#From close to the start there a was a bit push not to say that bastards name yknow like don’t give notoriety to these losers | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

ceilidho · 2 days ago

Text

Margaritaville

For days now, you’ve been seeing the same broad-shouldered man lounging around the resort. Or: the knocked up on vacation au Part 3 masterlist

A shower and thorough scrub after the fact washes away most of the more damning evidence, but paranoia still buzzes under your skin when you rejoin your friends downstairs. They’re sitting beside each other in a row of lounge chairs by the edge of the pool when you reappear, beach bag in hand, waving at you from across the way. You hurry over to join them.

“What—did you fall asleep up there?” one of them asks you, and it takes a second for you to recall the excuse you gave them about going upstairs to look for a book to read.

“Yeah,” you lie. “I wasn’t feeling too good, so I lied down for a bit.”

“Oh no,” one of them says with a frown, sitting up on her elbows to get a better look at you. “You feeling better now? We can go back to the hotel room if you want.”

“Nah, I’m alright now. I had a shower too, so I’m feeling much better.”

You might’ve been better off pretending that you just fell asleep upstairs rather than lying about feeling sick.

Though still hours from sundown, the sun isn’t anywhere near as thick in the sky anymore; a cloudless expanse of blue as far as the eye can see, stretching from zenith to offing. Despite the slight breeze and the UV index starting to inch back down, you still slather on a fresh layer of sunscreen.

“So what’d you get?”

You look up from your legs and a glob of sunscreen slips down your calf and onto the chair. “Huh?”

“Your book,” she repeats, looking at you like it should be obvious. “What book did you go get?”

Your hands freeze over your bag, a cold sweat leaking through you. All that just for you to forget to bring back a fucking book.

“Oh, I, uh,” you stammer, looking in your bag helplessly like a book might suddenly appear out of nowhere. “I must’ve left it back upstairs. Damn.”

Lucky for you, no one has the energy to care or look past the obvious stutter in your voice, accepting your words as gospel. Your friend closest to you rolls her eyes and pushes her sunglasses back up her nose. “It’s alright—here, I’ve got another in my bag. It would be such a waste of time to go all the way back upstairs.”

“Yeah,” you say, swallowing when you think about heading back into the resort and taking the elevator to the next floor up from your room, following the long hallway back to John’s room, where he’d be waiting for you with a wry smile and open arms, towel still cinched around his waist. “That would suck. Thanks.”

For one singular day, you actually make a concerted effort to steer clear of John.

That means: no surreptitious glances or orchestrating accidental run-ins. You keep close to your friends the whole day, never more than a couple feet away.

And for the most part, it works. You’re mostly successful that first day. For a while after your little hookup, you don’t see hide nor hair of him anywhere around the resort. Where before John was seemingly everywhere, now he’s nowhere to be found.

It’s almost infuriating. Had he been this elusive in the days since you arrived at the resort, you might not have felt as tempted by his constant presence. It was the proximity and blatant invitation that gradually wore away at your resolve.

You keep deferring responsibility for your actions. That belongs to a future, stronger you, whether or not she’ll ever come to fruition.

“Looking for someone?” your friend asks when you glance around the poolside for the umpteenth time. Her words are laced with a subtle kind of humour, some inside joke that you haven’t caught on to just yet.

You shake your head. “Nope. Just people watching.”

“Right,” she drawls, only burying her nose in her book again after sending you a sceptical glance.

When her attention is back on her book, you peek around again, searching for any sign of someone in pin-stripped swim trunks. Disappointed when you find nothing.

The girls insist on going down to the beach and renting jetskis in the afternoon, guaranteeing that you won’t see John for the rest of the day, but at least it gets you out of your head for a while. Air whips by your ears and you scream in delight, your arms cinching around your friend’s waist as she guns the engine.

Afternoon melts into evening, which melts into night. At supper, someone mentions taking a dip in the hot tub and you pounce on the thought, the four of you giggling and tumbling down the stairs on your way back to the pool area.

The hot tub lights oscillate between purple, pink, and blue at a timed interval, keeping the water bathed in a cool, dark colour as night falls. Dusk ushers in a changed world. Large snails leave slimy trails as they creep out of the potted plants and slither across the furniture. Spiders and moths emerge from dark corners as well, the nocturnal world coming to life around you.

