#3) the man with the...skull...thing | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

gyuuberryy · 4 months ago

Text

pushing on my buttons!

pairing: bodyguard!jay x rich ceo's daughter!reader

genre: enemies to lovers, tension

synopsis: after a kidnapping attempt, your father hires jay, a cold and infuriating bodyguard you can’t seem to get rid of. you push his buttons at every turn, but as danger closes in, the tension between you turns into something far more dangerous—an undeniable connection neither of you can ignore.

warnings: mentions of blood, a bit of fighting, kissing

note: i'm dropping smth two months later finallyy(i'm still in the middle of exams AGAIN). i feel like this is not my best work, i had a major writer's block with it and ended up making it basic? idk i haven't been feeling well recently with the insane amount of workload i have since the start of this year and the burn out shows in this ughh. i hope the fic isn't too bad TT enjoy!

word count 5.8k

If you liked it please reblog or comment to give me your feedback! <3 | taglist

the heavy oak doors of your father’s office loomed before you, their polished surface reflecting the dim glow of the hallway chandelier. you paused, your fingers hovering over your phone screen, scrolling through a feed of designer handbags you didn’t need but absolutely wanted.

the text from your father had been curt, almost ominous: “my office. now.”

you rolled your eyes. it was probably about the credit card statement again. you had a perfectly good excuse ready—charity auction, obviously. he’d buy it. he always did.

with a sigh, you pushed the doors open, not bothering to knock. “you rang?” you said, your tone dripping with sarcasm as you leaned against the doorframe, still engrossed in your phone.

your father didn’t look up from his desk. “sit,” he commanded, his voice sharp enough to make you glance up.

you blinked. okay. not a good sign.

it was then that you noticed him. the man standing beside your father, a silent shadow in the room. he was tall, broad-shouldered, and dressed entirely in black��black tactical pants, black fitted shirt, black boots that looked like they could crush a skull without breaking a sweat. his arms were crossed over his chest, his posture relaxed but somehow radiating intensity. his face was all sharp angles and hard lines, his jaw clenched, his eyes scanning the room with a precision that made you feel like he’d already dissected every inch of it—and you along with it.

you straightened, your phone slipping into your pocket as you took a step forward. “who’s this?” you asked, your tone light but laced with suspicion.

your father gestured toward the man, his expression unyielding. “this is jay. your new bodyguard.”

the words hung in the air for a moment, heavy and absurd. then you laughed—a sharp, incredulous sound that echoed off the mahogany walls. “you’re joking.”

your father didn’t laugh. neither did jay. in fact, jay didn’t so much as twitch. his expression remained impassive, his dark eyes fixed on you with an intensity that made your skin prickle.

you turned back to your father, your laughter fading into a scoff. “this isn’t necessary. i’m not in danger. that whole kidnapping thing? a fluke. it’s been weeks and nothing’s happened.”

your father’s jaw tightened. “which is exactly why you need protection. we’re not taking any chances.”

you opened your mouth to argue, but jay beat you to it. his voice was low, calm, and infuriatingly even. “i’m not here to be liked, just to do my job.”

your head snapped toward him, your eyes narrowing. excuse me?

he met your glare without flinching, his expression as unreadable as a stone wall. he didn’t care. not about your annoyance, not about your defiance, not about you. the realisation made your blood boil.

“congratulations on the worst job in existence,” you said coolly, tilting your head as you studied him. “because i’m not some damsel in distress.”

jay didn’t blink. “right. you handled the last situation so well.”

your jaw dropped. the audacity. “excuse you—”

“enough,” your father interjected, pinching the bridge of his nose like he was already regretting this entire conversation. “jay will be with you at all times. this isn’t up for discussion.”

you stared at him, then at jay, who was still standing there like some brooding statue, completely unfazed. your mind raced, already plotting ways to make his life a living hell. fine. if this was happening, you wouldn’t make it easy for him.

you flashed jay a sweet, taunting smile, the kind that usually made people nervous. “try and keep up.”

his lips twitched—just barely—but it wasn’t a smile. more like a challenge accepted. “i don’t plan on falling behind.”

oh, you already hated him. hated the way he looked at you like you were a problem to be solved, hated the way he stood there like he owned the room, hated the way his voice sent an unwelcome shiver down your spine. but most of all, you hated that he didn’t seem the least bit intimidated by you.

your father exhaled, clearly done with the conversation. “jay will start immediately. i expect you to cooperate.”

you didn’t respond. instead, you turned on your heel and strode toward the door, your heels clicking sharply against the marble floor. you could feel jay’s eyes on your back, tracking your every move, but you refused to give him the satisfaction of looking over your shoulder. let him try to keep up. you were already planning your first escape.

as the doors swung shut behind you, you couldn’t help but smirk. this was going to be fun.

the first twenty-four hours with jay as your shadow were unbearable. it wasn’t just his constant presence—it’s the way he moves like he knows what you’re about to do before you do it, like some kind of infuriating psychic in tactical gear.

you woke up to find him standing right outside your bedroom door. arms crossed, eyes alert, posture straight. like a soldier. like a statue. like someone who had absolutely no life outside of making yours miserable.

you glare at him, silk robe slipping off your shoulder, hair a mess. “do you ever sleep? or do you just stand there like a creep all night?”

jay doesn’t react. not even a twitch. his gaze flicks over you, assessing, before looking away.

he didn’t react. not even a twitch. his dark eyes flicked over you briefly, assessing, before he looked away, his expression as blank as ever.

“good morning,” he said, his tone flat.

you rolled your eyes and slammed the door in his face.

when you went to get coffee, he was already there, waiting. the barista gave him a once-over, their eyes lingering on his broad shoulders and the faint scar that ran along his jawline. then they glanced at you, their eyebrows raised in a silent question: are you okay? do you need help?

you forced a smile. “he’s harmless,” you said, though the words tasted like a lie. jay didn’t so much as blink.

you grabbed your latte and stormed out, jay falling into step behind you like some kind of silent, brooding ghost. you could feel his eyes on your back, watching, always watching. it was suffocating.

in meetings, it was worse. you sat at the head of the conference table, your laptop open, your team discussing quarterly projections, and there he was—standing against the far wall, arms still crossed, his gaze sweeping the room like he was expecting an ambush at any moment. every time you glanced his way, he was already looking at you, his expression unreadable.

you tried to ignore him. you really did. but his presence was like a thundercloud hovering over the room, dark and oppressive. by the time the meeting ended, you were ready to scream.

you had to get rid of him immediately.

attempt #1: the emergency exit

it was simple, really. you waited until you were in the middle of a crowded lobby with jay, your phone pressed to your ear, your face the picture of distress. “no—no, stay right there, i’ll be there in five minutes,” you said, your voice trembling just enough to sound convincing. then you slipped out the back door, quick, smooth, victorious.

you couldn’t help but grin as you rounded the corner, your heart racing with the thrill of escape. finally, some freedom. finally, some—

jay was already there.

leaning against your car, arms still crossed, not even looking at you. like he’d been waiting for hours. like he’d known exactly where you’d go.

you froze, your smile slipping. “how the hell—”

he finally acknowledged you, tilting his head just slightly. his lips curved into the faintest hint of a smirk. “you’re going to have to try harder than that.”

your fingers clenched into fists. oh. it was war.

attempt #2: the disappearing act

you waited until you were at a charity gala, the kind of event where everyone was too busy sipping champagne and gossipping to notice anything amiss. you slipped into the crowd, weaving through the sea of tuxedos and evening gowns, your movements quick and deliberate. you ducked behind a potted plant, then made your way to the service entrance, your heart pounding with excitement.

you were almost there. almost free. and then—

“leaving so soon?”

you whirled around, your breath catching in your throat. jay stood in the doorway, his arms still crossed, his expression as calm as ever. he didn’t even look winded.

“how do you keep doing that?” you demanded, your voice rising.

he shrugged, the motion infuriatingly casual. “it’s my job.”

“your job is to annoy me to death?”

“if that’s what it takes to keep you alive, then yes.”

you glared at him, your chest heaving with frustration. he stared back, unflinching, his dark eyes boring into yours. for a moment, the air between you crackled with something electric, and you wanted to so badly give into it and just cause a tantrum. instead, you turned on your heel and stormed back into the gala, jay following close behind.

attempt #3: sensory overload

the mall was a chaotic symphony of chatter, clattering shopping bags, and the faint hum of pop music playing over the speakers. you strode through the bustling crowd, your heels clicking sharply against the polished floor, your eyes darting toward the exit signs. jay was a step behind you, his presence as unshakable as ever. his dark eyes scanned the crowd, his posture tense, like he was expecting a sniper to take a shot at any moment.

you rolled your eyes. “relax, rambo. it’s a mall, not a war zone.”

he didn’t respond. of course he didn’t. he just kept walking, his gaze flicking toward you every few seconds, like he was making sure you hadn’t somehow vanished into thin air.

you gritted your teeth. this was supposed to be your day. you had a date with someone your mutual friend had set you up with. your father had forbidden you from going, but since when had you ever listened to him? and yet, here was jay, ruining everything like some overgrown shadow you couldn’t shake.

you bit back a sigh. if you wanted to shake him, you’d have to get creative.

spotting a perfume shop up ahead, you darted inside, the overwhelming scent of floral and citrus hitting you instantly. jay followed without hesitation, his towering frame making the narrow aisles feel even smaller.

“why are we here?” he asked, his voice low and gruff.

“to test some new scents,” you replied innocently, grabbing a random bottle and spraying it on your wrist. “you wouldn’t understand.”

jay raised an eyebrow but said nothing.

you tried a few more perfumes, using up the space on your wrists and arms. finally, you turned to him, holding up a bottle.

“hold out your arm.”

jay blinked. “what?”

“you’re supposed to test it on skin,” you said, your tone overly patient. “and i’m out of space. come on.”

reluctantly, he extended his arm. you sprayed the perfume lightly on his wrist and leaned in, inhaling deeply.

jay tensed under your touch, his muscles stiffening as your fingers brushed his skin. you glanced up, noticing the tightness in his jaw, but you didn’t comment.

“it’s not bad,” you said, tilting your head. “but maybe something lighter.”

you reached for another bottle, quickly spraying it on his other wrist. this time, you didn’t stop at one spray. you pressed the nozzle again and again, filling the air with an overpowering mix of scents.

jay sneezed once, then twice, stumbling back a step as he tried to clear his nose.

“what the hell are you doing?” he asked, his voice muffled between sneezes.

“just testing!” you said, holding up your hands in mock innocence. “you’re being dramatic.”

jay glared at you, but before he could recover, you dropped the perfume bottle and bolted, weaving through the crowded store and out into the mall. you didn’t look back. you didn’t need to. you could hear his footsteps behind you, heavy and determined.

your heart raced as you sprinted through the mall, dodging shoppers and strollers. you spotted a clothing store up ahead, its entrance tucked away in a quieter corner. perfect. you ducked inside, your breath coming in short gasps as you scanned the store. the dressing rooms. that was your best bet.

you darted toward them, slipping into the first stall you saw. you yanked the curtain closed, your chest heaving as you pressed your back against the wall. for a moment, there was silence. then you heard it—the sound of footsteps, slow and deliberate, approaching the stall.

the curtain flew open, and there he was. jay. his chest was rising and falling slightly, his dark eyes blazing with something you couldn’t quite place. he stepped into the stall, his body crowding yours as he pinned you against the wall. the curtain fell shut behind him, enclosing you in the small, dimly lit space.

you stared up at him, your breath catching in your throat. he was so close you could see the faint stubble along his jaw, the way his pulse jumped in his neck. his hands were braced on either side of your head, his body caging you in. the air between you was thick with tension, the kind that made your stomach twist and your heart race for reasons that had nothing to do with running.

