in all the streams of his you’ve watched (which are numerous).

The second thing is that you live in the same city.

You didn’t know this at first when watching his streams. You stumbled across his profile late one night when you were exceptionally lonely and looking for any sort of human connection. There was something oddly captivating about his appearance, the way he talked to everyone as if he personally knew them and of course, how he looked when he decided to show off his body that made you weak in the knees. But the more you watched Hwa, the more you recognized places like the corner shop he’d pop into it, the backdrop of buildings behind him, the occasional bar he would go into to stream himself having a drink. The definite proof came one night when a popular musician came to town and he got stuck in the crowds after the show let out.

That made watching Hwa a little too real. The possibility of running into him left you both terrified and exhilarated. You never dreamt of trying to find his location when he was streaming because that felt way too creepy. Admitting to Hwa that you tracked him down on a stream meant that you watched him touch himself on his shows and have seen him naked before and there was no way in hell you could look that man in the face and let him know that. No, better to leave it up to the universe than tempting fate yourself.

There is a spark as Hwa lights up his cigarette, leaning close to the camera. The lighting here is better and you can see a silver necklace dangling in front of his chest. He’s wearing just a thin sleeveless black shirt tonight, exposing his toned arms which have a random assortment of tattoos on them. His jewelry is gaudy, big heavy ugly rings on his long and slender fingers. His black nail polish is chipping and he doesn’t seem to care. His cheekbones could cut glass and his eyelashes are so long that you’re kinda jealous.

Even if I did run into him, he wouldn’t look twice at me, you think, knowing that your fashion sense is next to nonexistent and your superpower is the ability to blend into the background of any event and have no one notice you especially someone like Hwa.

“Someone asked what we’re doing tonight,” Hwa says, his eyes scanning chat, “Do we ever do anything? ‘Are you going to jerk off tonight’ asked someone else. Frankly, I love the enthusiasm so I’ll consider it. ‘Is your band going to do a show soon’. I’m not in a band but I appreciate the conclusion you leapt to based off my appearance. I think I would look good in a band, not gonna lie.”

You occasionally type in chat, too shy even through a screen to interact with Hwa regularly. That’s another reason you spend most of your time alone – your overpowering shyness that you can never seem to overcome even in chat rooms.

There is another word that comes to mind when you watch Hwa’s streams – he’s what your friends would label a bit of a fuckboy. He knows he’s attractive, he’s confident to the point of arrogance, and is candid about how much he enjoys sex. Basically, if he wasn’t on your phone screen, you would steer clear of him out of fear that you would be unable to keep up with his pace and experience.

But since he is just on your phone screen…well, it’s okay to watch from afar.

“No, I’m going back to my place after this. I just needed a smoke and wanted to go for a walk, figured I’d say hi to everyone,” Hwa goes, leaning back against the metal chair. His black hair falls in front of his eyes a little and he pushes it away quickly. “Is there a reason everyone is hornier tonight than normal?” He isn’t wrong, the entire chat is filled with people simping harder than usual for him.

“Full moon,” You type after hesitating for a few seconds.

“BubblegumHeart said it’s the full moon,” He reads, sending a jolt through you as he says your username, “I think that one has a lot of merit. More merit than half of the other shit you guys are sending like it’s my sleeveless shirt.”

In all honesty, it most likely is the sleeveless shirt, you think.

Hwa waves the smoke out of his face, taking one long drag off the cigarette before smushing it against the table and standing up. You’re staring at his black jeans hanging loosely off his hips, a belt thrown lazily around his delicate waist and can feel your thighs clench. You don’t know why some random person online can make you this turned on and no one in reality can. Your sexual experience is pretty thin but even the few encounters you’ve had don’t make you as turned on as watching Hwa just casually existing.

He picks up the camera, bringing his face back into view. Not for the first time, you find yourself admiring how plump his lips are and how occasionally a streetlight catches the tongue piercing when he talks and it glimmers for a brief millisecond. You’ve wondered before if the piercing would make him going down on you a different experience from your other ones.

Both in the stream and in your bedroom, you hear a crack of thunder in the distance. Hwa looks over his shoulder, making a face.

“Guess I better walk faster,” He remarks.

You don’t type again in chat as he heads to his apartment. The time spent getting back to his place is mostly him flirting with people in the chat, typical of his streams. People toss money his way for more specific attention. If there is one thing Hwa is good at, it’s making everyone who throws money in his direction feel special. The attention is fleeting and means nothing but for those few moments where he gives a thoughtful response or more intense flirting; it makes everything else fade to the background. That’s why you’re here, after all, and why you’ve given him money yourself.

Back at his apartment, the camera is covered until he gets into his bedroom to give his roommate respect and privacy. You know nothing about his roommate besides they don’t want him smoking in the apartment. Once Hwa is back in his bedroom, the phone is plopped onto its stand showing off his bed and large computer set up. He’s mentioned before he makes music in his spare time (synthwave, if you remember correctly, which is how the rumor he is in a band got started) and uses his computer to do it.

Hwa seems to live permanently in mood lighting. A purple lava lamp is glowing on his desk, his computer has those light up rainbow keys you typically only see on the ratemysetup subreddit, and he flicks on one of those projector lights that sends hazy stars slowly across the ceiling, also in purple. You don’t think you’d recognize him in anything other than the dim lighting of bars, coloured lights or the glimmer from the moon.

“Alright, sorry everyone but I’m switching to members only,” He says to the camera and your heart skips a beat, “If you wanna stick around, you can subscribe.”

Hwa exclusively switched to members only streams when he started doing the sort of thing that makes your brain melt. Of course, you had subscribed around eight months ago in a fit of weakness and desire. The stream switches over to members only and you find yourself sitting up a little more in bed, eyes glued to the small screen of your phone.

Hwa is sitting at the edge of the bed, running his fingers through his hair as he reads the chat. “‘Tell us about the last person you fucked’, no, I don’t talk about anything I do off camera with people. They didn’t agree to that. You guys know the rules, you’re just all rowdy tonight. Maybe this will calm you all down.”

He stands up, pulling his shirt off over his head and throwing it onto the bed. You swallow hard, staring at Hwa shirtless. Your favourite thing about him like this is the snake tattoo that starts just above his hip bone, circles around his torso, goes up along his back before looping back onto his chest and ends with the snake head just underneath his collarbone. It’s black with hints of red, gorgeous against his skin and incredibly sexy for reasons you don’t understand. The first time you saw it, you almost fell out of bed and now you cling to any time he shows it off.

Hwa is playing up the audience, knowing damn well that taking off his shirt won’t do a thing to settle anyone down, yourself included. Even though your logical mind knows better, you find yourself tossing him a few dollars to tell him how good he looks. When he says thanks, you squirm in bed, resisting the urge to touch yourself already.

He pulls the belt off his pants, dropping it to the floor. His pants slide down another inch, exposing the top of his hip bones. Hwa seems to enjoy showing off on camera, getting off on the attention people give him whenever he decides to jerk off for everyone. You’d pass away before ever doing something like that in front of strangers but his confidence is appealing in a new way. You find yourself attracted to everything Hwa does even though you’ve never looked at guys like him before.

“‘Can I hire you to fuck me’ no, you cannot but I appreciate the money,” Hwa says, unzipping his pants and lowering them to show off his boxers.

You can see the bulge of his already hard cock and your hand wiggles down to the band of your own underwear. You can’t believe how turned on you are or how badly you want him, this man you’ll never have, this man who will never notice your existence outside of a throwaway line uttered to you during a stream.

He runs his hand down the front of his boxers, fondling himself. The rings glitter in soft lights of his room as his cock grows harder. You think about being on your knees and taking Hwa in your mouth, wondering what it would be like to have him make a mess of your face with his cum while he talks dirty in that low voice of his. When it came to Hwa, you wanted to him fuck you in ways you hadn’t thought about before; it was as if you would do anything to be his dirty little whore.

You end up giving him more money just to tell him how much you want to suck his cock as your hand dips underneath your underwear to touch your wet pussy.

“BubblegumHeart wants to suck my cock. It’s funny how chatty you get whenever I’m half naked. Exceptionally quiet the entire stream minus a comment here or there and then dying for me to fuck their face,” Hwa says, pulling the boxers down as his cock springs free.

The comment makes your head spin, your finger touching your clit with a jolt of pleasure at the sight of Hwa wrapping his hand around his length along with his dirty comment aimed at you. You think once again about being on your knees for him, his fingers gently tilting your chin upwards to look at him while stroking his cock. He’d call you his little slut, tell you to be his good girl and suck his dick. On the screen, Hwa is slowly jerking himself off, basking in the attention from everyone in chat. Your eyes are glued to the screen, not caring what anyone else is saying, just admiring the way his hand looks around his dick and how his balls must be full of cum. Your finger rubs your clit, pussy wet as you both watch him and daydream about what he would do to you.

Hwa spits on his hand lewdly, smearing it across his cock. The tip is glistening with precum as he moves his hips slightly so there is a better angle of it shown to the camera. You’re thinking about how it’d feel in your mouth and how much of it you could take before it’d hit the back of your throat. You don’t care if you made a mess with Hwa, in fact most of your daydreams are centred around him fucking you for so long and so hard that you’re practically unrecognizable by the end.

Hwa resumes jerking off, his painted fingernails a blur as he increases his speed. Your pussy is dripping wet, soaking through your underwear as you furiously rub your clit. In the purple hue of his bedroom, Hwa’s torso is bathed in soft colours, the snake looking almost sinister wrapped around him. The projector that rotates the stars occasionally has one or two land on his stomach for a couple of seconds before moving away, giving a small pinprick of bright light against his toned abs for a second.

He slows down his speed, allowing a drop of precum to drip off the tip of his dick before resuming. You can hear how wet your pussy is, unable to stop as your climax draws closer watching Hwa. You want to run your tongue up along his snake tattoo, bounce in his lap and have his hands roam all over your body. The desire is a palpable thing, a beast that resides just under the surface of your skin. You know that a chance with Hwa will never happen and that wanting him this much is silly but watching him touch himself shatters all the borders you usually put up.