The three of them get out of the hot tub around nine, someone complaining about still being hungry. As tempted as you are to join the girls for a late bite to eat at the restaurant, the hot water and jets are doing wonders for your sore muscles, especially after the previous day. You can’t exactly explain that to the others though, so when they try to cajole you out of the water, you brush them off and promise that you’ll join them in a few minutes.

Besides, you’re overdue for some alone time. The more you have, the less likely you’ll be to start fights over nothing, cabin fever finding no foothold in a person aware that it hovers on the periphery.

Around the complex, the pools glow cyan like bioluminescent glowworms, the floodlights on to keep drunk tourists from falling in on their way back to their rooms. Some angelic-voiced eighties singer croons over the speaker, music still playing around the pool area until it abruptly cuts out and silence rushes in like a wave to fill the emptiness. The silence doesn’t worry you though; it’s almost serene sitting alone in the dark and gazing across the way at the buildings still brightly lit from the inside.

You don’t realize that you aren’t actually alone until someone joins you in the water.

The loud splash of his feet entering the water is what alerts you to his presence, the sudden noise causing your heart to jump up into your throat, head snapping to the side when a large body sits down beside you, displacing the volume of the water in the hot tub.

“Oh shit,” you gasp, heartbeat going wild for a second. You scoot away instinctively and hit the low wall to your left.

“Didn’t mean to scare you, honey,” John apologizes, settling in beside you. “You seemed lonely all by yourself, so I thought I’d join you.”

His body inadvertently crowds you up against the pool wall. Or at least, it feels inadvertent, like he just sat wherever happened to be free, notwithstanding the fact that by doing so, he had trapped you at the edge of the bench.

John rests an arm behind you, almost tucking you into his side when he slides over a bit more, thigh pressed against yours under the water. Spreading his arms out along the edge of the pool forces his chest to stick out and his shoulders to broaden.

“Where’d you come from?” you ask, glancing around behind you.

“Around.” He cocks a thick, dark eyebrow, studying you. “Were you looking for me?”

“No,” you deny, almost vehemently. More to yourself than to him. “You just caught me off guard. I thought I was alone.”

“Noticed that. Why aren’t you with your friends?”

“I am,” you object. “…I just wanted to be on my own for a bit.”

“Needed some time apart? They give you a hard time for what we did earlier?”

Heat rushes to your cheeks at that. “No,” you hiss, teeth clenched, pitching your voice lower to keep anyone from overhearing. “I didn’t…tell anyone. And we aren’t fighting. They’re getting something to eat and I wasn’t hungry.”

“Seems like I’m always catching you on your own.”

“I like being by myself.”

Your breathing is a little quicker than usual. His presence now is different than the times before, back when he was nothing more than a pretty face to you. You know what his mouth tastes like now, what the bristles of his beard feel like on the delicate flesh of your inner thighs and how deep his fingers can curl inside of you. He isn’t just a stranger across the pool anymore, but a man that knows you intimately. Biblically.

You wrap your arms around yourself to shield your breasts from his eyes. That’s what you tell yourself anyway. Maybe you cross them to make sure that you keep your hands to yourself.

“Why come with them at all then?” John asks, breaking the silence.

“…I’ve never travelled on my own.”

He nods approvingly. “Good. Smart girl.”

That pisses you off for some reason. Probably the insinuation that there’d be something wrong with you travelling by yourself. Like you couldn’t take care of yourself. “I could if I wanted to.”

“Didn’t say you couldn’t, but it’s smarter that you don’t. Safety in numbers.”

If he wasn’t so handsome, you’d probably be mildly off-put by the condescension in his voice. It’s part and parcel of him though, that slight arrogance that clings to his skin like the smell of smoke, like dirt wedged into the grooves of his fingers. Old and lived in.

“Maybe I’ll just ask my husband to come with me the next time I feel like going somewhere,” you say snarkily.

He doesn’t respond right away. When the weight of his stare gets a bit too heavy, you glance up at him to find his pupils blown wide.

“Maybe you should,” John rasps.