“you’re not as clever as you think you are,” he said, his voice low and rough.

you swallowed, your mouth suddenly dry. “and you’re not as scary as you think you are.”

his lips twitched, the faintest hint of a smirk. “try me.”

you opened your mouth to retort, but the words died on your tongue. his eyes dropped to your lips, just for a second, and something shifted between you. the air crackled with electricity, the kind that made your skin prickle and your breath hitch. you could feel the heat radiating off him, the way his body seemed to press closer without actually moving.

for a moment, neither of you moved. then jay stepped back, his expression shuttering as he regained control. “let’s go,” he said, his tone clipped.

you didn’t argue. for once, you didn’t have the words.

the party was in full swing, the air thick with the scent of expensive perfume, champagne, and the faint hum of a live jazz band. you stood near the centre of the room, dressed in a sleek black gown that hugged your figure perfectly, a glass of champagne in hand. you laughed at something your friend said, the sound light and carefree, but your attention was elsewhere.

jay.

he was standing across the room, leaning against a pillar, his arms crossed, his dark eyes fixed on you. he wasn’t even trying to hide it. he was watching you like a hawk, his expression unreadable but his gaze intense enough to make your skin prickle.

your friend leaned in, her voice low and teasing. “he’s been looking at you all night.”

you shrugged, pretending not to care. “who? jay? he’s just doing his job.”

but the truth was, you did care. you were hyper-aware of him now, his presence like a shadow you couldn’t shake. and it annoyed you. it annoyed you that he could stand there, so calm and collected, while you felt like you were unravelling.

so you decided to push him.

you flirted with everyone but him. you laughed a little too loudly at a joke a handsome stranger made. you let your hand linger on the arm of a guy who clearly had no idea what personal space was. you disappeared into the crowd, weaving through the sea of tuxedos and evening gowns, pretending jay didn’t exist.

but he did. he always did.

suddenly, a man—tall, broad-shouldered, with a cocky grin—stepped into your space, his hand hovering near your waist as he leaned in to whisper something in your ear. his breath smelled like whisky, the proximity way too close for your comfort.

you froze, your smile faltering. before you could react, jay was there.

he moved like a shadow, swift and silent, stepping between you and the man with a presence that was impossible to ignore. his voice was cool but sharp, cutting through the noise of the party like a knife. “hands off.”

the man blinked, his grin faltering as he took in jay’s imposing figure. “whoa, man, i was just—”

“i don’t care what you were just doing,” jay said, his tone low and dangerous. “back off.”

the man hesitated, his eyes flicking between you and jay, before he finally raised his hands in surrender and slunk away. you stared after him, stunned, your heart pounding in your chest.

when you turned back to jay, he was already looking at you, his expression unreadable but his eyes blazing with something you couldn’t quite place. he stepped closer, his voice dropping to a low murmur that sent a shiver down your spine. “you have no idea what you’re doing.”

your breath caught. “what are you talking about?”

he leaned in, his lips brushing against your ear as he spoke, his voice rough and tinged with something that sounded almost like frustration. “flirting with strangers. disappearing into crowds. acting like you’re invincible. you’re not.”

you swallowed, your throat suddenly dry. “i can take care of myself.”

“can you?” he asked, his tone challenging. “because from where i’m standing, it looks like you’re just trying to get a rise out of me.”

you opened your mouth to argue, but the words died on your tongue. he was close—too close—his body crowding yours, his heat radiating through the thin fabric of your dress. you could smell the faint scent of his cologne, a mix of vanilla and something woodsy, and it made your head spin.

as the night wore on, you couldn’t stop thinking about it—the way he’d looked at you, the way his voice had sounded, rough and low and so, so close. you caught yourself glancing at him more than once, your heart skipping a beat every time your eyes met his.

oh.

so he did care.

it happens slowly. or maybe it doesn’t. maybe it’s been happening this whole time, lurking beneath the surface, waiting for you to notice. but now, you do.

you start noticing the way he moves. always a step ahead, always positioning himself between you and anything that could be a threat. his sleeves are always rolled up, revealing the veins that line his forearms, his hands steady and sure. you notice the way he watches you, his dark eyes scanning every room like he’s mapping out every possible danger, but it’s never just that. there’s something else in his gaze, something you can’t quite name.

and worse? you start feeling it.

the heat in your chest when his hand brushes yours as he passes you a coffee. the frustration that coils in your stomach when someone else looks at him for too long. the way your breath catches when he says your name instead of brat or princess or whatever sarcastic nickname he’s come up with that day.

this is a problem.

but you handle it the way you always do—by pushing him.

it’s late, with the city feeling quiet, almost peaceful, and the only light comes from the flickering neon sign of a 24-hour diner. you’re sitting in a booth by the window, picking at a plate of fries you didn’t really want but ordered anyway because you were too stubborn to admit you were hungry. jay sits across from you, his posture rigid, his eyes scanning the nearly empty diner like it’s a potential battlefield.

you roll your eyes. “relax, jay. the only danger here is the cholesterol in these fries.”

he just takes a sip of his black coffee, his expression as unreadable as ever.

you lean back in the booth, crossing your arms over your chest. “you know, you don’t have to babysit me 24/7. i’m not a child.”

his eyes flick to yours, sharp and assessing. “could’ve fooled me.”

you glare at him. “excuse me?”

he sets his coffee cup down, his voice low and even. “you act like rules don’t apply to you. like you’re invincible. you’re not.”

your jaw tightens. “and you act like you’re my dad. newsflash—you’re not.”

for a moment, neither of you speaks. the tension between you is thick, almost suffocating, and you can feel it building, building, building until it finally snaps.

“why do you even care so much?” you demand, your voice rising just enough to draw the attention of the tired-looking waitress behind the counter.

jay exhales sharply, running a hand through his hair. “you don’t get it, do you?”

your heartbeat stutters. “then explain it to me.”

for a second, he says nothing. he just looks at you, his dark eyes searching yours like he’s trying to figure you out. then he stands, slow and deliberate, and slides into the booth beside you. he’s close now, closer than he’s ever let himself be, his body heat radiating through the thin fabric of your shirt.

you don’t back away.

his eyes flicker to your lips, and your breath catches. the air between you is so thin, so sharp you can almost taste it.

he leans in, his voice low and rough. “you have no idea what i’d do to keep you safe.”

your pulse is in your throat, waiting, waiting, waiting.

but before anything can happen—

the bell above the diner door jingles, and a group of loud, laughing teenagers spills inside, shattering the moment.

jay pulls back instantly, his jaw tightening as he slides out of the booth. he doesn’t look at you, doesn’t say a word. he just walks to the counter, his posture rigid, like nothing happened.

like nothing almost happened.

but you know better.

you press a hand to your chest, trying to steady your heartbeat, but it’s no use. your mind is racing, replaying the moment over and over again—the way he’d looked at you, the way his voice had sounded, the way your body had reacted to his nearness.

this is getting dangerous.

later, as you sit in the back of the car on the way home, you can’t stop thinking about it. jay is in the driver’s seat, his eyes fixed on the road, his hands steady on the wheel. you stare at the back of his head, your thoughts a tangled mess.

you think about the way he’d stepped between you and that guy at the party, his voice sharp and commanding. you think about the way he’d leaned in, his breath warm against your ear, his body so close you could feel the heat radiating off him.

and you think about the way he’d pulled away, like it was nothing, like it didn’t mean anything.

but it did. you know it did.

you mentally groan, leaning your head against the window. this is a problem. a big problem. because no matter how much you try to convince yourself otherwise, you can’t deny it anymore.

you like him.

and that’s the most dangerous thing of all.

you don’t talk about it.

the almost-kiss, the tension that stains every interaction now—it hangs between you like a live wire, sharp and charged. you find yourself watching him more, catching the way he looks at you when he thinks you don’t notice. his gaze lingers a little too long, his movements a little too deliberate, and it drives you insane.

but you don’t talk about it.

instead, you push. you push him, you push yourself, you push the boundaries of whatever this is between you. and he pushes back, always steady, always in control, until—

one day it happens fast. too fast.

you’re walking back to the car after an event, the city lights casting long shadows on the pavement. jay is a step behind you, his presence a constant, grounding force. you’re arguing about something stupid—something meaningless—because that’s what you do now. you bicker, you snipe, you push each other’s buttons, all while pretending the tension between you doesn’t exist.

and then, out of nowhere, it happens.

you don’t even see it coming. one moment, you’re stepping off the curb, and the next, jay is moving—swift, silent, and utterly precise. he shoves you out of the way, his body shielding yours as a figure lunges at you from the shadows.

there’s a flash of metal, a grunt of pain, and then the sound of footsteps retreating into the night.

you stumble, catching yourself against the car, your heart pounding in your chest. “jay—”

he’s already turning, his hand pressed to his side, his breathing steady despite the blood seeping through his fingers. “get in the car.”

you stare at him, your mind racing. “you’re bleeding. we need to go to the hospital—l”

“it’s nothing, just a scratch” he says, his voice calm, like this is just another day on the job. like he didn’t just take a knife for you.

but it’s not nothing. it’s not nothing because your hands are shaking as you reach for him, your fingers brushing against the warm, sticky blood staining his shirt. “jay—”

“get in the car,” he repeats, his tone sharper this time. “now.”

you don’t argue. you can’t. your mind is a blur as you climb into the passenger seat, your eyes never leaving him as he slides behind the wheel. his movements are steady, controlled, but you can see the tension in his jaw, the way his knuckles whiten as he grips the steering wheel.

the drive home is silent, the air between you thick with unspoken words. you keep glancing at him, your chest tight with something you can’t quite name. fear. guilt. something else.

when you finally arrive, you follow him inside, your hands still trembling. he heads straight for the bathroom, and you trail after him, your heart hammering in your chest.

“let me see,” you say, your voice barely above a whisper.

he doesn’t argue this time. he just sits on the edge of the bathtub, his shirt already half-off, revealing the deep gash along his side. it’s not fatal, not even close, but it’s enough to make your stomach twist.

you grab the first aid kit from under the sink and kneel in front of him, your hands shaking as you clean the wound. he doesn’t flinch, doesn’t make a sound, but you can feel his eyes on you, heavy and unreadable.

“you shouldn’t have done that,” you say, your voice breaking. “you shouldn’t have—”

“it’s my job,” he interrupts, his tone calm, like that explains everything.

but it doesn’t. not to you. not when your hands are stained with his blood, not when your chest feels like it’s about to collapse under the weight of everything you’re feeling.

“don’t,” you whisper, your voice trembling. “don’t do that again.”

he looks at you, his dark eyes searching yours, and for the first time, you see it—the crack in his armour. the flicker of something raw, something real.

“you don’t get it,” he says, his voice low and rough. “i’d do it again. every time.”

your breath catches, your hands still pressed against his side. “why?”

he doesn’t answer. not with words, at least. instead, he reaches up, his fingers brushing against your cheek, his touch so gentle it makes your chest ache.

and that’s it. that’s the breaking point.

you don’t think. you don’t hesitate. you just pull him in, your lips crashing against his in a kiss that’s equal parts desperation and relief. for a moment, he doesn’t move, doesn’t respond, and you’re terrified you’ve made a mistake.

but then his hands are in your hair, his mouth moving against yours, and it’s like the world stops. the tension, the anger, the fear, it all melts away, leaving nothing but the two of you.

the room is silent except for the sound of your ragged breathing and the faint hum of the overhead light. jay’s hands are still tangled in your hair, his forehead resting against yours, his breath warm against your lips. you can feel the rapid beat of his heart where your hand rests against his chest, and it’s almost comforting, knowing he’s as affected by this as you are.

but then he pulls back, his expression shuttering as he regains control. “we shouldn’t have done that,” he says, his voice low and rough.

you blink, your chest tightening at his words. “why not?”

he doesn’t answer right away. instead, he stands, his movements stiff as he turns away from you. “because it complicates things.”

you stare at him, your heart sinking. “complicates things? jay, you just took a knife for me. i think things are already complicated.”

he exhales sharply, running a hand through his hair. “you don’t understand.”