Hwa’s breathing is heavy and maybe his moans are for the sake of the audience, you don’t know nor care, but he sounds positively delicious as his orgasm draws nearer. You can picture his hand curling around your neck, giving it a squeeze as he pounds you into the bed so hard that you could see stars. You’d let him do anything to you, be his doll –

Hwa gasps and his climax begins. His load goes all over his hand, making a mess as he tries to stop it from getting everywhere. There is a ton of it, he always cums a lot, and your hips wiggle as your own orgasm begins at the sight of his load and the mental image of him coating your face with it.

Your phone drops from your hands as you lose yourself to the pleasure, head rolled back against the pillow. As your body goes limp, you can hear Hwa talk about cleaning up his mess from where your phone fell onto the bed.

Your cheeks burn with sudden embarrassment as the orgasm abates and reality sets in. Ashamed, you sit up and snatch your phone, exiting out of the live stream hastily as if someone is going to discover what you did.

Plopping back in bed, you stare at the ceiling. The storm started at some point during the live stream, and now you listen to it strike against the roof. You force your eyes closed, knowing that come morning, you’ll be beating yourself up for spending money in the stream and for being down so badly over a person that will never know you exist.

It’s Saturday night and for once you’re out at a bar although it wasn’t your idea. Two of your friends convinced you to come with them to a larger get together. It’s someone’s birthday but you aren’t exactly sure who.

After a couple hours, you’re already ready to go home. The bar is loud, incredibly crowded since it’s the weekend, and you aren’t much of a drinker. Having only agreed so that they would keep inviting you to things, you idly wonder how much time you can put in here before it’s okay to leave.

As usual, you end up on the outskirts of the group. Part of it is your choosing – too much social interaction makes your anxiety overwhelming – and part of it is just how things seemingly always go.

The rain began hours ago, a torrent that wiped the entire city clean before slowing to a steady thrum. The bar smells like water, the city, smoke and too many perfumes and colognes battling for attention. Your back presses against the wall, watching as a cluster of people play pool, your friends order another round of shots and someone begins to drunkenly yell at someone who spilled their beer.

You don’t think anyone would notice if you were to slink out now. The city makes it easy to get swallowed up in. Your nerves are frayed from all the anxiety and noise. Deciding to call it a night, you wiggle through the crowd, popping out of the entrance and into the rain.

The temperature has dropped considerably since you were last outside. Taking a deep breath, you feel it freeze your lungs for a few seconds. You don’t have an umbrella but awkwardly shove yourself back into the oversized hoodie that had been removed earlier in the night.

After wandering down the block, you stop in front of a bar that is swathed in dark and red, almost sinister looking. The windows are tinted and you can’t see inside. There are shadows against the windows, slightly distorted from whatever effect the glass has on it, making it look vaguely like a bar from the underworld. But the stoop directly in front is quiet and under an overhang which makes it a perfect spot to plop down at to give yourself a few minutes to settle your nerves.

The concrete is cold against your fingertips. You tried to dress up tonight a bit which meant a skirt that ended right at your knees. Now, it just means you’re cold. You pull the hood up of your hoodie, trying to get warm. Rubbing your hands together, you idly watch the way the cars cut through the puddles and the streetlights shatter like glass in each ripple.

You exhale slowly, enjoying the peace and quiet. Yes, you made the right call in leaving the bar. You’ll be home soon, crawling into your warm bed and into your dreams soon enough.

You hear the door to the bar swing open followed by a burst of electronic music before it becomes muffled again. You don’t pay any attention to a few people leaving, their heads bowed together as they giggle. You think maybe, normally, you’d feel lonely at a moment like this. But right now, you are just so relieved to be in the quiet of the street versus all the earlier noise.

The door opens again, another explosion of music for a couple of seconds. You tilt your face back, studying the way an apartment building looks as if it is touching the storm clouds. You wonder what each individual person in each apartment is doing –

“Hey, do you have a light?”

At first, you don’t think the voice could be directed at you. But as the silence stretches and you bring your head out of the clouds, the voice tries again.

“Can never fucking tell if someone has Air Pods in. Honest to hell, it kinda drives me crazy…Hey, do you have a light?” The repeated question is a lot louder this time.

That voice, you think as time comes to a crawl, there’s no way. You turn your head in the direction of it, your heart knowing before your brain that it is going to belong to…

Everything seems to be moving in slow motion. There is you, freezing your ass off on concrete, and then there is him, the cam boy of your dreams, Hwa, standing right in front of you, slightly leaning forward, squinting as if trying to see if you have Air Pods in because your ears are covered by the hoodie.

“No, I don’t smoke.” You hear your voice although it sounds very far away, as if it doesn’t belong to you.

This cannot be happening.

But it is. Hwa is wearing a thin black tank top with a fishnet shirt tossed over it, exposing his bare arms in the cut outs of the netting. A necklace with a small green pendant dangles in front of his leaning body, swinging gently like a pendulum. His black jeans are ripped, his knees exposed and most of his fingers have the familiar rings on that you’ve seen a ton of times in streams. The bar’s red light makes the tips of his black hair glow.

“Oh, shame. Forgot to bring my lighter.”

You are frozen, unsure what to do. Just don’t say anything about it and he’ll leave in a few seconds. This whole thing will feel like a fever dream. But that primal part of you, that part that responds to everything Hwa casually does on his streams, is stirring like a savage beast.

“I didn’t see you inside,” Hwa continues, oblivious to the mental strife you’re currently suffering through.

It feels like moving a boulder to try to speak a normal sentence. “Oh, I wasn’t inside. I was at the bar a few places down but I just left. It was really crowded and loud in there…” You trail off, immediately self-conscious about talking too much to the sexiest guy you’ve ever seen.

“No kidding? That’s why I came out here too,” Hwa says and to your utter shock – and relief…and horror… - he sits down next to you. “Sometimes I need a breather from the crowds.”

You are sitting very still as if one wrong move will make this entire situation vanish into thin air. You are glad that your hoodie is pulled up, offering you a little protection from Hwa seeing your face which probably looks shell shocked.

Time to stand up, tell him have a nice night and get the hell out of here, you think before that primal beast goes, no fucking way. You run into the guy you’ve been masturbating to for a year, the hottest guy you’ve ever seen, the only guy that makes you feel the way you do and now you want to head home?

But it’s wrong to talk to him casually without him knowing that I know him!

“Still can’t believe I forgot my lighter…I guess I’ll have to bum one off someone inside. Wow, it’s cold out here. Are you cold?”

“A little,” You admit, still staring straight ahead, unable to look him in the face for fear of blurting out the secret or melting into a puddle of desire.

From this angle, you can see Hwa drumming his fingers against his exposed knee. Those same fingers you’ve seen wrapped around his cock. I think I might spontaneously combust right here on the spot while wondering why the universe would land you in such a situation. The odds, even living in the same city, were so impossible that you never even daydreamed about running into Hwa. It seemed ridiculous that you would now be sitting next to him outside a bar, a cruel joke from someone who just wanted to create chaos.

“My friend San got me into this bar cuz it’s invite only but then he took off twenty minutes ago because something came up,” Hwa continues speaking in that same voice you’ve heard a thousand times through your phone, “Hey, are you heading home after this?”

“What?” You say, finally startled enough to turn your head to look directly at him.

“If you’re not, why don’t you come with me inside?” Hwa flashes a smile, so familiar that it knocks the air out of your lungs, “Like I said, the place is invite only and is sorta exclusive so if you wanna grab a drink together. My name is Hwa.”

You squint your eyes, feeling torn between jumping for joy and running down the road. “You don’t even know me.” is what you end up saying instead, immediately disliking how hostile the words come out.

Hwa looks unperturbed, replying, “Sure but we already have something in common by coming out here for some fresh air. On top of that, you’ve just been watching the rain fall against the road which is something I do all the time when I’m trying to come up with a song. So, maybe we are a bit similar.”

A natural question after this would be oh you write songs? But to utter such a thing would be lying to Hwa immediately since you already know he writes synthwave music. Hwa asking you to go inside could mean nothing. On his streams, he always has struck you as someone down for adventure, someone who loves people, and here you are, sitting alone outside a bar – why wouldn’t he ask to hang out? But Hwa also loves sex and attention, and you’re a woman sitting outside a bar, why wouldn’t he want to try to hit on you?

But I know you even though you don’t know me. I masturbate to you almost regularly. You’re like the guy of my sexual dreams. But none of those words leave your mouth even as the guilt swirls.

Hwa stands up then, extending his hand towards you. A stray lock of hair falls out of place, framing his angled face, with his eyes as dark as the bottom of the ocean. Looking directly at Hwa, you know you’re swimming with the sharks.

“Would you like to have a drink with me?” He offers.

You swallow hard and go, “Sure.”

Remembering that he told you his name earlier, you tell him yours while reaching upwards. Your hand meets his as he helps you up off the concrete. Your heart is beating so quickly that you’re breathless. His fingers are around yours for a few seconds and you are entranced at the sight of his painted nails as small blurs against your skin. When Hwa lets go of your hand, he motions to the door, beckoning you to follow.

And you do, as if any other choice actually existed. If the universe had opted to toss you in Hwa’s direction, then you would take it.

Hwa pushes open the door to the bar, the electronic music promptly smacking you in the face with the force of a punch. The entrance is covered in a low red light and shadows dance on the walls. There is a bouncer by the second door, and a woman is looking crestfallen as he shakes his head, pointing her towards the exit.

Hwa stops in front of the bouncer, who nods before pointing at you with a puzzled expression on his face. Hwa yells something while gesturing to you and the bouncer nods again, moving to the side to let you both in. Hwa reaches for your hand once more, and the guilt becomes too much as you enter the bar with him.

“Hey!” You shout over the din but he doesn’t hear you.

The music is obnoxiously loud – no wonder Hwa popped out for a break – and people are crowded at the bar, bodies pressed together and the air heavy with smoke. The music makes the floor vibrate underneath your feet but no one is dancing. In fact, you can’t even spot a dance floor, just two people wildly making out smushed in a corner that looked like it maybe, in an earlier iteration, had a dance floor.

Everything is black and red to an almost dizzying effect. Hwa stops at the bar, wedging himself into a small cluster of people. His hand is still holding onto yours, your eyes falling on it. It’s wrong that he doesn’t know, the voice in your head that is as loud as the music thrumming along your skin goes, you need to tell him before it gets more complicated.