“then explain it to me,” you snap, your frustration bubbling over. “because i’m tired of pretending like this—whatever this is—doesn’t exist.”

he turns to look at you, his dark eyes blazing with something you can’t quite name. “you think i don’t feel it too? you think i don’t want—” he cuts himself off, his jaw tightening as he looks away. “it doesn’t matter what i want. my job is to keep you safe. that’s it.”

you step closer, your hands trembling at your sides. “and what if i don’t want you to just be my bodyguard? what if i want more?”

he doesn’t respond. not with words, at least. but you can see the conflict in his eyes, the way his hands clench and unclench at his sides. for a moment, you think he might give in, might finally let himself feel something.

but then he steps back, his expression hardening. “you don’t know what you’re asking for.”

you laugh, the sound bitter and hollow. “don’t i? because from where i’m standing, it seems like you’re the one who’s scared.”

his eyes narrow, and for a second, you think you’ve pushed him too far. but then he exhales, his shoulders slumping in defeat. “you’re right. i am scared. because if something happens to you—if i let myself care too much and i can’t protect you—” he cuts himself off, his voice breaking. “i can’t lose you.”

your breath catches, your chest tightening at the raw emotion in his voice. “jay—”

he doesn’t let you finish. instead, he steps forward, his hands cupping your face as he kisses you again. this time, it’s softer, slower, like he’s trying to memorise the feel of you. and you let him, your hands gripping his shoulders as you pull him closer, your heart pounding in your chest.

when he finally pulls back, his forehead resting against yours, you can see the vulnerability in his eyes. “i can’t promise this will be easy,” he says, his voice low and rough. “but i can promise i’ll do everything in my power to keep you safe.”

you swallow, your throat tight with emotion. “that’s all i’ve ever wanted.”

you don’t talk about it for a full twenty-four hours.

not because you regret it. god, no. if anything, the memory of his hands on you, his lips against yours, plays on a loop in your mind, leaving you breathless every time. but now, there’s no going back. no pretending this isn’t real. no pretending you don’t feel the way his presence sets your skin on fire, or the way your heart races when he looks at you like you’re the only thing that matters.

jay is still jay. still overprotective, still infuriating, still the same stoic bodyguard who drives you up the wall. but now?

now, every argument ends with him pulling you in by the waist, his voice low and rough as he murmurs, “you’re impossible,” before silencing you with a kiss.

now, every lingering stare actually leads to something—a brush of his hand against yours, a heated glance that makes your stomach flip, a moment where the tension between you becomes too much to ignore.

and now, your father figures it out almost immediately.

it happens during a family dinner, of all things. you’re sitting at the table, picking at your food while jay sits in his usual spot by you. your father is at the head of the table, his sharp gaze flicking between you and jay with a calculating look that makes your stomach sink.

you try to act normal. you really do. but when jay’s hand brushes against yours as he passes you a glass of water, and you catch yourself smiling at him without thinking, your father clears his throat.

“so,” he says, his tone casual but his eyes sharp. “when were you planning on telling me?”

you freeze, your fork halfway to your mouth. “telling you what?”

your father raises an eyebrow, gesturing between you and jay. “about this.”

you feel your face heat, your heart pounding in your chest. “i—what are you talking about?”

your father sighs, rubbing his temples like he’s already done with this conversation. “at least it’s him.”

jay freezes, his posture stiffening as he looks at your father. you gape, your mind racing. “excuse me?”

your father shrugs, leaning back in his chair. “you were always a handful, but he can handle it.”

you stare at him, your mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water. this is not the reaction you were expecting. not even close. you were prepared for yelling, for threats, for jay to be fired on the spot. but this? this casual acceptance? it’s almost worse.

you turn to jay, still reeling. “is this really happening?”

jay looks equally disturbed, his jaw tight as he meets your father’s gaze. “sir, i—”

your father holds up a hand, cutting him off. “don’t. just… keep her out of trouble. that’s all i ask.”

and just like that, the conversation is over. your father goes back to his meal like nothing happened, leaving you and jay to exchange a stunned look.

later, when you’re alone in your room, jay leans against the door, his arms crossed as he watches you pace back and forth. “well,” he says, his voice dry, “that could’ve gone worse.”

you stop pacing, turning to glare at him. “worse? he basically gave us his blessing. that’s not worse. that’s… i don’t even know what that is.”

jay shrugs, a faint smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “guess you’re stuck with me.”

you roll your eyes, but you don’t pull away when he steps closer, his hands settling on your waist. “lucky me,” you mutter, though the way your heart skips a beat betrays your words.

jay’s smirk softens into something warmer, his eyes searching yours. “you say that like it’s a bad thing.”

you don’t respond. not with words, at least. instead, you lean into him, your hands resting against his chest as you tilt your head up to meet his gaze. “just don’t let it go to your head, okay?”

he chuckles, the sound low and warm, before leaning down to kiss you. and as his lips brush against yours, you realise something.

maybe, just maybe, you don’t want to pull away.

𝗰𝗼𝗽𝘆𝗿𝗶𝗴𝗵𝘁 ©𝗴𝘆𝘂𝘂𝗯𝗲𝗿𝗿𝘆𝘆 on Tumblr

˚ · .𝗮𝗹𝗹 𝗿𝗶𝗴𝗵𝘁𝘀 𝗿𝗲𝘀𝗲𝗿𝘃𝗲𝗱

#ady 𝘄𝗿𝗶𝘁𝗲𝘀...👩🏻‍💻.ᐟ #enhypen #enhypen imagines #enhypen oneshots #enhypen fics #enhypen x reader #jay #jay park #jay x reader #jay imagines #jay fics #jay oneshots #kpop fics #enhypen royal au #jongseong park #jay enhypen #park jongseong x reader #park jay x reader

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luvbabydoll · 3 months ago

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strawberry lip balm ♡

simon “ghost” riley x ditzy!reader

a/n: this is inspired by this post from @bitterrfruit

he comes in just after two.

the doors hiss open like they always do, sticky from the summer heat and the busted rubber lining you keep forgetting to tell your manager about.

you don’t look up right away.

you’re busy.

counting nickels into neat little stacks.

chewing absently at the corner of your strawberry lip balm because you lost the cap again and now it’s tacky at the edges.

the radio crackles low beside you. love song. old and scratchy. something slow.

it takes you a second to feel him.

big.

heavy.

the weight of something unfamiliar at your periphery.

you glance up.

and freeze.

he doesn’t belong here.

that’s the first thing you notice.

black from head to toe. thick boots scuffed white at the toes. jacket hanging off broad shoulders like armor. gloves tight enough to squeak when he flexes his hand.

and a mask.

not a ski mask. not the usual dumb knit ones the gas station cameras catch on idiots who can’t even cover their tattoos.

this is bone-white.

painted like a skull.

hollow black eyes staring at you.

flat. empty.

you stare back.

a half-beat too long.

then—automatic, like muscle memory—

“pump six is still down,” you tell him softly. “if uhm that’s what you’re here for.”

your voice barely carries.

thin like tissue paper.

you shouldn’t have said anything.

he doesn’t answer.

doesn’t move toward the snacks. or the fridge. or the stupid plastic rack of lighters shaped like fish.

he moves toward you.

slow.

steady.

uncoiling the gun from his jacket like it’s just part of him.

like an afterthought.

your lips part.

soft pink.

glossy and bitten raw at the corner.

“oh,” you whisper.

small.

like you’re embarrassed.

like you interrupted him.

“register.”

the word drops like lead.

hard. heavy.

your stomach flips.

not all the way into fear — not yet — but something colder than nerves.

something that tells you this is real.

this is happening.

“o-okay,” you breathe.

because what else are you supposed to say?

you move automatically.

fingers shaking as you punch in the code.

3-3-7-4.

your nails click stupidly loud against the plastic keys. glittery pink polish chipped at the tips because you can never sit still long enough for them to dry.

the drawer sticks.

of course it does.

you yank.

too hard.

your dumb little heart-shaped name necklace snags against the counter lip and pulls you back like a leash.

“shoot,” you mumble, tugging at it, all clumsy and flustered. “m’sorry. it does that sometimes.”

he doesn’t answer.

but you feel his eyes on you.

dragging over every awkward little movement like he's watching something breakable.

like he’s wondering how you’ve survived this long.

finally—mercifully—the till pops open.

you grab the bills in two hands.

instinct, maybe.

like handing out change to an old man instead of giving your life away to a man with a gun.

you hold them out.

both hands.

palms up.

careful. like he might bite.

he takes them.

rough-gloved fingers scraping yours.

big.

hot.

gone too fast.

but he doesn’t leave.

your heart kicks.

that’s when it sinks in.

the wrongness.

the weight of him still standing there.

not moving.

watching.

“turn around.”

it’s not a request.

your breath stutters.

“…why?”

like an idiot.

like a child.

“turn,” he says again. slower. rougher.

pause.

“…checking for a panic button.”

oh.

okay.

that makes sense.

that feels safe. familiar. like movies. like protocol.

you swallow.

turn.

pink hoodie riding up at your waist when you shift.

he’s closer now.

right behind you.

close enough to feel the heat of him curl up your spine.

close enough to smell him — cold metal and gun oil, sharp like ozone.

“lift it.”

your stomach twists.

but you do it.

because he told you to.

because he sounds like someone who doesn’t like repeating himself.

fingers fumbling with the hem of your hoodie.

pulling it up slow.

revealing the soft dip of your lower back.

bare skin warm under the fluorescent lights.

the peek of pastel polka-dot underwear sitting crooked on your hips.

silence.

heavy.

pressing.

then—

low.

dark.

almost like he can’t help it—

“cute.”

your throat goes dry.

your heart in your mouth.

“…uhm,” you whisper. “thank you?”

stupid.

soft.

sweet.

like you really meant it.

and behind you—still staring, still close enough to catch your strawberry lip balm on the air when you breathe—

he laughs.

quiet.

sharp.

mean.

like he’s already decided.

like he’s not leaving alone.

he steps closer, and the heat of him is on your skin again. it’s so close that you feel it under your ribs. he leans down. not enough to touch, but enough that you can feel the roughness of his breath near your ear, heavy and slow.

your hands are still at your sides. frozen.

then, like it’s no big deal, he says, “lock the door.”

your brain goes blank for a second, because it’s the middle of the night and you’ve never been asked to do something like this before.

“…what?” you’re stalling. and it’s the dumbest thing you could do right now, but your lips part, like it’s something normal to question.

“lock the damn door,” he repeats, his voice sharp and cold, but still measured, like a thread of control pulling tighter.

your pulse quickens, but you don’t move. he’s too close. too much.

the radio hums. static crackles in the background. the pressure is unbearable, but your hands still don’t move. you’re waiting for him to do something, but he just stands there, still, patient, like he’s in no rush. like you’re the one who’s supposed to figure it out.

you blink again, feeling like the world’s fogged up, and your lips part—finally—you walk over to the door.

it clicks into place with a soft thud.

a lock.

not a simple one, either. the one that keeps the night shift safe. you should’ve locked it sooner.

but now? now, you’re so aware of everything around you. the slight squeak of your shoes on the tile floor. the hum of the flickering lights. how you feel his eyes all over your back.

he watches every move. every single one. like he can already tell how your hands are trembling just trying to twist the key in the lock.

not yet. don’t let him know yet.

you turn back to him. he’s still standing, arms crossed loosely in front of his chest. mask still on. still too quiet.

“what… now?” you whisper. your voice sounds like it’s not even your own.

"now, we take our time," he answers, a slight, dark chuckle curling in the air between you.

#luvbabydoll ‧₊˚ ⋅#simon ghost x reader #simon riley drabble #simon ghost smut #simon riley x y/n #simon riley x you #simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley #simon ghost riley x f!reader #simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley smut #simon riley x ditzy reader #ditzy!reader #cod smut

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tojisteddy · 3 months ago

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XOXO | cw: 18+ mdni, daddy kink (but it’s icky), meanie!simon, age gap (mid twenties reader, early-mid thirties Simon)

Ghost, who can be an absolute annoying fuck.

And it’s right when you least expect it, well you kinda expect it, because it’s his routine to tease you at some point throughout the day. Whether he sees you or not.

You can envision that dumb smirk on his face under his skull mask, the ends of his mocha brown eyes crinkling as your hauling ass out the car, or walking away in the other direction, or getting off of his lap.

Ghost’s loud enough just for you or any other passerby to hear him, “Easssy baby, don’t forget to give dad a kiss.”

And you can feel the heat reach your cheeks and blow out of you like train blowing steam. Ghost knows you hate when he calls himself that because he wasn’t your dad. You didn’t even look remotely alike. Old enough to be your dad? Slightly off, but still no. Ghost— was that other category. The big man in your life. Daddy. Pa. Not ‘Dad.’ But he likes to see you squirm with embarrassment, get all flustered, and irritated all into one. See your eyebrows knit together but your thighs squeeze together too. His cute little thing.

One, two.

And you’re minds already racing because no way he just said that for everyone (well kinda, just 2 or 3 people) to hear you. There’s always the option to just go about your day like you didn’t hear his words— his instruction— you whine, “B-but pa-“

“—Kid, it’s just a goodbye.” He sing song voice, taunting every fiber of your being.

Three, four.

The other option was Ghost “punishing” you. Was it actually a punishment? More like a little edging, forced to do his side of chores— fuck, mowing the lawn (which he’s surprisingly a stickler about.) Damn it, damn, damn, damn, damn it.

Five.

With a huff, you’re pulling his mask over his nose with swiftness, putting your plump lips on his.

It’s always just for a small peck. But Ghosts dragging you closer by his tattooed arm, large hand coming pushing your head so you keep your lips on his as he slips his tongue in your mouth. Intertwining the two and getting a moan out of you, slow. Fully enjoying the sound of you too swapping saliva. It was ritual to give his baby girl a sweet snog, didn’t care when or where or who was watching, didn’t care that it left you in brain a little foggy— like it was now— his eyes would be low as he’d pull away.

Ghost loved that dumb look you’d have on your face, give you another peck for good luck and hum, “what’d’ya say?”

“Thanks Daddy.” Shit, he never wants to send you off after that. How could you be so fucking cute, looking up at him with those big brown eyes, blissed out without a care in the world but him. But Ghost sends you off, because you’re a big girl and have your own shit to handle, opening your car door as you slowly snap out of whatever haze the big blonde put you in. You hop out the truck, and Simons reaching out of the drivers seat to give you a pat on the ass.

“Be good,” he grunts as you close the door shut, he adjusts himself, pants a little tighter. Taking in that gorgeous face and curves one more time.

“Always.”

a/n: Song rec for this: Sunday by The Cranberries.

most recent masterlist more meanie!simon

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hyukascampfire · 3 months ago

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(🧦) THINK I CAN'T? .. い葉 hard thoughts

𝓘N WHICH 𝗌𝗈𝗈𝖻𝗂𝗇'𝗌 𝗀𝗈𝗇𝗇𝖺 𝗉𝗋𝗈𝗏𝖾 𝗍𝗁𝖺𝗍 𝗁𝖾 𝖼𝖺𝗇 𝗸𝗻𝗼𝗰𝗸 𝘆𝗼𝘂 𝘂𝗽

husband수빈 ⟡ fem r 1OOO ········· est relationship fluff smut … unprotected sex creampie trying for a baby sweetness breeding kink trad roles

⠀ɑ︭ : my second breeding kink soobin fic... i have no excuses. this hard thought is from @saejinniestar everybody give her a round of applause for this beauty :3

Soobin won’t accept it. He just can’t. When you began trying, he assumed that it would take him… What? A month? To get you pregnant. Well, it’s been more than a month. Six, to be exact. That single red line appears behind his eyelids every time he curls up behind you for bed, taunting him. He feels like even less of a man each time you walk into the bathroom with wary hope in your eyes and then walk out with your shoulders drooping.

No, he certainly can’t handle it at all. A month ago you brought him along to your friend’s baby shower. The sweet pink blush on your cheeks as you tried to smile for her and pretend that she wasn’t living your dream was simply the icing on the cake. He’s been all over you since that day, because suddenly the thought of you with a round belly and the glow of pregnancy around you has become entirely real, and entirely branded into the back of his skull. The baby section in stores and all those clothes, impossibly tiny and precious, have begun to be taunting more than endearing. How cruel. You’ve checked your fertility, and he’s checked his. Perfectly normal. So, why the hell can’t he get you pregnant?

And you wish he didn’t blame himself. You run his hair between your fingers and pepper kisses over his cheeks and tell him that you couldn’t ask for a better partner and future father to your children, but that’s just adding insult to injury. A deeper part of you has already begun to try and make peace with perhaps having to build your family another way, and Soobin’s already tearing himself up.

“You know, I was researching IVF…” you say, words muffled into the blanket he long ago claimed to be his. He’d been at work all day, and it smelt of velvety woods and whisky traces of his cologne. Anything to be closer to him. Especially these days.

Soobin freezes, frowning. “IVF?” A thousand thoughts flash through his head, but he couldn't lie. Each and every one involved pinning you to the bed and filling you up. “Are you serious? You think I can’t get you pregnant?” The first time you’ve had this conversation out loud—addressed the issue. It’s not working. It wasn’t that it was an irrational thing for you to consider—Soobin knows that. It doesn’t help his bruised ego much to hear his wife consider impregnating herself like that because he couldn’t fucking do it the way nature intended for him to do it.

Sighing, you soften your voice and go to lather him in cashmere kisses. “Soobin… I’m just think—”

He can’t let you get that thought out. He can’t consider that maybe he can’t get his goddamn wife pregnant. Soobin stops you halfway, his mouth on yours as he gets you ready on the bed with his steady strength, flipping you this way and situating your leg that way. Once he has you how he likes, stuffing a pillow beneath your hips because that’s supposed to help. Soobin can’t help but scoff into your neck. If anything’s going to get you knocked up, it’ll be that he keeps you in this bed, soft and sweet for him as you always are, until you’re full of him. That’s that.

You whisper his name as he slides in with tender reverence. Soobin has always been big, and as much as you’ve adjusted to him over time, your toes still curl each time. It makes no sense—you’re both fertile, he never misses a chance to make love to you at peak ovulation, and he nearly brushes your damn cervix when he’s hilted in you. You should be carrying his baby by now. Something in the look in his eye tells you that you just might be, when he’s done with you.

“Just…” Soobin says with his voice on a leash, opting for languid, pointed thrusts. Sex became a chore there for a minute. Something for a means to an end. But he’s gonna make tender love to you tonight, because that’s what his sweet wife deserves. “Let me do this.”

He knows your body and all its little ticks. He knows that you like it when he points his hips that way, and that you like his hands on the fat of your hips as he takes you. Soobin pulls out all the stops, in fact. He bends you nearly in half, because according to whatever some maternity website told him it’s the best way to ensure his cum takes. You’re making sweet sounds into his neck and he’s losing himself at the desperate thought that after this, some day soon you’ll be under him like this with your belly in the way and begging for him to take care of your hormone-sensitive body.

Soobin’s mind muffles at the thought. The way that you’re looking up at him with glazed eyes and how your heels dig into the dimples at his spine as if even subconsciously you’re begging for him to impregnate you. He chases it until he’s pinning you to the bed and filling you up with a shuddered, husky whimper and a thousand panted ‘I love you’s puffing out into the air between you. Because he can’t handle it; he absolutely cannot wait to have a family with you, and he cannot wait for you to give him such a gift. With you.

The sound of him pulling out of you is a resounding wet pop. The white rivulets of his cum come oozing out after it, warm down your skin.

Soobin would usually go to plug it right back into you with his fingers, but he can’t help watching it for a while as he catches his breaths and presses a warm kiss to your ankle. And he just knows. He just knows that this is it. Heart aching in his chest, he pulls you to his solid chest, feeling the shape of you against him and letting himself appreciate your weight and soft edges. “You don’t need to do anything,” he breathes into your skin. “Let me take care of it, love.”

Sure enough, the next test you take answers with two, indelible red lines. Soobin sure did take care of it, just how you know he’ll take care of you and your family. He couldn’t get his hands off you that night, and as you begin to show with a soft curve to your belly, he’s even worse off, because fuck.

He did that.

OO1. 【 tagging 】 . . . @lvrs-street2mmorrow , @soohashits , @f4iryfever , @arcturus444 , @linqed , @serenityism00 , @immelissaaa , @luv4cheol , @lickingan0rchid , @20-cms , @hhoneylix , @beestvng , @hyucktapes , @bewitchless , @prince-jjae , @blankliving , @yaoizee , @stormy1408 , @missychief1404 , @izzyy-stuff , @miukuui , @lunesdesire , @sunoolver , @cherricola-star , @xylatox , @filmnings , @hearteyes4hobi , @hyunj00 , @taebatu , @caratcakemoa , @biteyoubiteme , @dawngyu , @hyunruhi

rblgs & asks >ᴗ<

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softaestluv · 3 months ago

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Grease & Grime Won’t Break Your Bones

You never thought you were attracted to grease and grime, sweat and exhaustion, definitely needed a shower and scrub, but no one has worn it like he is.

Mechanic! Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley x fem!reader

This chapter does contain explicit smut, 18+ content!

Tags: Rough sex, Unprotected sex, Creampie, Paying for services with sex, Vaginal fingering, Oral sex, Office sex, dirty, greasy, grimy, sweaty, mechanic

Pt. 1, Pt. 2, Pt. 3, Pt. 4 (final part!)| Ao3 | masterlist

A kiss, brush of lips, tongues and teeth.

Wandering hands, firm and steady on your hips— possessive, greedy.

Heavy eyes and shallow lungfuls, trembling fingers and a drowning pulse.

Scorching fever, yearning, aching for something more.

Every morning before work, languid kisses pressed between the oil and cloth fabric of Simon’s truck seats. Awkward angles and smashed positions. A clean Simon, all mouth wash and redwood soap, taste of morning tea on his tongue. Sweeter and longer kisses, gentle hands and a smoothing tongue, soft voice and honeyed croons.

Swoops butterflies low in your core, tightening your chest, hiding smiles between his lips.

Every evening when he picks you up from work, frantic kisses pressed against your front door and his broad chest. Indecent, shaming your neighbors with such a desperate act. Your mechanic Simon, dirty, filthy; sweaty and stained, salty on your tongue. Rough and brutal kisses, pinching hands and clashing teeth, deep timbre and gritted demands.

Burns warmth in your core, nudging your thighs together for any stimulation, quiet gasps and mewls swallowed between his lips.

Never more, never any less.

The first time he dropped you off at work, you were hesitant, swallowing over a thick lump in your throat because you wanted more from the night before. You didn’t know how to ask, or if you even should.

His fingers were reassuring when he held your chin, a murmured, ‘have a good day f’me, okay?’

Then he had stamped a kiss against your mouth. It was supposed to be chaste, you knew that, but you didn’t want it to end just yet, didn’t quite get your fill. You probably shouldn’t have made out in the parking lot of your job or perched yourself in his lap either, but you did. Scratched at the insistent craving in your lungs before running into your work building late.

When he had walked you to your front door after picking you up, you wanted to invite him in, you did invite him in. He declined, shaking his head with a soft chuckle, and a brush of his knuckle against your cheek— just droppin’ you off sweet’art.

And like a man contradicting his words, he pressed you flat against the wood of your door, drowned you in his saliva, dragging his mouth, fangs and all, against yours feverishly each time. Barely managing to pull away to bid you farewell.

It went on for a week, mindlessly feeding your fire with make out sessions in his truck and your porch, like two desperate teenagers trying to quench their thirst.

A week was all it took for Simon to fix your truck, had your engine running like new, but a gnawing itch dug at the back of your skull as you stood in his office. You couldn’t find it in yourself to be excited, not with the imminent lack of pre-work kisses and murmurs, any post-work bites and promises in your future.

As if your truck being fixed was the end of it.

A knot formed in the pit of your stomach as you aimlessly nodded along, pinching your lips between your teeth as Simon explained the work he did on your truck. You didn’t really care, your shitty old pick up was the last thing on your mind, even more so when he kept talking with his hands, thick fingers spread wide with each gesture, dipping into even thicker wrists. Solid forearms, veins curled over each curve, right up to each bicep.