Hwa has now successfully gotten a lighter from someone unceremoniously shoving it into his pocket. He turns around and shoots you a grin with those dazzling white teeth of his, setting off to lead you further into the bar.

“Hey!” You yell again and this time sharply tug on his hand.

Hwa stops, turning his body slightly to the side to look over his shoulder at you. His brows come together in question and he asks you what although it is swallowed up by the music.

“I have to tell you something!” You’re now wishing the confession had occurred outside the bar as the electronic music swirls around you.

Hwa is bumped by someone, he shoots them a glare and then turns around to face you, moving so close that the warmth of his body seeps into yours. Doused in the wild lights of the bar, you don’t think it is possible for him to look sexier than he currently does. When he asks you what once again, you can see the quick flash of his tongue piercing and your knees actually feel weak.

No choice left but forward, you motion for Hwa to get closer. He does so, his body angling so that his ear is next to your lips. Being this close to him is making your head dizzy. You can make out the muscles in his arms through the fishnet, can see the small tattoo behind his ear of a symbol you don’t recognize of two small pieces coming together, and watch as his green pendant swings in front of his chest.

You shut your eyes for a second as if about to jump off a cliff and shout over the heavy music, “I know who you are! I watch your streams!”

Hwa pulls away immediately, eyes widening. In the dancing blaze of red lights, it is a little difficult to make out his expression and it isn’t as if the bar lends itself to any sort of intimate conversation. But you couldn’t deal with the guilt over hanging out with Hwa and hiding the fact you know what he does in his spare time. It just felt wrong.

To your surprise, he tilts his head back and laughs. You stare at the tongue piercing, unsure what to do or even say, given his reaction. He jerks his head to the side, an indicator to continue following him. He is still holding your hand as he wedges himself through the crowd. He said this place was invite only but it’s like the entire damn city is here.

Hwa leads you up a metal staircase near the back of the bar, taking you up to the second floor. There is another bouncer here but he merely waves at Hwa, pushing the curtain to the side to allow access. You follow, walking past VIP booths. Someone has ordered bottle service and it is an explosion of glowing bottles, sparklers, and tiny lights flashing as a group of women pop the bottle at one of the tables.

The music isn’t as loud here – still overwhelming but enough that conversation could go easier. Hwa stops at one of the smaller booths, releasing your hand and sitting down. Feeling nervous now, you sit on the opposite side. You’re totally out of your element and it isn’t just because you’re with Hwa. This type of bar is new to you, and you’re self-conscious about your quick outfit of the hoodie and skirt meant for a totally different setting.

Hwa scoots all the way into the middle of the booth and motions for you to move closer. You know it is just because of the volume of the music but to be this close to him is making your heart race. Combined with the confession of watching his streams, you aren’t sure if it is racing because of desire or anxiety. Maybe both.

His body is angled towards you, one arm across the back of the booth near your back. You aren’t sure where to look. You want to just stare at him, take in the sight of his face and his body and the fact he is this close to you but your shyness at the confession mixed with the surreal nature of the situation means you just end up staring at the table.

A server comes off, asking in a loud voice to be heard over the music if the two of you want anything.

“Just a water,” You yell, feeling a little ridiculous at communicating only via shouting.

“Same,” Hwa goes, taking your lead and the server nods, leaving you alone with him.

His eyes are on you again and your hands grip the edge of your hoodie as if it is a life raft. Your body is screaming for him a way that you’ve never experienced before while your brain is in a pure panic at having confessed you know who he is.

Hwa leans towards you, his lips near your ear. You hold your breath, the different emotions bouncing in your chest as he speaks.

“You really watch my streams?”

When you turn your head to look at him, you’re so close that it would take a second to press your lips against his. He doesn’t seem phased by it, merely waiting for you to answer. Can he tell how much you want him? Is it obvious that he impacts you? You aren’t sure; his eyes don’t reveal anything.

“Yes,” You reply, “I’m sorry, I don’t mean to make things awkward but it felt wrong hanging out with you and hiding it.”

“No, I appreciate the honesty,” Hwa says and for a brief second his eyes drop to where your hoodie meets your skirt, “I’ve never run into anyone irl before that’s seen my streams.”

“Really?”

He nods, brushing his hair away from his face. His rings are so familiar – everything about him is so familiar. You swallow. Hwa notices, trying to hide a smirk. Your heart is skipping rope in your chest.

“Yeah. I honestly never considered running into someone. Or…I didn’t think they’d actually admit they knew who I was,” He studies you for a moment, “Do you talk in the chat?”

“Oh, uhm…occasionally. Sometimes.” Mortification is beginning to sit in as the conversation goes further. Does he think you’re some desperate loser for watching his streams?

The server returns with the two glasses of water, unceremoniously left on the table because they have actual real drink orders to take. Nervously, you grab the water, fiddling with the paper straw, hoping that keeping your hands busy will stop you from reaching out to Hwa and doing something desperate.

“Oh yeah? What’s your username?”

“My username?” You’re stalling.

“Yeah, maybe I’ll know it.”

His words uttered during the stream last night come back to you. BubblegumHeart wants to suck my cock. It’s funny how chatty you get whenever I’m half naked. Exceptionally quiet the entire stream minus a comment here or there and then dying for me to fuck their face. You busy yourself taking a large gulp of water through the straw, wanting to sink into the floor of the club and disappear from Hwa’s view.

He is watching you patiently, apparently in no hurry to get information. There is something languid about his movements, like a cat lazily watching its prey and knowing no matter what happens, it’ll catch it. Does he see you like that? Did you want him to? Again, the old thoughts return about how experienced he must be compared to yourself and the paltry limited sexual encounters you’ve had your entire life.

When you can’t put it off any longer, you mumble, “It’s BubblegumHeart.”

You spoke it so softly that you aren’t even sure it is audible. But Hwa reacts immediately, a grin breaking out across his face, looking as if he just hit the jackpot.

“You gotta be fucking kidding me,” He says gleefully, “You’re a fucking chat regular.”

What are the odds of lightning breaking the roof and striking me down right now? If I can run into Hwa, surely I can be electrocuted, right?

“That’s amazing,” Hwa continues, sounding positively chipper, “You’re in almost every stream. I always notice you because as soon as I’m done jerking off, you immediately leave like clockwork.” He snaps his fingers. “I could never tell if you were embarrassed at watching me or just did what you needed to do and left.”

Or maybe a stampede of wild animals from the zoo will break out, storm this bar and trample me. That might be better. Are the odds of that higher or lower? Whichever one will make my deep embarrassment stop first.

He props his chin on his hand, studying you and your phony fascination with the glass of water. You’re too embarrassed to even talk.

“So?” He prompts.

Swallowing, you go, “What?”

“Which one is it? Do you get that post nut shame and close out of my stream or do you just see those things as down to business, business taken care of, time to close out?”

You idly resume swirling the straw in the cup, biting down hard on your bottom lip for a second before forcing yourself to look at Hwa directly. His fingers rest again his cheek, his dark eyes alight with interest, and his body wickedly warm next to yours.

“It’s embarrassment,” You finally reply, “But none of it has to do with you. I just get embarrassed about…paying for attention. And getting off to someone I don’t know.”

“Lots of people get off to people they don’t know. That’s basically the entirety of porn,” Hwa points out.

“You know what I mean,” You mumble.

He shifts a little closer. Your knees are touching now, the contact of skin against skin like pure electricity being dumped over your body. “Is it because you like getting off to me, specifically?” His voice has dropped an octave, low in your ear, settling across your brain to create a pleasant hum. Mixed with the throbbing sound of the music, it is almost making you delirious.

There is a lump in your throat as you go, “Yes.”

“Is it because you want to suck my cock?” He asks, quoting your comment from last night.

The words are like a sledgehammer to your chest, knocking you entirely off balance. Your grip tightens around the glass and you’re sure that Hwa notices but you can’t help yourself. You’re getting to that dangerous tipping point where your brain is about to log out for the night. You only ever get this sensation when you’re watching his streams. How could you resist it when he’s right in front of you in the flesh?

“Yes,” You exhale, “Can I ask you something now?”

He nods. Very lightly, you feel his fingertips grazing the back of your neck where his arm is stretched across the back of the booth. The touch is intense; you never want him to stop. It is so faint that you can barely feel it but as he brushes his fingers there, you realize just how wet you already are – from basically nothing but talking to him.

“Before I told you…about the streams. When we were outside. Why did you ask me to come in here with you?”

“Cute girl, sitting alone in just a hoodie and a skirt, watching the rain fall across the city. Me, alone tonight because my friend had to leave. Figured I’d see where it would lead.”

“Where do you want it to lead?” It is as forward as you can get without getting tongue tied.

Hwa’s eyes drop once more to your skirt laying across your thighs before flicking back up to your face. You’re trying not to squirm under his gaze.

“I think you know where I want it to lead,” He goes and to your shock and delight, he brings his other hand to lightly rest on your knee.

Things like this do not happen to me, you think, knowing this entire situation is just too good to be true and therefore, your brain is going to attempt to sabotage it.

“I don’t – uhm. I don’t have a lot of experience in this area. Very little, actually. And it will probably not be fun…for you.”

“I’m a good teacher,” is all he says without missing a beat, “If you want one.”

How does Hwa do that? Just flip every single conversation into something that makes your knees weak and your pussy so wet that all logic goes out the window? You have a feeling he could suggest jumping off a bridge with him and you’d likely agree.

You make a strangled noise as your brain buffers with a reply and your body just wants to jump in his lap. As you take in the sight of Hwa next to you, his hand on your knee, your mind flickers back to the snake tattoo that curls around his body. The mental image of running your fingers across it is in vivid colour.

“I do want one,” You manage to say without stumbling over your words.

Hwa flashes you a grin and leans forward. You realize with a jolt he’s going to kiss you. You place two fingers against his chest to stop him, your breathing unsteady and hands shaking slightly. He stops immediately.

“It doesn’t bother you that I’ve seen your streams?” You ask, so close to him now that you can study his jawline, the pinkish hue of his lips and the way he is looking at you as if he can’t wait to taste you.