Covered in stains— “Y’alright, bird?”

Your mouth fell open, darting your eyes back to his, “Yeah, yeah I-,” you fluttered your lashes, taking a deep breath, “So, what happens now?”

You mean between you and him, not your stupid truck, and you’re sure he knows that, but all he does is huff a laugh, closing the thin distance between the two of you. Bullies you right up against his desk without a care, hands landing on either side of your hips, consequently boxing you in.

“Well,” He pauses, bending his head to the crook of your neck, brushing the bridge of his nose up the delicate skin, drawing rapid goosebumps, “You still owe me f’my services.”

“A twirl?” You breathe, unsure.

“Go on, then.”

It’s hard to spin eloquently caged against his broad chest and the desk, but he doesn’t seem to mind when the plush of your body rubs against the front of his coveralls. Stopping you when your ass faces him just like he always does with a sturdy hand on your hip, except this time you’re pressed right up against his slowly thickening cock.

Your poor cunt, greedy and desperate clenches around nothing over his bulge. You’re sure he can feel it because he exhales a fucking deep chuckle, blurs your eyes with embarrassment.

And then those same hands are nudging you forward, your palms falling flat against the wood with a gasp as he lays his chest over your back. He’s warm against your cool skin, working in the sweltering garage all day while you sat in his conditioned office. The contrast stings your flesh, makes you painfully aware how hard he had been working to fix your truck. The callouses and scars on his hands evident enough, and the thought suddenly makes every touch even more searing. Taking care of your shitty inconveniences without a second thought.

His fingers skim the seam of your pencil skirt, trailing just a little lower to trace against your knee, rakes chills down your legs, “Had t’work a little harder this time.”

You inhale a sharp breath between your front teeth, “Yeah?”

“Mmh, gonna have to do more than just a little spin, love.” He hums, slowly hitching the fabric of your skirt to your hips.

“Yeah?” You repeat, your default answer when his hands are on you.

Simon laughs again, vibrates your back, “Yeah, baby.”

He hooks his fingers in your ruby red panties and tugs them down your thighs. A sticky string of your arousal clings to the fabric, beads in two when the material pools at your feet.

“Let’s see,” He purrs, “Did two oil changes free of charge.”

His hand smooths against the swell of your ass, thumb resting just under the curve, kneading the flesh gently before leaning back. Drags his eyes steady over your ass, and spreads your pussy open with a stamp of his thumb. You squeak, a bit humiliated at your compromising position; it makes an unbearable warmth bloom down your chest, but you like it.

Can’t do anything but like it when he’s ripping the stitches of your vulnerable flesh bit by bit with the reverence in his irises, the hunger seeping into his almond-shaped eyes as he stares at your pussy.

His thumb sweeps through the seams of your pussy and brushes right up against your sensitive clit. He’s firm on the puffy mound, petting confident strokes against the bead, makes you stutter over your breaths with each new shape like he fucking knew how you liked it already. Your legs spread wider at that, head nodding forward against your chest as you succumb, surrender to the sensation.

This is what you had been waiting for. This. His stained fingers on your clit, drooling over his thick digits.

You had been so well-behaved, let him trace your figure with teasing hands, make you late to work every morning, unfocused and wet in the chair in your office, leave you a breathless mess against your front door, so you like to think you deserve this. Deserve to lay against his desk and let him do whatever he wants to you.

“Fixed your air con.” A finger presses into your poor empty cunt.

Your fingernails dig into the wood.

“Got you a new set of tires.” A second finger joins the other.

A moan scrapes against the back of your throat, pushed straight out from the stretch, knees bumping against the desk as you slump slightly.

The first several drags are slow, using the time to coat his fingers in your slick, agonizing to the insatiable ache you need absolutely smothered. Your puffy walls clamp onto his fingers, using your pussy to ask him to press harder, deeper, further, just like you know his deft fingers can.

He gives you exactly what you want, but he makes an embarrassing show of it. Curls his fingers right where he needs to make your pussy squelch loudly, pulls them out just so he can see your slick cling to his skin, connecting the two of you with a dribbled string. Smears it on your pussy, swiping your clit with each movement over and over again.

Then, he follows the string straight to the source, licks around the digits buried in your sopping folds. You’re already wet, a sticky mess, and it only gets worse when soft lips encase your clit. Your knees out right buckle under you, body weight slumped against the desk when his teeth brush against the bead, coaxing your clit out of the hood by nipping, sucking, toying with it while he plunges his fingers deep.

Yeah, yeah, this is what you deserve.

You’re so close off that, gooey, tacky delicious honey washing over you, panting and shaking under him, toes curled uncomfortably in your heels. Your moans echo off the thin walls, and you struggle to remember if Johnny was still in the shop before Simon bent you over his desk within the brink of an orgasm.

The thought leaves your mind as soon as the strokes turn languid, nothing but really hooking his fingers in your walls as a placeholder while he unbuckles his coveralls. You whine, protesting even though the sound of clanking metal promises a better outcome, something bigger, thicker, because you were so fucking close.

He shushes you, tutting his tongue against the roof of his mouth, “None of tha’, takin’ what you owe me.”

His words make you moan, bobbing your head, yeah, yes, you’ll let him take as much as he wants if he keeps your pussy stuffed. You fidget heel to heel in anticipation, looking over your shoulder to watch. It’s a sight, all beefy muscle, tan lines and freckles, damp chest hair and pubes. Every move is determined, fueled with a purpose, shown in the way his arms flex, his brows furrowed.

You practically fall flat against the desk when you see him free his cock, fat and reddened, leaking with precum. The shaft is thick, a slight curve to it, barely fits in the palm of his massive hand. But all you can focus on is the girth, smacks hard against his fucking belly button.

“And now your bloody engine.”

His cockhead pressed to your entrance.

“Tell me, sweet’art, how’d you plan on payin’ all that?”

“With this,” You whine, arching your back, so your pussy rubs right up against his tip.

He hums, hand on your back pressing your hips flat against the desk, so your cheek is flush with it, “You mean this pretty little cunt, huh?”

You nod pathetically, scratching your skin against the wood because you don’t think you quite have it in you to use your words, confess that you’re willing to use your pussy. And he doesn’t push for you to, takes it as a good enough answer.

The stretch stings, makes tears well in your eyes, but it’s hurts so good. You squeeze your eyes shut, focusing on the burn, really drown yourself in the feeling of being so full. It’s a slow start, shaping your spongy walls to take his full length, moist lips mapping shapes against your neck in encouragement to take it all.

You think you’re ready for it, clenching around him, bucking your hips and pleading with quiet words for more— please Simon, I can take it.

Then, he’s just fucking brutal, unforgiving.

Your teeth knock together with the first determined thrust, your eyes snapping open in shock because you were not ready for that. It tears the breath straight out of you, hurts your lungs from the force. Rips a cry of his name from your core, your chest, your throat because you’re sure you’ve never been fucked like this.

Each thrust is harsher than the last, hip bones painfully slammed into the desk with each smack of his cock. The sound of his balls slapping against your flesh, loud and obscene, echoes how aggressive he’s really fucking you.

The gooey honey from his fingers and tongue turns to white, hot, searing pleasure. Borderline painful, as he forces you to take it with no where to run, so you just lay there and take it like a good paying costumer. Accept the onslaught until his hand bands around your throat, curls around the small muscle, and arches your back as much as you physically can so his mouth can press hot against your ear.

“D’ya think I’d jus’ be done with you too?”

You nod, squeak a strained ‘yes’ because you had thought that. Anxiety pinched your chest before his cock split you in two, before he made you his.

“Can’t get rid o’me that easy, sweet’art,” Simon grits through each word, “Work in grease and grime; you’re stuck with me now, baby.”

The words remind you of how dirty he is, how dirty you are for liking that fact. Even more so when his other hand tugs your shirt and bra low, digging indents into your breasts, and you can see how filthy his hand is from work— the same hand that was buried in your pussy moments ago.

Oil, dirt, sweat, grease and grime smeared on your skin, all over your dainty skirt and white blouse. Marking you as his in more ways than the dark hickeys he leaves on your neck and bruised fingertips on your hips.

It numbs your thoughts to nothing but the way you know his cock is just as filthy. Fucking you into a slippery, sticky mess with each rut of his hips. And then he hoists your foot onto the desk, hits a gummy spot that has you arching, quivering in his grasps. Blinding you and consuming you whole.

Your body decides that’s all you can take, squeezing so tightly around Simon as your orgasm becomes ferocious and unbearable. You seize up, Simon dropping his forehead against your shoulder as he tries to fuck you good and well through it, cussing under his breath. Everything’s fuzzy, blurry, and hazy; you’re dizzy, every part of your body melted into the sensory receptors of your body.

You don’t even realize you’re doing it, what words you’re saying, but you’re babbling for him to finish in you, cum inside you, taint your delicate flesh with every thing he possibly can.

It’s a few more shallow thrusts before his fingers are digging harsh into your hips, sharp teeth pinching against your shoulder. Warms your already scorching cunt with his spend, bucking his hips deeper with each new spurt.

Even after you milked him for all he’s worth, he rocks his cock into you again and again. Slower, softer, more careful from the way he was just bruising your cervix seconds ago. Relishes in the way your folds flutter overstimulated around him, middle and index finger tracing around where the two of you meet, where your pussy stretches so pretty for him, like he doesn’t want to slip out just yet.

Your fingers tangle into his on your hip, “Don’t think I paid my full debt yet. If you take me home, I can really show you how grateful I am.”

You’ve never seen him speed faster to your house, ripping the keys from your grasps when he deems you took long enough to open your door. It makes you laugh, finding it quite hilarious how eager he is to fuck you all night, a trucks engine worth of orgasms.

That night you let him fuck your mouth, slobbering and choking over his fat cock as he carves the shape into the back of your throat. Sucking the salty taste clean from him.

When morning comes he fucks you again, even though your pussy is sore and swollen, your muscles contracting painfully with each movement from overuse. The way he coaxes your orgasm out of you is worth it all, the way he kisses you goodbye soft and sweet after a shower at the door is even more so.

His promises to return later that night with his thumb rubbing tender strokes behind your ear are even better. Except this time you don’t have a theoretical debt to pay or a shitty pick-up, just a simple guarantee.

masterlist ✎ᝰ.ᐟ

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hyperfixiation-station · 5 months ago

Text

Behind Enemy Lines Pt.1

CW: Torture, Canon-typical violence, talk of derealization, disassociation Summary: You were a friendly medic, captured years ago and held prisoner, forced to do do the bidding of your captors. Years later, a man by the name of Ghost is dragged in and changes the trajectory of your life. A/N: I had severe ADHD, and i am unmedicated rn, and it makes it really hard to work on things unless I get the hyperfocused drive for it, so I'm sorry I'm so bad at making the other parts to my fics. Know that I will never abandon them. it just might take me a while. idea part 2 Part 3

You fought back, at first. Way back when you first got captured, taken from your base camp and dragged through miles and miles of harsh terrain, blindfolded and bound. A medic you were, yes. But your team had trained you with the best of them. You spent the whole time trying to escape, kicking and screaming until they bound your legs and gagged you. You spent the first month of captivity refusing to talk to them, hissing and spitting and pretending their punches didn’t hurt. But it didn't take you long to realize it was better to cooperate, or to at least be civil. Civility got you less broken bones, less pain, more rations, more sleep. Cooperation didn’t come till later, when you finally realized your team wasn't coming for youthey were dead but you didn't know that.

Surprisingly, the whole mouth-getting-sewn-shut didn't happen till a couple years in... they were torturing someone, a man who said he had kids and a wife at home, whose only wish was that they left something recognizable of him so they could get some closure. You begged them to stop. Begged them to stop when his wounds became too numerous to count, too much for you to handle. Begged because you started to care for him as he told you about his son and daughter, how they want him home for Christmas(You didn't have the heart to tell him Christmas was 6 days ago) Told them that he would die no matter what you did if they continued. Well, they didn't stop, and he did die... and you found yourself ringing in the new year by being strapped to a table.

“We warned you to stop talking with him.” They said as they clamped the metal shut over your forehead and chin, holding you in place. “We told you to not get attached, but since you can’t seem to do it on your own, we’ll help you.” The feeding tube came 2 weeks later, shoved up your nose when they realized you were starving...they couldn't lose their favorite medic of course.

You stopped paying attention to the passage of time after that, spent most of your days drifting in and out of reality, moving through the motions with a practiced ease. And it would have remained that way, if it wasn’t for a man in a skull mask with a team- a family- looking for him.

Your first introduction to him ended up with you getting a broken nose. Per usual, you were shoved into the cell, medical kit in hand, ready to fix up whatever damage your captors had done the their poor prisoner.

The mask he had been wearing when you saw him dragged in was gone, and he had a gash that went all the way through his cheek that would need stitching up. You pull out your equipment, moving slowly towards his bleeding face.

he headbutted you the moment you got close enough for him to reach, and the crunch of bone and the gush of warm blood followed, not that you noticed. You were still in that dreamlike state, not quite tether to reality in the way you should be. You barely noticed when they tranqued him, and the only reason you didn't finish his stitches is because you passed out too(it’s hard to breathe through a bloody, broken nose)

The next time you approach more carefully, but he’s no trouble. Mostly because they left him completely strapped to the table this time. Today was a rare day, a time when you could actually feel your feet on the ground rather than just see them. You feel bad as you wipe him down, your eyes flicking over the myriad of scars on his body. What’s one more you think to yourself as you get to work stitching a stab wound to his thigh. Just barely missed the artery here…that could have been bad news. Okay tie it off and- there we go. I think the only other thing that need to- oh, is he…talking to me? I should probably pay attention to that.

“-here?” His voice is gravely, though you suppose yours would be too after being tortured. He stares at you expectantly, and you shrug. You don’t know what he said, and even if you did, you couldn’t answer. You just move to his wrist, snapping the bone back in place. He inhales sharply, but doesn’t make an actual sound, which surprises you. But you don’t dwell on it, wrapping a bandage around his arm and moving to exit the room.

“Y’ no’ g’nna lemme off?” His voice sounds, “they said y’ would.” You spin around, staring at him. You're not stupid. And even if your…bosses had said that, you still wouldn’t do it. Being trapped in a room with a man who is at least a foot taller than you and looks like he could kill a man with his glare? No thank you.

You take a step back, heading towards the door. The man lets out a sound you would barely qualify as a laugh. “Sm’rt then.” He says to himself, “No’ gonna be that easy.”

The next time you go in, you can't help but wonder what they want from this man. By now they usually would have killed him off. Oh well, not your job to wonder. You clean him up, splinting the fingers they had broke when he talks to you again.

"why don't y' let me die?" He says, voice just as gravely as before, "Put me outa m' misery?" You don't respond, just keep taping his hand. IT's something you ad asked yourself, right at the beginning. It would be kinder for you to just let your patients die. But you couldn't do it. Partially because you were punished anytime someone died before your captors wanted them to, but also because you were a medic. YOu were there to heal. You couldn't stomach letting someone die by your hand.

"Answer me!" The man snarls, bringing you back to the present, "For god's sake y' never talk, fuckin' mute." You don't respond, of course. Just finish your task and leave him to his thoughts.

He’s angrier after that time, you’ve noticed. The few times you're actually present, he’s fighting you. Usually not with words, but he bucks and doesn’t hold still. He’s tried to grab your medical supplies countless times, and one time you actually had to be pulled out because he jerked his arm while you were stitching him and somehow managed to drive the needle into your own hand. The few times he does actually yell at you, you’re usually not paying attention. You can catch words like “Dishonorable” and “Disgraceful”. You aren’t entirely sure of the context of the words, but you can guess. You’ve treated enough prisoners who think that you are the world's worst human being, a blight to the medical field, to guess what he's trying to tell you.

It's funny though, this man so full of hate. Because, for the first time in goodness knows how long, your feet are on the ground, and your head is level. Something about this man, his angry, uncrushed demeanor, even after weeks of torture, stirs emotion in you that you can’t quite identify. And maybe you should be grateful, thankful your head is on right, but you're not. You so desperately want to go back to that place of apathy and detachment, where your emotions weren’t so strong, were the pains of mishealed bones and poorly healed scars didn’t plague your waking moments.

Or maybe it wasn’t the man- The Ghost, as you found out he was called. Maybe it was the fact that something in the air had changed. The air was electric, charged with tension so thick you could feel it even alone in your cot. They were watching you, you could tell. Could feel their eyes tracking your movements in a way they hadn’t since first giving you freedom to move around.

You're not sure why. It’s not like you have anyone to go home to. You were an only child, and your parents had died long before you reached 18. All you had was your team, a team that had seemingly abandoned you. So why would you leave? There was nowhere to go. And yet they watched you. Was it because you were becoming more aware, more grounded then you had been in a long while? Was it the man, Ghost, who had them on edge?

The answer came two days later. You were in Ghost's cell again, desperately packing gauze into a gaping hole on his side. You don’t know what had happened, but for the first time in years you were dragged from your cell, your captors muttering under their breath in a language you still didn’t understand as they thrust you into his cell. Blood was everywhere. Your best guess was that Ghost had been struggling and an instrument had slipped and gouged out a hole in his side. So here you are, packing gauze into the wound as you try to figure out what to do to keep him alive with your rudimentary supplies.

You pack another piece of gauze in just as the door goes flying open. Men, dressed in black, wearing the same mask Ghost was, come bursting in.

“Get back!” The one in the front yells at you, gun pointed in your face. You shake your head, hands pressed against Ghost’s wound.

“Now!” You make a protesting noise, trying to gesture with your chin. The man looks down, eyes widening.

“Aw shit- are you the medic?” You nod almost desperately. The man looks at you again, staring at your hands. They are shaking, pressed against the wound as you try to keep Ghost from bleeding out.

“Fix him.” The man snaps. You shake your head and look up at the man, trying to communicate that you need more supplies.

“Use your words.” The man gabs the gun at you, indicating he wants you to get on with it. You stomp your foot, shaking your head again.

“What, what's that supposed..…you can’t speak, can you?” You nod, glad he finally got it. The man groans, lowering his gun.

“You’re coming with us, but you make one wrong move, and I mean one, I will put a bullet through your brain before you can even speak. Got it?” He gestures to the other two men with him, and together you lift Ghost up, carrying him out to safety.

A/N- anyways, here's part one. Sorry if it disappoints anyone

tags, sorry if i missed any:

@redzluvvesage @just-a-harmless-potato-05 @vesna-the-spring @princess312 @norsehorseofcourse-blog @bonniperinktrance @soggywafflezz @littlebunie @sirbonesly @havoc973 @mommymilkers0526 @thegreyjoyed @pinkiliciousgunp0int @poopoobuttsy @darcellethedreamer @kamote-kuneho

#cod fanfic #simon ghost riley #cod #ghost fanfiction #ghost x reader #call of duty #cod x reader #john soap mactavish #angst #no beta we die like men #Behind enemy lines

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madamechrissy · 7 months ago

Text

Cursed Promises

Pairings: Sukuna x Fem reader

CW: This chap, fingering, sucking both Sukuna's monster c*cks, Sukuna calls you little bunny lmao, soft Sukuna in places, he's falling fast tbh, reader is a lil innocent thing, stomach tongue says HELLO, all his tongues say hi, lil bit of degradation, true form Sukuna

Summary: You have been promised to Ryomen Sukuna, King of curses, for as long as you've been alive, ostracized from your village, 'special'. Now you are to marry him, sight unseen. People everywhere fear him, but will you find yourself intrigued by him. Just who is the King of Curses to his new wife? Arranged marriage au

A/N: This is ALL fluff and SMUT lol, it's just our king falling for y/n <3 Gonna be like four parts to this, so a short fic! Monsterfking and fluff lol- WC this chap-5.8k

Comments/ reblogs appreciated ❤️

<<<part one part three>>>

Part Two

“Good day, my Queen.” You’re greeted by Uraume, Sukuna’s right hand, they are so ethereally lovely, you think, their white hair and pale silky skin, along with their honey brown eyes were something to behold. They’re donned in white robes, hands hiding in their long sleeves, bowing just so.

“Good morning, Uraume.” You say softly, you are dressed now in another set of purple and gold robes, it seems to be Sukuna’s favorite coloring, if he chooses your wardrobe, nearly all of it was reds, purples and golds. “Um… where is the King?”

“You wish to know where he is?” They ask curiously, tilting their head. You nod then, feeling your cheeks heat up, remembering last night with him, he’d been on your mind all morning now.

“I’m afraid I’m quite lost in this castle, and I also fear to disturb him if I do find him.” Uraume nods now.

“The king sent for you, actually, it is why I came here. Come along now, my Queen.”

You eagerly follow, and you think the serious Uraume gives a little turn of their lips, but your mind must be playing tricks. You met them before King Sukuna, they were part of the group that led you on the long trek from home, a calming presence yet so powerful with their energy.

What exactly was your power, your energy? Your clan had made sure you never explored such things, no one has taught you anything about it, but it must be special if you’re destined to bear Sukuna’s heir. You still have much to learn, you fear, you are following their swishing white robes as you descend through the massive halls. You pause when you hear a slam against the door.

“What is that?” You ask, frightened, and Uraume just sighs.

“Foolish fucking mortal. Aaha!” You hear booming laughter now, when you enter Sukuna’s throne room, he’s grinning like crazy as a man is picking himself up, holding his stomach.

“My king…”

“Any last words? Should I give you any?” He’s chuckling with an insanely huge grin now, red eyes landing on you, raising a dark, arrogant brow. “Ah, it’s my beautiful bride. Come on now, have a seat.”

You’re looking at the room filled with people, guards and lords and commoners alike, all bowing down to you now. You start to walk up to his throne, the dark black throne filled with what appears to be cow skulls. You gulp nervously at it, taking over so much, Sukuna takes over so much, and he’s just perched on it with a smirk, patting his thigh again.

“Come on, little bunny.” You glare now, and he chuckles in delight, as you stomp on over, gasping as he pulls you to his lap, one of his four hands on your thigh, the other brushing your hair back to reveal your bare shoulders. “Uraume, you did superb with these gowns.”

“I’m pleased you enjoy, my King.” Uraume now stands with the council, as Sukuna’s long dark nails press into the delicate silk of your gown, his hands are so huge he takes you over entirely, you’re so overwhelmed, but also…

You feel him pressing between your thighs, against your slick heat, and he leans close, lips against your ear. “Soaking wet in front of everyone? Slutty bunny.”

“Oh you-” You go to stand now, sure everyone can see your embarrassment, your flushed cheeks.

“Ah ah, I’m your husband, you’ll sit here on my throne with me, wife.” He sets you back down now, hands firmly holding you in place, against the strong, muscular thigh that is making you throb.

You remember last night vividly even moreso now, being pressed like this, he rests his stubborn chin on one of his tattooed hands now, bored expression on his face. “And you, what is it you wish to plead for?”

A nervous man comes up to the throne, trembling before the two of you, “M-my King, my wife, she’s been taken by the demons of the East, please, I beg for your help!”

“We’re too busy, mortal, go bother someone else with your woes, I’m busy with more important things.” He says, his hand now reaching up to grab your neck, his thumb brushing against your pulse point, and you realize he’s playing with your body’s reaction to his touch.

“My king… we should help.” You murmur, he leans forward, two of his eyes glinting angrily at you now.

“The bunny speaks?”

You scoff, rolling your eyes, earning a raised brow. “Yes, the bunny speaks. Why am I here if not-”

“Insolent brat.” Sukuna sighs, cutting you off. “Not here.”

You nod then, realizing your folly, his hand is squeezing your hips so tightly, but it only makes you more intrigued, the duality of him. “I’ll consider it.”

“Oh thank you, thank-ah!” Sukuna has thrown him into a wall now, waving a hand and rolling all four of those eyes.