“No. Why would it bother me?” Even though the music is loud, you can still somehow hear him as though your brain filters out everything but him. “Just means I don’t have to waste any time explaining who I am and what I like to do.”

Another mental image of his hand stroking his cock. You swallow hard, your fingers lowering back to your lap. There is no other excuse to wield, no other manner in which you can deny yourself the very thing you’ve wanted the most.

“I guess that’s true,” You murmur as Hwa’s hand slowly moves up your leg, resting just at the bottom of your skirt where your thigh begins.

Your brain finally gives up, throwing its hands in the air and retreating as Hwa presses his lips against yours. The sensation is like two planets colliding, your entire body is wrapped up in the feeling of Hwa kissing you. His hand presses down against your thigh, the coldness of his rings making goosebumps break out against your skin. His other hand brushes along the back of your neck as the kiss grows deeper.

You’ve never done something like this, kissing someone you basically don’t know. Sure, you’ve watched Hwa on streams but that isn’t the same thing as knowing someone, is it? It isn’t as if he knew about you beforehand. But you’ve never desired anyone like you’ve lusted after Hwa through a screen and the idea of missing out on him when the universe sent him your way just doesn’t make any sense.

You fend off a moan when Hwa’s tongue slips into your mouth and you can feel his piercing. How many times did you daydream about this? Too many to count.

When he pulls away, his skin is slightly tinged with colour and the expression of lust is in his eyes. Knowing it is directed at you only furthers your desire.

“Do you want to come back with me to my place?” He asks, a sentence that is so dreamlike you hope that you never forget it.

That’s when the server interrupts the two of you, asking if everything is going okay. You can tell by the bored tone in their voice that two people making out in a booth is just a regular night.

Both of you say that you’re fine. The server leaves and you try to steady your breathing.

“Do you mind if I smoke?” Hwa asks.

“I do, actually, I don’t love the smell when it’s right next to me,” You reply, knowing it would be easier just to say yes and go along with whatever Hwa wants due to your feelings for him but unable to do that to yourself.

To your surprise, he grins again, that same quick as a dagger smile that threatens you to break every promise you’ve ever had with yourself.

“That’s alright, I can have one on the walk home. Are you coming with me? We got interrupted before you could answer before.”

As if saying no was ever an option.

“Yeah, I’ll come with you,” You hesitate, “Are you sure you’re alright with my lack of experience?”

“You’re hung up on it way more than me,” Hwa replies, “Like I said, it doesn’t bother me. You just tell me whatever you want to do tonight. You can decide.”

This takes you by surprise. “I’m not very good at leading.”

“You don’t have to lead. You just tell me what you want to try and we’ll try it. I’ll show you. If we start something and you don’t like it, you tell me and we switch to something else.” His tone is casual, without any shyness, proving how comfortable he is with his own body and sex, a far cry from yourself.

But this is the same attitude you always have found so sexy on his streams. Having it directed at you is a bit mind melting. Combined with the proposition of doing whatever you have fantasized about with Hwa and you’re starting to wonder if you’ve just won the sexual lottery.

“Oh, okay,” You reply simply, too tongued tied and overwhelmed to say anything else.

“Do you want to stay here longer or are you ready to go?”

“No, we can go. Thanks for showing me this place but I don’t think I’ll ever come back here.”

Hwa laughs at this as he slides out of the booth. He says something but it’s swallowed up by the music. He extends his hand again towards yours to help you out and then motions to the back of the VIP area.

“There’s a back exit so you don’t have to cut through downstairs again. I’ll show you.”

Following after Hwa, your eyes skim along the length of his back to his small waist. The nerves are buzzing now, the idea that you’re actually going to mess around and most likely fuck him starting to settle in with amazing clarity. You can taste him in your mouth from the earlier kiss and you seem to be emotionally leaping from open desire to pure anxiety.

Hwa pushes the back door open and you trail after him onto a small metal balcony with a staircase leading to the alley. The rain has stopped and everything shines in the city lights, the puddles a multi coloured collection of neon signs and street lamps.

Once you’re in the alleyway with Hwa, he pulls out a small box of cigarettes from the pocket of his jeans as well as the lighter he collected earlier. The flame flickers brightly in the darkness as he lights the tip of his cigarette and takes a drag off it, tilting his face away from you while blowing the smoke out from in between those plump lips of his.

“Here, stand on this side of me so the wind blows it away from you,” He says as the two of you leave the alley.

“You seem to have practice with this. I guess because of your roommate?” You regret the words as soon as they leave your mouth because it brings up the fact you watch his streams and know more about him than he knows about you.

“Yeah, Hongjoong doesn’t like it at all which I get. That’s one of the reasons I started streaming. The nighttime walks to smoke could be kinda boring.”

“What are the other reasons?” You ask curiously.

He glances at you out of the corner of his eye before going, “I like attention.”

Which you had gathered. In some ways, you envy Hwa and his love of attention because you spend so much of your time hiding from it.

“You never get self conscious on the streams?”

You move around a large puddle on the sidewalk, almost losing your footing. Hwa’s hand goes to your back, an anchor that helps you steady yourself. The cigarette is in between his lips and he’s covered in a blue neon light from another bar.

“No,” He says, the two of you frozen in place on the sidewalk as a car drives by, blasting muffled music, “Why would I? I know every single person watching my stream wants to fuck me. It’s a confidence booster more than anything.”

You suppose that he also means you. Feeling your cheeks get hot, you straighten up and continue walking. Hwa brings his slender fingers to the cigarette, exhaling again and waving away any errant smoke that might drift in your direction. You wonder what it’s like to be so comfortable in your own skin like Hwa is.

“Do you live far from here?”

“No, about a ten minute walk. What about you?” He asks.

“Yeah, I took an Uber here. Twenty minutes or so not accounting for traffic.”

“Far enough away that we wouldn’t run into one another. Which leads me to another question.”

“What?” You ask nervously.

“Did you know we lived in the same city? I do what I can to try to make my location vague but if you live in the city and you watch my streams, you must have seen something that made you realize it.”

You’ve been honest the entire night so why lie now? “I did know, yeah. But I wasn’t about to…track you down while you were streaming or something. That felt completely out of bounds and creepy. The city is teeming with people. I told myself there is just no way I’d ever run into you. Did you ever think about what it would be like to run into someone who watched your streams?”

“I assumed no one would actually admit to it even if I did run into someone. Admitting it means possibly admitting to sticking around when I switch to members only and watching me jerk off on camera as well as going on a website that is just full of cam shows. But I guess I was wrong because you told me.”

“Did I make you uncomfortable?”

“I wouldn’t be taking you back to my place if anything you did made me uncomfortable,” He replies, stopping at the crosswalk and looking at you. “Do you feel uncomfortable? You’re the one watching me jerk off on camera.”

Flustered, you make another garbled noise before settling on, “I’m not uncomfortable. I’m just nervous.”

“Due to your inexperience.”

“That’s right.”

“You always spend this much time in your own head?”

“Basically. I spend a lot of time alone.”

“Why’s that?”

“Dunno, I just prefer it. People can be draining.”

“You ever get lonely?”

“Sometimes. I mean, that’s how I ended up on your stream. And why I kept going back,” You admit.

“That and the fact you think I’m hot.”

You’re starting to think Hwa enjoys flustering you. “Yes, that too.”

The crosswalk light turns green and Hwa turns his attention back to the walk. For a few minutes, you’re both silent. However, it isn’t an awkward silence. Sure, you’re nervous about being around someone you want so badly. But there is a familiarity and ease to Hwa that makes things comfortable.

“Can I ask you something else?”

Hwa replies, “You don’t have to preface everything with that. You can ask me anything. I’m an open book.”

“Why?” You go warily, “Why are you so open with me?”

“I told you. I’ve never had anyone know about my cam shows. It’s a big facet of my life because I like doing them and it’s a secondary income. I’m not embarrassed but it’s a personal thing to tell someone what I do on those streams. No one else knows how far I go. Hongjoong is aware I casually go live but not the stripping, the jerking off, the dirty talk. A part of you ends up hidden even if you don’t mean to. But you know that part of me – you know that part of me first over anything else. Feels freeing.”

You’re surprised by his answer but reassured that telling Hwa you watch his cam shows had been the right choice. You’re off the main road now, walking down a side street together that leads to a block of apartment buildings. You can hear another round of storms kicking up in the distance.

“Well, my question isn’t that exciting. I was just wondering what you did outside of streaming for money.”

“Like my job?”

“Yeah.”

“I’m actually the heir to a chain of grocery stores so I get money from my parents.”

Confused, your steps slow as you look at him. But Hwa laughs loudly, shaking his head at your expression.

“I’m joking, I’m joking. Can you imagine something like that? Sounds preposterous,” He drops the cigarette underneath his shoe, crushing it into a puddle. “Honestly, I got a collection of random stuff I do. Delivery driver, sometimes I use my car to do Uber drives, part time jobs here and there, just whatever catches my interest and gives me enough money to pay what I need to. The streaming is just one of the sources of income.”

He stops in front of a nondescript apartment complex that is three floors. Underneath the streetlight, he leans against the crumbling wall in front of the building, an indication that this area was once fancier before it fell into a state of disrepair.

“What were you saying to me before we left the club?” You ask, remembering how you couldn’t hear him over the noise.

“Oh? Just that you were unbelievable. I like how honest you are. You didn’t try to drink through a misguided notion to try to impress me. You tell me that you don’t want me smoking next to you. You tell me the club sucks.”

“I don’t think I used that exact phrasing,” You reply.

He is grinning again. “Well, the intention is still the same. I like that you weren’t trying to hide anything about who you are just because you like watching my streams.”

“It didn’t cross my mind,” You admit a bit sheepishly.

His smile fades, his look becoming serious while studying you, making your heart race. “C’mere,” Hwa says, motioning for you to get closer.

You do, and the thunder crackles in the distance, a little louder this time. Hwa places one hand on your waist, and the other on your cheek, his thumb grazing your skin. Your body reacts to him immediately. The pure desperation is reaching a boiling point. All your earlier fantasies of Hwa treating you like you’re his little whore float to the surface.