“Enough, out.” The man stumbles backwards, and Sukuna and you listen to the next few people, he seems to enjoy hurting them, finding great amusement, you wonder at his sadistic nature and big grin at it.

Suddenly a young girl comes and he does not treat her as such, he listens a bit more attentively now. He orders for help for her village, surprising you somewhat, but Sukuna did indeed protect those that had agreements with him, like your village for example. But the girl you notice he doesn’t fling for amusement, making you contemplate him a bit.

“What are you looking at, brat?” He says now, as you study him carefully, tilting your head.

“You’re rather sweet sometimes.” You tease, earning his anger.

“Sweet!?” He demands, and you suppress a giggle. “And you’re laughing at me? And here I am, being benevolent.”

“I apologize, my King, I don’t know what’s come over me.” He glares now, setting his jaw, and then suddenly an insane amount of energy pools right in one of his hands, he’s holding it up, a bright ball of dark purple and red, so intense the entire room stands still now. “My king…”

“Should I show you who I really am, brat? Since you find me amusing.” You shake your head then, feeling your body start to tremble, but not in fear of him, for fear of everyone in the room. “No? How about him first.”

“Stop!” You snatch his wrist then, to the gasps of everyone in the room, and the shocked look of the King himself, as you nullify his energy to nothing, little puffs of color is all that’s left. “I… I…” You’re gasping, opening your mouth and closing it over and over again, as the room is so silent you could hear the smallest pin drop.

Sukuna scowls at you now, and you know you’re in for it, whatever that was… what was that!?

“Uraume, see them all out. Now.” He orders, and they quickly obey, soon you’re left in a giant empty throne room with a furious king, their footsteps echoing through the halls, the giant doors slamming shut, and your heart races faster than ever before, alone with him.

You can feel his anger, his power, but there’s something else now, something new. His eyes are on you, the room spinning with his energy as he releases it, you can see it like a tornado of purple and red circling around him, but it’s not coming towards you, earning his anger as he stands, looming so big over you. You stand up, trembling but not backing down.

“What on Earth… what the fuck… you’re…”

You smile then. “Does this mean I’m more powerful-ah!”

“It means you’re an annoying little brat.” He says, grabbing you by your hair with one hand, another grabbing your ass, the energy dissipated.

“Why are you like this?” You ask, and he laughs, a low, deep, terrifying sound really, but it doesn’t scare you.

“Like what, bunny?”

“So powerful, yet so cruel. You could help so many but you choose to just watch and enjoy their suffering instead!”

“It’s the way of the world, my world.”

You step forward, his hand still firm in your hair, but the pain is noticeable, the pull of him drawing you closer. “So you enjoy this cruelty.”

“You mean to understand me? You just met me, bride.”

You slide your hands up his bare chest then, so much of the broad, muscular chest on display, the black lines running down it. “Will you let me actually get to know you?” You ask softly, he sighs then, something softening for a moment, before he’s back to a tense stance.

“I’ve never met anyone who could do that to me before. You’re a puzzle I want to solve, and I will solve you, one way or another.” He stands now, his robes sliding down his shoulders, his muscular chest bare, then you see him, naked, his two cocks already standing at attention, you gulp at them. He’s chuckling now.

“You think this scares me?” You ask, trying to keep your voice from shaking, his cocks are so thick, so long, veins wrapping them. You’ve never seen anything like it before, but you’re not scared, you’re more intrigued than anything. “I can handle you, King of Curses.”

“Oh really, brave little bunny?” He steps forward, the energy surrounding you like a cloak, yet you’re untouched, in fact… you enjoy it.

“You cannot hurt me. And you do not want to, do you?” You ask softly, his brows lower over narrowed eyes, as he steps closer, his hard cocks touching you through your robes now.

“Tch, you really think you’re a match for my power? You’ve barely seen any of it, any of me.”

“So show me then.” Your hand drifts down his rippled body, blushing as you remember the pleasure he brought.

“You dare challenge me, brat?” He whispers, and you just nod, and then Sukuna slams his lips against yours, kissing you, hard and brutal, and you kiss back just as fiercely. For your second real kiss with him, you catch on quickly, because you are craving him, more and more every moment.

His hands are everywhere, ripping your gown off, revealing your naked body to the room, his cocks pressing against your stomach when he pulls you back against him, hot and heavy. You moan into his mouth, feeling yourself getting wetter as his other hands grip your bare ass, squeezing and pressing you against him now, you’re crying out, head falling back.

“Here?” You whisper, looking around, and he grins.

“You’ll service me here, like a good girl.” And then he’s dropping you down onto his throne, his hands on your shoulders, pushing you down to sit, and his cocks are directly in front of your face. “All that talk, time to shut your bratty mouth, hmm?”

You look at him defiantly, hand grabbing the top cock, stroking up and down tentatively, he moans, and you relish in it, leaning forward, licking the sticky white substance at the tip of each cock, pooling in the slits. He wraps his hands in your hair, pulling hard, making you even wetter, his other two hands bracing on either side of the cold, hard throne, tummy clenching in desire.

“Which one will you service first?” He says with a wicked smirk, and you lean down and take one of his massive cocks into your mouth, sucking and licking like you’ve never done before, your hand reaching down to stroke the other one, feeling the heat, feeling him so hard.

Sukuna groans, his hand in your hair, guiding you as you suck and kiss and lick, his energy swirling around you like a storm, but instead of being afraid, it’s like it’s feeding you, filling you up, urging you on, as you now start to suck his other cock, looking up at him the entire time. He’s surprisingly gentle when it comes to his thrusts, not pushing too far, letting you sink your mouth on him.

You’re so wet and aching you whine now, vibrating around his cock, and he sucks in a breath, brushing your hair back. “Does my needy bunny need her cunt played with?”

“Please, my King.”

He scoffs, but his hips stutter, his hand grabbing your hair as you lap your tongue on him. “My king? I have a name.”

“S-Sukuna?”

“I have a name.” He says again, and you pull back from sucking, one of his hands grips your throat, squeezing now. “I could break you, bunny, like you’re nothing but a little doll. Use you for my pleasure.”

You’re shaking with need, somehow every damn thing he says and does just makes you want him more, this insane need that’s clawing through you, made worse when you taste more of his salty liquid dripping from his tips. “You could break me, do you want to, my King?”

“Sukuna. You are my wife, you may.” His voice is so soft, even as a tattooed hand is choking your throat.

“Are you sure?” You ask quietly.

“You question your husband, your King?” He demands, and you enjoy his name on your lips far too much.

“Sukuna.” He moans now, taking your hand and putting it between your thighs, you squeak, pulling it off, earning his laughter. “I cannot do that!”

“You can, and you will.”

You gasp at his audacity. “You have four hands!”

“Mmm, I do, but I want to see you do it. Come on, don't be shy, bunny, feel how wet you are sucking my cocks.” You touch yourself as one of his hands is urging your finger on, pressing it against your neglected clit, in little circles that feel far too good, his nails delicately pressing into your scalp as he shoves a cock back inside your mouth, you’re drooling all over his length, onto his other cock now.

He’s feeling your slick as he guides you, only serving to make his thrusts more insistent, there’s a hand guiding your clit, a hand on your breast, the two pulling your hair, taking you over entirely now your fingers are weak, slipping. He takes your limp fingers now, bending down to suck your juices off them. You’re gasping as he goes deeper, as you take more.

“Pathetic, can't you even touch yourself?” He taunts, you glare again, yanking your right hand back, sinking a finger into your slick heat, moaning at the stretch of it, and he falters then, staring at you, lust dilating his eyes, droopy as his mouth is wide open. “So needy you’ll finger yourself?”

“You talk overmuch.” He glares, shoving his cock further down your throat now, grunting as he fucks your throat, making your throb around your own fingertip, urging him on.

“Insolent girl.” He drags your mouth down to his other cock, before shoving both tips in your mouth, tears pour down your eyes, jaw locked open. “What can’t handle them both? All talk?”

You glare up at him under your lashes again, sucking harder, then you watch him, his head falling back, as your hand leaves your entrance, instead working both his cocks. He’s sucking in a breath, rippling muscles tensing, and that is when you see it, opening now…

A mouth on his stomach!?

You shriek, when it laps against your cheek. “What on…”

“Did you think those were all my tongues? Be good and I’ll let you ride it tonight.” He says, you bite your lip now, stroking his cocks with both of your hands. “And you want it so bad, don’t you slutty bunny?”

“I am not a bunny.” But you do find yourself insanely curious, he retracts it and allows you to finish sucking him, and he’s groaning then, huffing, jutting his hips as the tongues on his hands are lapping at your breasts.

“Fuck, sucking them better than any concubine, look at you.” He whispers, his other hands gripping your head. “Could crush you like this.” You’re crying out now, grinding on the leather plush of the seat below you. “Making a mess of my fucking throne, hmm… F=fuck…”

Sukuna shoves his thick cocks as deep as they can go in your open mouth, you’re gagging and crying, slobber and spit leaking everywhere out of your mouth now, body trembling with need as he’s thickening against your tongue, your cheeks hollow as you suck. Then he’s pulsing, and so much cum starts to pour inside, shocking you, the hot liquid coating your mouth, your tongue.

“Swallow it all, brat.” He orders softly, you gulp it all down, lapping at the tips of his cocks, sucking every bit, feeling his thighs tense under you, his body trembling from aftershocks, leaving you so needy you can’t take it. “Open.”

You do as your king and husband commands, his pastel pink hair is falling just so over his face as a hand wracks through it, spiking it up, and he sees you’ve swallowed it all. He moans now, caressing your cheek, leaning forward. “Did I please you, my king?” He gently smacks your cheek, but his hand is so huge and he’s so strong it stings.

“What was my name again, bunny?”

“Sukuna.” Your voice is hoarse, and Ryomen Sukuna exhales, thumb pressing on your lower lip.

“Open again.” You do as he says, only for him to spit saliva, dripping it into your mouth, shocking you, but you swallow obediently. “That’s a good bunny. One more thing…”

He flips you over now, making you sink to your knees. “What…”

“Clean that mess up.”

“No!” You glare up at him, he kneels down with you, two hands on your breasts, tongues lapping all over you, his free two hands on your waist, pressing you towards the slick on his throne. “You’re disgusting.”

“You love it, slutty little virgin. Go ahead, lick it, if you want me to get you to cum at all. Or I’ll leave you, just like this.” You shake your head, and he grabs your hair, wrapping it around a fist, as your nipples perk up, sensitive and aching, your body covered in goosebumps. “Don’t you want to cum later? All over me?”

“N-no… ah!” Sukuna sinks two thick, long fingers in your cunt then, filling you for the first time, you scream out, walls fluttering around him, dripping down his hands, earning his satisfied groan. “Your nails!? I… ah!”

“You think I’d cut your perfect little cunt?” He laughs now, yanking his fingers out, the nails temporarily gone, only to shoot back out, as his teeth are biting your nipples, you’re a sloppy, drippy mess in front of him. “Lick it, and I’ll come please you in your chambers tonight.”

“You’re even more cruel than they know.” You say, he just laughs now, shoving your head forward, you barely lap it up with a tip of your tongue, to his amused laughter, and you look back and glare.

“You really did it!” He’s holding his stomach in laughter, and now you stand, shoving at him as he’s at level with your tummy, he keeps laughing now as you feel tears prick your eyes.

“Don’t bother coming to my chambers.” You say through tears, overstimulated, humiliated, and suddenly as you’re grabbing your robe he grabs you, yanking you against him. “Leave me alone, go… get a concubine to amuse you.”

Sukuna’s face drops then, as you slip on your robes hastily, he grabs your waist, you try to wriggle free to no avail. “I did not… you…”

“Leave me be.” You’re sobbing now, you don’t know what’s overtaken you, but instead of mocking you further he pulls you close, letting you cry against his chest, holding you with all arms. “Don’t touch m-me.”

“Sad little bunny. Sensitive little brat.” He sighs, stroking your hair now, it feels far too good.

“Are you comforting me?”

He huffs. “No!”