This time, when he kisses you in the silence of the street, you melt into him. His hand moves from your waist to lower back to better angle you against his body. You reach upwards, fingers slipping through the fishnet top, pressing against the hard muscles underneath the thin fabric of his black tank top.

When the kiss breaks, it is as if you are coming up for air after diving very deep into the ocean. Hwa’s black hair is glowing from the streetlight, his eyes heavy with desire.

“Uhm, is your…is your roommate home?” You ask. Are we gonna have to be quiet? is what your question actually means.

“Nah, Hongjoong works overnights. He won’t be back until seven,” He lowers his face, mimicking his posture from earlier in the club when the music was too loud, “That means you don’t have to worry about being quiet when I make you cum.”

Oh, I don’t think I’m gonna survive this, you think as his words make your breath catch and brain buzz. He is holding your hand again, cutting across the parking lot towards one of the apartments on the bottom floor. Unlocking the door, you step inside after him, thinking about how many streams you’ve seen where he covered the camera.

The apartment is small, well lived in but clean. The kitchen is even smaller; it could probably only hold one person in it to cook at a time. A bedroom door on the right is swung open and you know immediately it isn’t Hwa’s.

“Do you want anything to drink?” He offers over his shoulder while walking to the bedroom on the left, near the kitchen.

“I’m okay,” You reply, walking into his room for the first time.

It’s exactly how it looks in the streams but from this angle, you see things that are not typically shown on camera. There is a small corkboard behind the stand for his phone that is filled with polaroid pictures of Hwa with his friends. There are actually too many photos to fit the board and they overflow, pinned to the border. You know it is positioned behind the camera for privacy reasons and you’re aware that you’re now seeing things meant for people only in Hwa’s life, not through a screen.

Hwa turns on the projector light of stars, a familiar motion made entirely brand new from the fact you’re currently standing in his room. The lava lamp had been left on and the inky blobs move slowly. He turns to face you and the worlds of offline and online seem to collide. You suddenly find it difficult to speak, your shyness getting the best of you now that the objection of your desire has you alone in his bedroom.

You motion to his computer. “How come you never upload your music online?”

“I do. I just don’t link to it on streams.”

“Why not?” You are curious, wondering why he wouldn’t use his following to promote his music.

“Because everyone on stream wants to fuck me and that’ll cloud their judgement over the music. They’ll just tell me it’s great just because they know I made it.”

“That’s not true,” You say but Hwa raises one eyebrow at your unconvincing tone.

He moves closer to you, his hands going to your waist as he pulls you towards him. “Is that right?”

“Sure. Play some right now and I’ll tell you it’s shit.”

Hwa laughs, his perfectly white teeth and tongue piercing glinting in the dark lights of the bedroom. The longer this conversation goes on, the less you feel confident in being able to continue it due to how you are mentally screaming for him to touch you more. A couple of kisses aren’t enough. You want all of him, you want him to do everything to you.

He kisses you then. You wrap your arms around his neck, pulling him closer. His tongue is in your mouth, his hands staying on your waist. As the kisses deepen, grow more urgent, the nerves still flutter in your stomach, making you a bit distracted.

It must show because when Hwa pulls away, he is studying your face through long lashes. “What are you thinking about?”

“About ten thousand things at once.”

“You overthink a lot, don’t you?”

“Almost always, yeah.”

“Have you ever been with someone and they just…made your brain shut off? Just stopped thinking completely because of how they were fucking you?”

“I…ah…uhm…”

“That’s a ‘no’,” Hwa retorts, and his hand is against your cheek, thumb brushing across your lips. He has an unreadable expression on his face but it’s making your heart thud heavily in your chest. “I can give you that. Would you like that?”

Not that you doubt Hwa’s sexual prowess or his impact on your body but you do find the possibility of your brain being quiet for once highly improbable. But since your experience with sex is limited, maybe he could really do such a thing.

“Sounds impossible but yes, I’d like that.” His thumb across your lips is distracting, making your earlier fantasies about sucking his dick return.

“Tell me what you want to start with,” His voice is soft and in the silence of the room, it seems to slink down your back and make you shiver.

“Will you just…uhm…kiss me again?” You’re too shy to ask him for anything more, the words stuck in your mouth.

He brings his face to yours, kissing you slowly this time. You can feel this from the top of your scalp to the tip of your toes, sending your body alight with fresh desire. His hands move away from your waist to your lower back, not making any motion to remove your hoodie. As the kissing continues, each one growing deeper, Hwa takes a couple of steps back towards his bed. When he sits down, he pulls you into his lap, not stopping with the kisses the entire time.

Your arms are back around his neck, sitting in his lap slightly turned so that your legs rest on his bed, too shy to suddenly straddle him. Hwa doesn’t seem to mind judging by the way one hand trails up along your legs to your thighs with his other hand against your back to hold you in place.

He nips at your bottom lip with his teeth which makes your body shiver. His fingers dip just underneath the bottom of your skirt to touch your inner thigh. It’s a minor touch but feels like an earthquake inside your body. You’re almost embarrassed by how wet you are from almost nothing.

You can tell Hwa is hard by the bulge pressing against your body so at least it isn’t just you being turned on. Nervously, you break the kiss, feeling too hot in the oversized hoodie. You tug it off over your head in an attempt to cool down, wearing just a regular t-shirt underneath. Hwa tosses the hoodie onto his computer chair before pulling you in for another kiss.

His tongue in your mouth feels too good to be true and, unable to help yourself, you reach for his hand, bringing it upwards to one of your tits so he knows it is okay to touch you there. Hwa doesn’t miss a beat, immediately groping you through your shirt.

Your own fingers are once again clinging to the fishnet shirt he has on. You hope he doesn’t notice your hands are shaking again.

Hwa moves his head to your neck, biting down on the soft skin there with his teeth. A tiny groan escapes you which only makes him do it again.

“Leave a mark,” You quietly beg, the words leaving your mouth before you even had time to question them, your head tilting back to give him more access.

He sucks hard on your neck before biting down harder this time. The idea of having to cover up marks made by him come the next work day fills you with an excitement entirely new. Your hand is in his hair, silently urging him on as he moves to another spot of your neck to do the same.

While doing this, Hwa brings his hand underneath your shirt to fondle your tits in your bra. It’s not enough and you make a noise of annoyance, tugging your bra down hastily so it’s around your waist. Normally, you’d be worried that you’re moving things too fast or should be taking things slower. But not with Hwa, not when you want to be consumed by him completely.

He pinches one of your nipples, making you jump as he bites down on your neck. The sensations are intense; you didn’t think it was possible to be this wet. As he continues to fondle your bare tits, you remove your shirt, tossing it to the floor. Half dressed in Hwa’s lap while he is still fully closed, he brings his head down, sucking hard on your nipple with a soft pop when he pulls away. He moves his head to do the same to the other one, his tongue swirling around your nipple before sucking on it even harder.

This time you groan and when Hwa moves his head away, there is a strand of spit from his bottom lip to your nipple.

“You like that? Being pawed at like this?” He asks in a serious voice.

You nod, your affirmative answer sounding a little bit higher pitch than normal.

“Good girl,” He goes and the compliment makes your head spin, hitting a sweet spot in your brain that you didn’t even know you had, “You want me to keep doing this?”

“N-no, I…” Here it is, your first actual request, as embarrassing as it feels to say it aloud, “I want to suck your cock,” When he nods, you reach out for his wrist, curling your fingers around it and shaking your head to indicate there’s more, “I…”

“You don’t have to be shy with me,” Hwa murmurs, “We already know more about one another before we even met.”

The words settle your nerves a little although you end up bringing your face close to his neck so he can’t look at you while whispering the fantasy in his ear. “I want you to put your cock deep in my throat. And I want…I want you to call me a whore and a slut during it.” Your face feels like it is on fire.

Hwa shifts so that your face is moved away from him so he can look at you. You’re wiggling a little in his lap from the attention and the admission of what you want from him.

“You want to be a good little whore for me and have my cock buried down your throat?” He asks and fuck if it doesn’t make you feel as if you’re turning into a feral thing in his lap hearing those words directed at you. “You like being called a whore?”

“I – I’ve never been talked to like that from anyone else but I always think – I think about it with you.”

Something lights up in Hwa’s eyes for a few seconds. “Oh, so you want to be my good little whore?” After you nod again, he goes, “I think I can give you that.”

He carefully moves so that you’re off his lap while he throws a pillow onto the floor for your knees. It’s cold against your skin when you sink down onto it, still wearing your skirt. You’re both nervous and exhilarated. How many times have you thought about this?

Hwa unzips his pants, removing them but leaves his boxers on, standing in front of you. Your heart is beating so fast that surely, it must be dangerous. Maybe fantasies coming true actually aren’t that good for you. You tilt your face back to look up at Hwa, still wearing his shirt and fishnet cover.

“Pull down my boxers,” He says in the same stern yet soft tone.

When you go to reach for them though, his eyes narrow for a second and he reaches for your hand, turning it so that the palm is facing upwards.

“You’re trembling,” Hwa says and there is a small note of surprise in his voice, “Are you that nervous?”

“It’s not just nerves,” You reply shyly, “It’s…I just…I’ve thought about this a lot. You…I’ve thought about you a lot.”

Something shifts behind his eyes as he lets go of your hand, allowing you to continue. Tentatively, your fingers find the top of his boxers and you tug them down in a swift motion, exposing his hard cock.

It isn’t as though this is the first time you’ve seen Hwa hard like this. But the fact you’re seeing him in person, and it’s all for you, makes you unable to hold back even a second longer. Leaning forward, you take the head of his hard cock into your mouth, rolling your tongue across the tip to taste his precum. Hwa inhales sharply at the touch. You realize he is giving you time to get used to him in your mouth so you drag your tongue along the underside of his shaft, one hand going to fondle his balls.

Your blowjob experience is as limited as everything else you’ve done but Hwa’s breathing changes as you continue. At one point, you’re bobbing your head on his cock, cheeks hollow as you work on sucking him. When you pull him out of your mouth after that, however, you can feel his fingers gently rest on the back of your head so you go still.

Hwa guides his cock back into your mouth, pushing further back until you gag and he pulls out. He doesn’t say anything but waits patiently for you to motion to continue. After you do so, his length fills your mouth and you press your tongue against his shaft, marveling at how much you enjoy it, how much you have wanted this.

It must show on your face somehow because Hwa, in a taunt voice, goes quietly, “You like having your mouth stuffed full of my cock?”

You make an affirmative noise, impossible to reply since your mouth is full. He rocks his hips a little, moving his cock deeper into your throat until it becomes too much for you, resulting in you pulling away with a tiny gasp. Precum and spit connect your lips to the tip of his cock, your eyes watering slightly as you look upwards at him.

Hwa has one hand holding the bottom of his shirt, lifting it up a little to get a better angle at watching you deepthroat his cock. His gaze is lustful, his desire obvious as he studies your face.

“Y-yes,” You mumble shyly, your underwear sticky against your pussy from how turned on you are.

“Show me what you’ve thought about when you watch my streams,” His voice is soft, curling against a spot in your brain where all your fantasies about him are locked away, “Show me what you’ve thought about when you touch yourself to me and think about being my whore.”

His cock is back in your mouth, your lips wrapped around his warmth as you take him deeper. When you gag this time, you don’t pull away and instead stop completely, trying to relax your throat around him. Hwa curses under his breath which only spurns you on more. With his cock in your mouth, your earlier anxieties about the entire situation are starting to fade, replaced by the reality of the situation – that you are here on your knees for Hwa, after all those times of watching him jerk off on streams.

When he slips out of your mouth this time, the spit and precum drip off your chin onto your chest, running down your tits. You try to catch your breath for a couple of seconds before taking him back in your mouth, bobbing your head on his cock, taking his length deep each time.

Hwa grunts, keeping his hips still even though you know he must want to drive his cock down your throat as fast and hard as possible. You get the sense he is holding back as to not overwhelm you, aware of your inexperience.

You continue, not caring that you are making a big mess or that his cock is slick with your salvia and his precum. Hwa is breathing hard now which only makes you want to keep going. You’re determined to have him finish in your mouth after nights of thinking about what it would feel like to have him shoot his cum down your throat. After another moment where you gag after getting a little too excited, Hwa lets out a ragged gasp.

Your eyes flick upwards then to see his grip on his shirt is tight, his chest rising and falling quickly. He seems to sense your gaze and looks down at you then, with your cheeks puffed out from his cock and a dollop of spit hanging off your chin.

“Fuck, you’re gonna make me finish if you keep doing this,” He tells you, “I didn’t think you’d be such a cockwhore, gagging on me like that.”

You slip his cock out of your mouth just enough to be able to talk, “I want you to cum in my mouth.”

“Is that part of your fantasy?”

“Yes.”

“Alright, my little cockwhore, I’ll give you what you want,” Hwa goes, moving his hips a little to press the tip of his cock against your lips.

You greedily accept him again, not caring that your tits are covered in a mess and it has probably covered your skirt too. As you slurp and suck on his cock, you drop one hand downwards underneath your skirt to press your clit through the fabric of your underwear. Hwa notices and pushes his cock down further – you can’t help yourself, you moan around him as your fingers brush your clit.

“God, you are an absolute whore,” His voice sounds uneven and you know from watching his streams that he is close.

You make a noise around his cock, a noise of approval, of contentment, and Hwa grunts as his cock buries itself in your throat and he begins to climax. As usual, he cums a lot, so much that it fills your mouth and makes you cough, your reflexes kicking in to pull away from him. But Hwa is still cumming, a hot strand against your chin, another one across your lips as he makes the most delicious sounds you have ever heard. Your fingers press down hard against your clit as his load fills your mouth, covers your face, gives you exactly what you have always gotten off to in the middle of the night.

Hwa looks dazed, trying to come to his senses after the intensity of his orgasm as he tugs his boxers up. When he speaks, it is with great effort.

“I’ll get you something to clean you up –”

“No,” You say quickly, your voice sounding gummy from his load which you are still swallowing, “No – keep it on me.”

The confession only seems to spark something in Hwa, who is staring at you with another expression on his face that you can’t read. He jerks his head to the direction of the bed and goes, “Get up there, if I don’t eat your cunt, I’m gonna start climbing the walls.”

He reaches for you, helping you to your feet as your legs protest from the angle they had been in. While you get on his bed, Hwa is pulling the fishnet cover off followed by his shirt, leaving you with seeing his snake tattoo curling around his body for the first time in person. Your eyes trace the way it wraps around his torso, the manner in which the purple light of his room lays across his body. He kicks off his jeans, leaving just his boxers on. Then he is removing his rings, dropping them onto the night table. You take in the sight of every movement, so familiar but new at the same time.

Hwa is crawling onto the bed now, tugging on your skirt. “You made a mess.”

He isn’t wrong. Even in the low lights, you can see the skirt is covered in spit and his cum. For a split second, you are worried about how you’re going to get home and past your roommate with a skirt like this and it must show on your face because Hwa clicks his tongue piercing against the top of his mouth and reaches out for you, turning your face gently to meet his gaze.

“No, you’re not overthinking again. I could tell there wasn’t a thought in your head except my cock just now and I’m going to take it one step further,” He is pulling your skirt off, landing in the pile of clothes on the floor, “I’m going to make my whore feel so good that there won’t be anything in your mind but pleasure. Look at how fucking soaked your underwear is,” He presses one long finger against your wet slit, the fabric damp, “You’re that turned on from sucking my cock?” You nod but Hwa shakes his head, “No, tell me.”

“Y-yes,” Your face feels hot from the confession.

He removes your underwear, pushing your legs apart to look at your pussy. You’ve never had anyone just look at your pussy before and you squirm underneath his gaze.

“Your pussy is beautiful, look at how swollen and wet you are for me.” His fingers touch you now, spreading your pussy lips apart gently. “Can’t wait to have my cock in your tight hole. I’m going to just slide right in there because you’re so fucking wet.”

You make a tiny noise and he looks up at you then. Some of his hair has fallen around his face, framing it, his eyes looking as serious as ever.

“Tell me,” He says.

Even though you’re embarrassed at your next request, you push through and manage to squeak out, “Will you spank it?”

“You want me to spank your cunt?” He clarifies and when you nod, he laughs a little and replies, “Yeah, I’ll spank your cunt, whore. That something else you think about?”

“Y-yes, with you.”

“You think a lot of stuff about me, don’t you?”

“Yes,” You say, shivering as Hwa brushes his fingers lightly over your pussy to tease you.

“Because you want to be my whore. Just mine.”

“Just yours.”

He spanks your pussy then, a smack that isn’t too hard to make the pain blot out the pleasure. You gasp in surprise from it and Hwa spits in your hole before bringing his mouth around your clit. The sudden intensity has a loud noise escape from your mouth, louder than intended, but you are unable to help yourself. Hwa holds your legs apart as his tongue works against your clit.

To make the pleasure borderline dizzying, you can feel his tongue piercing against it. How many times have you gotten off to such a thing? Too many to count.

Hwa pulls away and brings his hand down sharply against your cunt again before plunging a finger into your hole. Your hips buck, a garbled noise leaving your mouth from all the different sensations occurring too quickly.

“Fuck, you’re so wet. I didn’t think it was fucking possible to be this wet,” Hwa sounds almost gleeful as he inserts a second finger, “Hold your legs back for me like a good slut.”

You obey, although it is difficult because everything feels so good that your hands sometimes almost slip. Spread out in front of Hwa, he brings his lips back to your clit, sucking on it hard, his tongue piercing pressed against your sensitive nub. You are making a lot of noise, pornographic noises as Hwa finger fucks you so fast that you can hear the lewd noises of your wet pussy squelching against his fingers.

Hwa’s fingers are deep in your hole, curling upwards as he pumps them in hard and fast. His tongue flicks across your clit now. Your head rolls back, and Hwa is right – there isn’t a single thought in your head. The pleasure is too great.

You hear him spit in your cunt before going back to your clit. He is finger banging you so hard and fast now that combined with his tongue on your clit, you’re going to cum. You try to tell him but all that leaves your mouth is gibberish.

It must make sense to Hwa though because he goes, “I know, whore. I can tell you’re close,” His voice shakes from the force of his fingers pumping into your cunt and you can feel his eyes on you. “You’re a lot of fun to fuck, has anyone told you that? It’s okay, you don’t have to answer. I know you can’t. I can tell your brain is blank. I told you I could give you that. I never lie. You look perfect like this. You’re dangerous, you know that? I might be in love with you by the end of the night because you’re just too perfect and fuckable.”

The words prove to be your tipping point. Your climax begins, your grip slipping on your legs as your juices gush out around Hwa’s fingers to the point where you think you’ve probably made a gigantic mess on his bed. But Hwa doesn’t seem to care and is instead making small noises of approval as you cum.

His face is buried in between your thighs as his tongue sinks into your hole, lapping your cum up eagerly. You are breathless, your entire body warm and tingling from the intensity of the orgasm. Hwa begins to kiss upwards, along your thighs, stomach, nipples and then your neck. His skin is feverish against yours and when the next kiss begins, you succumb to him completely.

He moves so that he is on his side, one arm along your waist as he turns you so that you’re facing him. Your tongue is in his mouth, your earlier anxiety about being with him like this long gone from how comfortable he has made you feel. The tips of his fingers trail up along your side until his hand is against your back. At the same time, he raises his knee up slowly in between your legs until your pussy is pressed against it.

Before you can even question yourself, your body reacts accordingly and grinds down against his knee. You can feel Hwa smile against your mouth as he mumbles, “Oh, you’re a fast learner.”

The compliment leaves you pleased, continuing to rub your swollen clit against his knee, knowing he is going to bring you to orgasm again. His room, which has always been a safe place whenever you watch him on streams, feels just as safe now, wrapped up in him.

The movements are slower this time around, as if Hwa is aware that going with such intensity for so long is new to you. He adjusts his position to make it easier to grind against his knee, sucking hard on your neck to leave another mark.

“Does that feel good?” He asks at one point and you manage to answer which he follows up with, “Do you want it to feel even better?”

You are unsure how such a thing is possible but with Hwa, you’re ready to do basically anything he suggests.

“I’m going to eat out that nice cunt of yours again while you suck on my cock,” His voice is soft, close to your ear as you rock your pussy against his knee, “Would you like to do that?”