“No?” You look up through watery eyes, Sukuna’s jaw sets now.

“No. Just… it gives me a very irritating feeling when you cry, I do not enjoy that feeling, so I order you to stop.” You shake your head in confusion, hiccuping through your tears. “I said stop, brat.”

“I c-can’t… I want you… and you…”

“Shut your mouth.” He slams his lips on yours, lifting you up like you’re nothing, kissing you over and over. “It was a joke. Do not cry again.”

“I can’t make promises.” He swipes your cheeks with his thumbs, kissing your cheeks now, tasting your salty tears. “You were mean to me.”

He sighs now, brushing the rough pads of his thumbs on your cheeks. “I’ll have to baby you, hmm? Stupid baby.”

“Ugh!” You shove at him again, turning, but he brings your back against him, bending low to whisper in your ear.

“I’ll be in your chambers tonight. Understood?” Your heart starts faltering now, you manage a little nod, and he sighs, holding you so tightly you can’t breathe for a moment, but you relish being in his arms, resting your head against him. “You’re using whatever powers you have over me.”

“I do not even know what my powers are!”

“Hmph. Go.” He kisses your neck and then shoos you away, but you’re pouting. “Do not use those eyes on me.”

“What eyes?” You ask, curiously.

“Do not act so… just… I’ll please you tonight, I have business to attend to. Out.” You bite your lip nervously, pulse thrumming in your ears now, you glare one more time at him, making him run a hand across his face, now back in his robes. “Do I need to shove both my cocks in both your holes right now?”

Your mind whirls at that, as you blink rapidly. “Both my-”

“Out.” You stomp away now, he almost laughs at how adorable you are, but he’s too fucking confused. And luckily you are missing the look of confusion and longing on Sukuna’s face, as he wonders just what are you and why can he not stand your tears when he massacres people!? What sort of damn magic do you possess?

How can the King of curses be so entranced by some little brat!?

He hates the fact that he’d do anything to put a smile on your face after upsetting you.

*****

There is a knock on your door as your maid prepares you for dinner with the King, you’re still so confused by him, so angry at what he thought was amusing, and wonder why you are so desperate for him. Just yesterday you had no clue what pleasure was, now he’s left your body on edge, you’re so eager for him again, he hadn’t barely even touched you.

You shiver just thinking of those fingers sinking into you, how they glistened when he yanked them out, dripping down his long nails. He’d hidden those nails not to hurt you, he cared when you cried… there was more to him then he let on, surely, more to this cursed sorcerer.

You want to know more.

Uraume comes now, holding a delicate white box, opening it and revealing a breathtaking gold and diamond necklace. “What is this!?”

“The King asks that you wear this tonight.” Uraume says, your hands tremble just so, it’s already so opulent living here, but the way it glitters under the soft lights pouring through your window.

“It’s too beautiful.” You whisper.

“King Sukuna has ordered it. Shall I put it on you?” They ask, you nod eagerly, looking in the mirror as Uraume comes behind you, placing the necklace on your throat as you lift your hair out of the way.

“Thank you, it’s so lovely, I adore it.” You touch it gently, one of the many baubles along your collarbone now.

“Do not thank me, it’s the King.”

“Uraume… tell me. Do you… is he… the King is…”

Uraume tilts their head. “My Queen?”

“Do you find the King to be… kind?”

“Kind… hmm. I suppose he can be at times. He is indeed the most powerful. Why do you ask?” Uraume helps finish your hair, taking over for the maid.

“I find him very interesting.” Uraume lets out a little smile that you don’t see.

“I see. Let us go, he does not like to wait.” You follow them now, and are led to the dining hall, where there’s a plethora of food, and instead of your seat on the opposite end as is done, he has it pulled next to him. One of the servants pulls out a seat now, but Sukuna yanks you on his lap.

You gasp, clinging to his neck for stability, muscled, thick and veiny, making you heat up as you think of all of him. He fingers the necklace curiously, tilting his head as one hand holds you down on him, another lifting a fork and stabbing a bite of food, guiding it to your mouth.

“Open.” You do as he says, Sukuna puts a morsel on your mouth. “Chew it up, you’ll need your strength.”

“Strength for?”

He grins now, shifting you on his lap, to where his cocks are pressing against your ass, you feel so tiny on him, his huge body overtaking you, arms all barring you against the dining room table. “Strength for me making you break under me.”

“I… um…” You look up at him, he’s shoving another bite into your mouth, you gasp when he slides a hand up your inner thigh.

“My feisty little bunny has nothing to say?” He taunts, but you truly can’t think, eyes fluttering, moaning when he slides another bite into your mouth, something sweet that bursts as you chew.

“Yummy.” You finally speak, and he sighs, fingers now running under the gems that decorate your chest now, exhaling, holding you just a little tighter, his embrace is addicting, everything about him draws you in, when it should scare you. But as you brush your hand on his face and he tenses, scowling.

“Will you… do that… thing, human?”

“What thing my King?” You ask, and he squishes your cheeks, pressing your lips up on either side, ruby eyes glinting under the chandeliers that hang. “Smile?”

“That. It’s an order.” You giggle then, you can’t help it, Sukuna exhales as he sees you, watches you smile, lighting up your face.

“Is that adequate, my King?” You tease, he is cupping your face tenderly, your heart starts racing, pounding in your chest as you turn toward him, straddling him carefully, leaning close. His hands tense, and you could swear they tremble just a bit, this huge monster of a man, weak for you. “I quite like you, when not being so nasty and cruel.”

“You like me?” He grabs your hips, pulling you against him, until his cocks are pressed on your heat. Your head falls back, a moan escaping, he starts nipping at your breasts harshly with his teeth, leaving bite marks, wet spots glistening. “You’re a foolish girl, perfect prey.”

“I think you like me too.” You grind against him now, fuck it feels good, your neglected clit begging for more. He grips you tightly then, shoving things aside to lay you on the dining table, you take up such a small part of it, laying there so pretty for him, your robes falling apart, revealing your soft skin.

“You’re an impetuous, annoying creature. Have you no sense of self preservation?” He slips his hands up your thighs as they tremble, sliding the silk up your legs, baring you to him, he audibly groans when he sees your cunt again. “Already wet, too?”

“You promised, you know.” You arch your hips up, pouting, and he laughs at you, undoing his robe, you gasp out when his tongue opens from his abdomen, stretching the skin, lapping your pussy up completely, so huge and hot and wet. “Ngh!”

He pulls his tongue back, laying over you, barring you with two strong arms, as the others hold your thighs apart. He leans down so close, and all you ache to do is kiss him more, he’s intimidating, gigantic, he has his stomach licking at you, but you keep thinking how his full lips would feel, smirking on your own. Your hands reach up and you pull at his hair.

“Excuse me, brat.” He swats your hands, and you pout again, earning all four eyes rolling. “Don’t give me that look. Ah, I like that expression, stupid fucked out face.” You’re helpless, when a hand grips your wrists, slamming your bound hands above your head, and his tongue is working between your folds. “Taste s’good on all my mouths.”

“S-Suk-ah!” He’s grinning now, sharp white canines glinting as his tongue slips inside your entrance, it’s so thick your walls are stretched, as he devours you on the dining room table, right next to the dinner that’s falling and clattering to the floor. “M’gonna… gonna…”

“That’s it, let me drink you, bunny.” He leans so close, but he won’t kiss you, he is drinking up all your soaking wet arousal, that starts gushing when he reaches a hand down, pinching your clit as his tongue fucks deeper, only for the tongue on his hand to now flick over your clit.

It’s all too much, your orgasm pours over you until you’re blinded, all while your husband, the king, is grinning, watching you avidly, as drool seeps from your mouth, while you’re shaking, struggling to close your legs, but he doesn’t let you. Your eyes roll back as your cunt throbs around his stomach tongue, and he’s lapping every bit of it from you.

“Please… please…” You whine now, he laughs as he watches.

“Pathetic, look at you. Pathetic, puny little bunny. Please what? Greedy thing, need to keep cumming?” He lets his tongue slide back in his abdomen, but now he’s sinking two fingers in you, pressing on that spot, you whine out, tears falling from pleasure.

“Please… k-kiss me.”

“Kiss you? You’re so odd, you know that?” You scowl, struggling to release your wrists, breasts slipping out of the robe, much to his pleasure and delight, he bends down and sucks on one, sharp teeth biting it, as his cocks press on your tummy.

“Kiss me, w-want it.”

“Demanding little…”

You free your wrists then, much to his surprise, yanking on his hair now, dragging his mouth to yours. He hesitates, but then passionately kisses you, brutal and rough, bruising your lips with his bites, with the force. You wrap your thighs around his thick hips now, rolling up for more and more.

He pulls back for a breath, fingers back in, pumping you so good, you’re cumming again, getting weak from pleasure, soaking his hand, soaking the table, you hear the sound of it, the squishing, your moans echoing in the chamber. You’re sure everyone in the damn castle can hear, but you really don’t care, you’re crying out so much your voice breaks.

“M’ready.” You whine now, reaching down, stroking him, he groans as you do, as he’s straining so hard.

“You’d lose your innocence on a table?” You’re blinking sleepily now, as the third orgasm hits, and you almost lose consciousness, it’s too much, his tongues all over, his hands everywhere, fingers in your cunt, fingers around your throat. Hands on hips, hands on your thighs, tongues lapping you every inch they find. “Slutty, sleepy brat. You will not sleep on me.”

“M’not… sleeping… c-can take it. Want it.” You’re a mess now, as he looks down at you, you’re so fucked out your eyes are fluttering to stay open, you’re covered in marks from his hands, from his mouth. Your pretty face has streaks of tears and drool that’s pooling out the side of it.

He should fuck you now, you’re pliant and ready, but you’re also exhausted and weak, still a human despite whatever energy you have. You’re lazily kissing him, why does he enjoy those kisses this much!? It's not something he even did, but with you… he can’t stand how good your lips feel. He felt horrible all day for hurting your feelings earlier.

Him, wanting a human to smile.

You have wetness glistening on your puffy cunt, glittering with your cum and his saliva, he can taste you everywhere, you’re all over, your scent, your face in his visions every time he blinks. It’s been two days but he’s finding himself obsessed, he wants more and more of you, so much so he can’t focus. You’re getting weaker in his arms, clearly the orgasms have taken their toll.

“You will rest for tomorrow, then your slutty cunt can have my cocks, is that understood? I will not deal with this weakness.” He says, and you giggle, the sound far too good to his ears, you’re grinning even, which is so pretty… and insolent. “You laugh at me? Want a demonstration of punishment for such a thing?”

“S-sorry. I feel s’good.” You’re clearly cockdrunk, and he hasn’t even gotten to slide a cock in you yet. He can’t stop the annoying affection from starting.

“To bed.” He hoists you up now, carrying you, and you snuggle to him, he’s so warm and he feels so good. He’s carrying you up the stairs, and you want more of him, more of this fucking amazing feeling, but you can barely function, eyes heavy, fading in and out. Soon you feel it, the softness of your bed. “Annoying brat.”

“C’mere.” You pull on him, of course he doesn’t budge, he’s pure muscle, but he lets you pull him close, you cup his face, yawning.

“You insolent-”

“Sorry!” You kiss him again, fuck you enjoy it. “I don’t want to displease you… I know we should consummate… I wanna be with you in…”

“Just go to sleep. You don’t displease me, just annoy me.” He says, surprisingly soft, and you look at him curiously, taking in his face as it’s above yours.

“Will you stay in bed with me tonight?” You ask, pleadingly, he sighs, jaw locking now.

“You’re so needy and endlessly aggravating. I have more to do, I cannot just sleep because you’re cock drunk.”

“Cock drunk! Ugh. Fine then.” You sigh, turning over, and when you feel a blanket cover you, you can’t stop the smile on your face. “Will you lay with me for a bit?”

“No, brat.”

“Tomorrow?”

“Go to bed. Now.” You giggle again, and hear his annoyed sigh as he walks out for the night, leaving you to snuggle, still smelling him, feeling him everywhere.

You just want more of him.

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part three>>>

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