You’d by lying if you said no, having thought about this very position multiple times during all your fantasies. “Y-yes, I want to do that.”

“Didn’t even have to think about it. Something you’ve thought about before then?” When you nod shyly, Hwa has that same pleased expression on his face, seeming to relish every filthy thought that has crossed your mind.

A bit out of your element with this one, you are hesitant to sit on his face but Hwa shows no such similar feeling. As the two of you adjust positions, Hwa pulls down on your hips to bring your pussy against his face without a second thought, his tongue burying itself in your hole. The sudden intensity makes you gasp and squirm in surprise which only leads to Hwa making a sound of muffled approval.

Trying to get your bearings while Hwa tastes your pussy, you tentatively lean forward towards his boxers. You can’t help yourself – your hands graze across his taunt stomach and along the snake tattoo with absolute relish, hardly believing that you are touching him. His muscles, always hard and on display whenever he shows off his body, are now underneath your fingers. There is no shyness with Hwa, just an enjoyment of sex, pleasure and attention which you both admire and desire at the same time.

Lowering his boxers, Hwa’s cock springs free, heavy against his stomach. It is admittedly difficult to focus on the task at hand when Hwa’s tongue is all over your pussy although you notice he is avoiding your clit to give you time to adjust.

Your hand wraps around his cock as you take him in your mouth for the second time tonight, somehow surpassing even your lowest expectations of how running into him could play out. As your tongue swirls around the head of his cock, Hwa moves his to your clit, making your body jerk against him reflexively. His hands glide to your hips, holding you in place while taking more of him in your mouth. You slide his length as far as it can go, maybe just overly excited to be sucking him off again, and when he hits the back of your throat, he slips out from in between your lips with a small gasp. Spit bubbles at the corners of your mouth and when you rub your hand across your lips, you leave a streak of drool and precum before taking him back in.

At the same time, Hwa groans against your cunt as his tongue flicks across your clit for a few seconds until he switches to sucking it hard with a small popping noise when he releases his hold. The sound is lewd and he does it again, just to hear it before returning to licking the overly sensitive nub.

One of your hands fondles his balls while sucking him, enjoying how it feels to have his cock in your mouth and how warm it is along your tongue. You bob your head on him as your spit runs down his length and onto his balls, making a mess. But you don’t stop, delirious between the pleasure of Hwa’s ministrations and his cock in your throat. He is slick with spit and precum and when Hwa flicks his tongue particularly hard, you end up taking more of him, gagging around it but keeping him still in your mouth. You try to relax your throat, letting him fill you up in a way that you’ve only dreamt about.

Hwa grunts, lifting his hips up just enough so that you choke around his cock again. This time you pull back and his cock slips out from in between your lips, lubricated with a mess of salvia and his precum. Wrapping your hand around his dick, feeling the warmth in your hand, you jerk him off. Your hand slips across his skin easily and you can tell he is close to cumming again.

So are you, for the matter, since Hwa has his face buried in your pussy and the pleasure he is experiencing doesn’t seem to slow him down for a second versus yourself. He sucks on your clit hard, his hands gripping your hips so that you can’t squirm away.

Unable to help yourself, your pussy grinds against his face. He seems to be getting off on being smothered by you, not stopping for a second, chasing your orgasm more than his own. You stop jerking him off to swallow his cock, taking as much as you can just as your climax begins. Your moans are a wet garbled mess against his cock. The pleasure is so intense that you know you’re making a mess all over Hwa’s beautiful face. But it seems to be the very thing that makes him finish as well. With one final buck of his slender hips, he is cumming once more in your mouth. From the angle this time, the cum spills out from in between your lips, down across his length as you try to swallow as much as the hot load that you can.

When you finally pull your head off his cock, your legs feel like jelly and every nerve in your body feels overstimulated. Gingerly rolling off him, you collapse onto the bed and give a small shake of your head, closing your eyes and panting, “Need a break.”

“Are you okay?” Hwa asks, sounding just as dazed as you feel.

“Y-yeah, just…haven’t had…this many orgasms so close together and done this much in such a short amount of time,” You manage to say in between catching your breath.

He rearranges himself so that he is laying next to you, also panting quietly. You can’t even imagine how you both look, a mess of sex and cum swathed in purple hues. For a while, neither of you speak. Your entire body is tingling, your legs like jelly. Typically, you weren’t one for just openly laying naked to someone after fooling around, usually wanting to run and cover yourself.

But you feel at ease with Hwa, which surprises you given the fact you have been lusting and daydreaming about him for so long through a screen. Hwa, of course, gives no thought to being openly naked. You doubt he has ever experienced a moment of self consciousness in his entire life.

He rolls onto his side to face you, staring at you with cat eyes in the dark. You tilt your face in his direction. The butterflies that had been sleeping through all the various forms of oral sex and fingering that occurred are now starting to stir.

Some of Hwa’s hair sticks to his forehead, his lithe body draped across the sheets, the snake curling across his side and disappearing onto his back. His lips are slightly swollen and you know he is smeared in your cum but he doesn’t seem to care. He is entirely at ease, forever comfortable in his skin.

You turn onto your side as well, close enough to touch him but neither reaches out for one another. In the silence of his room, you can hear that the storm must have begun at some point during all the sex but you hadn’t even noticed.

“What is it?” You ask nervously, unsure why he is looking at you in that way.

“Does it make you uncomfortable if I look at you?”

You think for a moment before answering, “No. I just get nervous.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know. You might change your mind about what we are doing.”

“You think we’ve literally and figuratively come this far and I will decide not to fuck you?”

“Maybe.”

He laughs quietly as if the entire suggestion is hilarious. His hand brushes across your side up along your arm. The touch is as light as a feather but you feel it down in your core.

“No, I’m having too much fun with you,” He replies, “You weren’t thinking, were you? Earlier.”

“No, I wasn’t,” You admit, “True to your words.”

Hwa props himself up a little to look at you. His gaze is enough to melt you into the mattress. His hand presses softly onto your side so that you lay down on your back, looking upwards at him. His fingertips trail down across your stomach, making you shiver. He seems to be mentally filing away everything that elicits a reaction from you.

You reach upwards for him, pulling Hwa towards your body so that your lips are on his. His hair is bunched up in your hands as the kiss deepens. You can taste yourself on his lips; can he taste himself on yours? When the kiss ends, your hands move down his back, across the warm skin there. His eyes are a heavy thing on your body as you cast a look downward at his.

Your fingers are moving along his snake tattoo, something you have seen so many times on your phone screen now in front of you. Your hands trace the way it moves down from his shoulder, admiring the way it lays across his hips up to his stomach.

You are fairly confident that Hwa somehow knows what you’re thinking about and that is why he doesn’t speak, content to let you touch him like this.

That’s when the power goes out, the lightning flashing brightly through the closed window and the thunder making the walls rattle, ushering in darkness. The purple light which you have grown so accustomed to over both the camera and reality is snuffed out like a flame.

“Oh,” You say quietly in surprise.

Hwa’s hold on your side tightens for a second to reassure you that he is still there. Once again you are pulling him back down for a kiss. His lips still find yours in the darkness, his tongue in your mouth as he angles his body to press against yours. A sizzle seems to shoot up your spine – it is as if the darkness makes it easier to speak, to think, without seeing Hwa directly and having that attention on you.

Hwa’s hands are running across your body, touching you all over carefully, waiting for you to signal that you’re ready to keep going. His lips are back on your neck as he nibbles there, adding more marks to the collection. Emboldened by the darkness, your hand covers one of his and pulls it upward toward your neck.

He pauses, lifting his head up from your neck. You can feel his steady breath against your skin, can hear the low timber of his voice against the backdrop of the storm when he goes, “Tell me.”

“Squeeze my neck,” You murmur and Hwa does so, his hand tightening around your skin.

Your eyes flutter closed at the sensation. He is so close to you now that your body is starting to scream for him once more but he seems content to keep you lusting for him in the darkness.

“Do you like that?”

You nod, knowing he can feel the motion.

“You like being treated like this by me?”

Another nod.

His breathing is changing. Subtle, just enough for you to realize how much he is enjoying how you submit to him, that you’ve touched yourself to him doing these things to you before the two of you even met.

“You really are just a perfect little whore,” Hwa says, releasing his hold just enough for you to sharply inhale and then he tightens once more, “It’s a shame I can’t see you right now, see how beautiful you look with my hand around your neck.”

He lets go, fully removing his boxers, the ruffle of fabric as it is tossed onto the floor before he shifts onto your body. It is an intoxicating sensation to have him skin to skin and your hands curl around his shoulders as your legs wrap around his small waist.

His cock is hard pressing against your thigh. The next kiss is messier, his spit in your mouth, his entire being taking over all your senses. Unable to see him, you have to go off the other senses like the small grunt of approval he makes when you arch your hips in a silent plea to fuck you and the ragged change of his breathing.

Hwa slips inside you easily from all the orgasms, your pussy slick with your wetness and his spit. He fills you to the hilt, his hips meeting yours as you take his entire cock in one swift motion. Your head rolls back, a moan toppling from in between your swollen lips as your hold onto his shoulder tightens.

He curls around your body, gripping the sheets next to your head as he slowly thrusts in your cunt. You no longer feel like yourself but instead as a being intertwined with Hwa so that your senses overlap with one another. Hwa curses quietly and bites down on your earlobe, giving it a sharp tug with his teeth.

“My whore,” He growls in your ear with a sort of lust you’ve never heard from anyone else before especially directed at you, “You feel so good wrapped around my cock.”

His lips find yours and you tug on his bottom lip with your teeth which elicits a groan of approval of him. The kiss deepens, his tongue is in your mouth, and you can feel some spit getting on your chin. You don’t even know who it belongs to and you don’t care. You’re bucking your hips to meet his ever quickening thrusts, your bodies growing hot together as the fucking continues.

“Say it again,” You plead in a broken voice and you don’t need to clarify what you’re asking to be repeated.

“My whore,” He grunts and thrusts particularly hard, driving his cock deeper in your soaking wet cunt, “You going to let me fuck you again after this? No more needing to watch my streams, I’ll fuck you into my fucking mattress any time you want.”

The words are too good to be true and you hope he isn’t just saying them because of how turned on he is. Your reply is a broken plea, half gibberish, half words and Hwa pushes away from you, grabbing your legs and bringing your feet onto his shoulders.

He leans forward, folding you like a doll as his hips snap against yours at a brisk pace. Your pussy is obscenely wet and you can hear it even if you cannot see him. Unable to hold onto Hwa, your hands grip the bedsheets so hard that they might tear.

“Hwa,” You gasp out and he knows – he knows because his hands are back around your neck and he’s fucking you into the bed, squeezing your throat while pounding into your cunt.

“You like when I choke you like this, you little whore? I know you do. I don’t even need to see your face to know how much you love it. I can tell by how your pussy tightens around me, by your whimpers and moans,” He says in an unsteady voice, sounding like sandpaper as his own orgasm draws just as close as yours, “Fuck, your pussy feels so good. Where do you want my load? You already took two of them down your throat, my slut.”

Hwa lets go of your neck but his pace is relentless. You are seconds away from finishing but manage to gasp out, “In my pussy, finish in my pussy. Choke me while I cum.”

Hwa, just like the rest of the night, where he has maintained the illusion of control while you’ve been the one in command, obeys. His hands are back where they belong and with one final thrust, you’re climaxing yet again.

“F-fuck,” He grunts, “You’re too tight clamping down on me like that –” His hands are off your neck, gripping the bed sheets next to your head once again.

Hwa shudders as he unloads in your cunt, filling you up with his warmth as you rock your hips against him, making sure that every drop of his cum is inside you. The two of you are making a ton of noise together as the final climax of the night goes on. Hwa pulls away from you so that your legs flop against the bed and his hands move to your back, pressing you against him.

He is kissing you as your climax winds down. Your bodies are slick with sweat, a collection of limbs wrapped around one another as if one of you, both of you, are afraid to lose each other in the darkness. As your intense orgasm begins to subside, Hwa lowers his head against your chest. The sound of your panting fills your ears; it feels as if you just ran a race.

Perfectly timed, the power returns. The purple light fills the room, making you wince as your eyes grow adjusted to the soft hue. Hwa carefully untangles himself from you, sitting up and running his fingers through his hair. His back is to you, the snake once again in your clear view.

His cum is smeared against your thighs, leaking out from in between your folds. You have never had this many orgasms in one night before and your entire body is exhausted.

Hwa slips out of the bed, opening the door and leaving, giving no care to his nakedness on display. You can see a light flick on in the kitchen, spilling into the narrow hallway as he rummages around for water. When he returns, he has two bottles as he shuts the door again before getting back into bed.

You prop yourself up, uncapping the water and drinking half of it promptly. Hwa finishes his entire bottle in a few gulps before turning his attention to you, who is now preoccupied with trying to get the sheet to cover up your body a bit.

“Getting modest on me?” He asks, still slightly of breath.

Your face grows warm at his words, grows warmer when he moves closer to you, draped out across the bed. Now that you can see him again, and his full attention is on you with no buffer, you feel shy – utterly ridiculous given what you just spent ages doing with him.

“Did you mean what you said?” You ask suddenly.

He raises one eyebrow, and distantly you think he would look good with a piercing there too. “Be a little more specific?”

Your grip tightens around the water bottle and it crackles a little from the pressure. “About us doing this again. About me being your….” You trail off, swallowing hard.

Hwa breaks out in a slow grin and goes, “Yeah, I meant it. I think we could have a lot of fun together,” He hesitates, the first time since meeting him, and adds, “I think it could be more than fun, if you understand what I mean.”

You did and it is enough to capitulate your heart into the stratosphere. He leans forward and his lips are against yours in the softest kiss of the night. The hold on the water bottle lessens as you melt into it, into him. His hands are on your cheeks, thumbs brushing your skin. When the kiss breaks, there is a shifting of energy that feels almost like a release of all the tension and anxiety that has bubbled in your chest ever since you stumbled into his stream all that time ago.

“My little whore,” Hwa says so affectionally that it feels like a cosmic shift in the usage of the word forever.

And he kisses you again.

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#ateez smut #seonghwa x reader #seonghwa smut #seonghwa fics #ateez fics #kpop fic #attention #500 notes #1000 notes #1500 notes #2000 notes #2500 notes

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urfavleo777 · 6 months

Text

Warnings: SMUT18+, strong language, oral (m receiving), choking, hair pulling, fluff.

It was an October evening. The sun had long since set, causing all the streetlights to go out. Now, the moonlight shining through the window was the only light you could use to continue reading your favorite book.

Accompanied by the sound of rain, you devoured the pages of The Picture of Dorian Gray. With a sigh, you turned the next page. You were getting close to the end, which made you even more sadder. Your weak spot was your attachment to books and some people.

Specifically to one person.

“Baby?“ Your boyfriend's voice caught your attention. You put the book on the bedside table and bit your lip at the sight of your boyfriend standing in only his lovely pink pajama pants. “Are you still reading?”

“Oh..“ you sighed softly, completely dazed.

"Whoa, you alright?" Colby looked down at you, concerned on his face, "Y/n."

You shake your head slightly, "Yeah." You stand up straight, "You just.." You found a more comfortable position, "Look so beautiful tonight"

“Only tonight?” he laughed brilliantly, moving closer to the bed. Then he lay down and took you in his arms, giving you a tender kiss on your forehead. You immediately forgot about the plot of the book that you were reading eagerly just moments ago.

You gently brushed his hair away and planted a kiss on his bare shoulder, only realizing you'd tickled him when you heard a small, muffled laugh come from the crook of your neck where Colby was resting his head.

During that quiet intimate moment the only sounds that could be heard in the room were your breaths and the sound of your kisses.

“Have I interrupted you in anything?“ he murmured dreamily, after a while.

“No, I was just reading.” You denied it immediately.

"I love you." He muttered as he gently pulled away from him, after some moments, and you cupped his face in your hands after tucking a strand of hair behind his ear. “We can continue, if you want.”

“Continue what?” You raised an eyebrow.

“Reading your book.” He replied with embarrassment.

"My sweet, smart boy." You laughed before placing a soft kiss on his lips. "I love you too. And sure, we can continue reading my beloved Dorian Gray.”

“Oh.” He clutched his heart dramatically.

A smile appeared on your face. “Are you jealous because of a fictional character?”

He pretended to feel offended, making you laugh again. Just as he was about to answer, the loud sound of thunder interrupted him. You flinched unexpectedly.

Now he was the one laughing. You huffed in mock outrage.

“My little girl is afraid of thunderstorms?” He gently ran his fingers through your hair’s. “Let me take care of you properly, love.”

You nodded and tried not to smile too wide when you leaned in to kiss him.

You do a whole lot more than just kiss him, though. You open his mouth with your own and lick inside with a confident tongue. You take the breath from his lungs with little effort, leaving him more breathless than he has been all night.

“Wanna suck you off,” you murmured, slurred and muffled against his mouth.

Colby breathed out a laugh, one mixed with amusement and disbelief. “I rarely know this side of you, babe.” He told you, smoothing wide palms up and down your arms.

“Do you want a blowjob or not?”

“Well, yeah, but I—”

“Good,” you hummed with a smile before sinking to your knees in front of him. You unbuttoned his pants and free his half-hard cock from the confines of his pants. You tugged at the hem of his underwear until his heavy balls hang over the plaid fabric.

Finally you decided to have mercy on him as you flattened your tongue against his dick, deciding to follow the vein from his base to his tip. Colby let out a high-pitched whine followed by a "thank you", but you didn’t really care. Yes, it felt good for him, but this was also for your pleasure. You swirled your tongue around his leaking tip, tasting the salty essen.

“Jesus fucking christ— you’re so pretty, baby— fuck.” He tilted his head back, gripping the sheets. “Fuck, please baby. Don't stop.”

You smiled up at the wrecked man, the man begging for you to continue. You could feel the light pressure of his hand against your head trying to push you closer to his groin.

“Can I kiss you?” He surprised himself as the question had left his mouth.

“Please.” you whined with desperation, making Colby groan as his lips found yours in a frenzy.

Your fingers slowly trailed down, finally wrapping your dainty hand around the sheer girth and length that was Colby’s cock.

Another unashamed whimper fell from between his pretty lips.

“That feels good, baby?” You murmured into his mouth between the smacks that echoed off the walls.

“Fuck, yeah mhm, it does.” He rushed out awkwardly, making you giggle into the kiss.

You took him back into your mouth, but that time without mercy as you relaxed your throat, slowly moving down inch by delicious inch as you tried not to gag, his tip now bullying your uvula like his own personal punching bag.

You fucked his aching cock into your throat, bobbing your head up and down, over and over.

“I need your cock so bad Colby.” You moaned.

“Use me, please. J-just fuck, just use me pretty girl.” Colby whimpered.

“Yes, sir.” You whispered into his ear before placing a gentle kiss there. You turned around, hand grabbing onto his still hard cock, you lower yourself into his lap, pink tip already prodding at your hole as your back became flush with his chest, you lay your head back against his shoulder and burrowed it into his neck, both of you moaning in unison as you sink onto him, slowly.

He was so big it was like he was ripping you in half, but you welcomed the burn. The pleasure and pain of it all made your cunt drip even more, further creating less pain and a whole lot more pleasure.

“Shit, you’re so wet and so fucking warm, baby.” Colby huffed.

You wailed as your legs begin to shake, your cunt clenching around him as your nails digging into his thighs that continue to slap up into the backs of yours.

“Colby– I’m cumming, oh my god!” You sobbed, when the most intense pleasure was coursing through your body, turning you into a twitching mess.

“Fuck, me too baby, wher-” He didn’t even get to finish, before you were begging him to cum inside you. Of course he obliged, eyes rolling back into his head and cock throbbing as his heavy load shot deep inside you.

“Goddammit.” He whispered into your neck.

The intensity of the moment consumed you, as he poured every ounce of himself into you, leaving you both utterly spent and satisfied. You both were breathless and drenched in perspiration, your legs entwined with his.

The storm seemed to be going away, the quiet rumbling was barely audible. All of a sudden the street lights came back up. Colby chuckled and sighed.

“So, you still want to read that book of yours again?”

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