The sound of his voice, rough as tire over gravel roads, makes your nipples bead in your damp swimsuit.

For a moment, it feels like there’s nothing else in the world except for the two of you. All of the chatter and music from the nearby buildings drop to a hush. If you shut off your mind, you could almost trick yourself that it’d always been this way.

Damp, calloused fingers pinch your chin and hold you in place, rooting you in that moment like his hold is the only thing tethering you to the world.

“I should get back to my friends,” you say. Even though you practically whisper the words, they pierce through the silence, a little nearby lizard scuttling across the damp concrete floor towards a tree, where it disappears into the darkness.

“They can wait a little longer,” he murmurs, leaning forward until your lips slot with his and your sigh makes your whole body tremble, lips parting when his tongue slips in and he slides a hand in between your thighs under the water.

It’s torturous to see him around the resort and not be allowed to touch.

Another day in the scorching heat and you’re on the verge of defeat. You sweat and you sweat until the only thing left to give is your will. It bends like straw, chaff breaking off the closer it comes to snapping.

At a certain point, you have to accept responsibility for your own actions. You’re a big girl after all. Old enough to understand the weight that each of your choices bear and the consequences they’ll inevitably bring about. Disappoint your friends or disappoint yourself. Simple a choice as has ever been put in front of you.

And, selfish as you’ve been this entire trip, the choice is easy enough to make in the end.

In the early morning before the rest of your friends have woken up, you quietly slip out of bed and take the elevator up to John’s floor, knocking twice before he opens the door and pulls you inside with a growl.

“John—John, fuck, please—”

“I know, honey, I know,” he murmurs into your neck, exhaling heavily when he drops you back down onto his cock, juices running from the base of his shaft to his balls. “I’ve got you, I’ve got you.”

Your thighs burn with the effort to bounce on his dick, John having to do most of the work once your muscles begin to give out.

Not even the pretense of a condom this time. You didn’t say anything when he didn’t make a move to take one out and now it feels a bit too late to bring it up. It’s not the end of the world though; you’ll just tell him to pull out when he’s close to coming.

“Fuck, honey, Jesus Christ—”

“Sorry,” you whimper, inner muscles suddenly clenched so tight that you nearly come right then and there. Just the thought of him coming in you raw sends a sharp spike of pleasure through your body.

All you can think of is sticky, messy cum leaking out of you. Thick strands ribboning between your fingers when you pull them apart. It’s a dangerous thought; you’re playing fast and loose with the most dire of consequences.

“Ohmygodohmygod—” you whimper, tears building on your waterline and spilling over. “Oh f-fuck, I’m gonna—come, John—”

“Yeah, you are,” he grunts, brow furrowing in concentration, the vein in his forehead more pronounced than ever. “C’mon, honey, give it to me—give me it—”

It rushes over you all at once, inner walls tensing and squeezing around his shaft. Eyes rolling back in your head when you feel him come inside you, a rush of heat flooding against your womb.

He doesn’t make you wait long after pulling out, immediately ducking his head down to burrow his face between your thighs, running his tongue up the seam of your sex and huffing out in pleasure. Hot breath blows over your clit, and your whole body jolts at the sensation. Your clit is too sensitive, puffy and engorged. Your walls squeeze around his fingers when John shoves a couple in and busies himself with laving his tongue over your clit and sucking it into his mouth.

“Wait, wait—” you squeal, threading your fingers into his hair and trying to pull him off. “I can’t—I can’t—”

His own cum trickles out down his fingers as he plunges them in and out of your hole, feeling the mess he left inside of you. Heat floods to your cheeks at the lurid squelch of your hole when he presses his fingers back in.

“You can,” John says unsympathetically, the fingers pistoning in and out of your hole punctuating his words.

And, true to his words, you do.

When you limp back down to your room an hour later, you turn the knob extra carefully lest someone wake up to you doing the walk of shame.

You were stupid to ever think this could be a one time thing. That you could have him once and then move on like it never happened, like it scratched that itch of yours permanently instead of waking it up from its slumber.

Now it buzzes under your skin morning, noon, and night. Insatiable—libido ramped up by a factor of ten and no matter how many times he fucks you senseless, you’re always desperate for more. When you see him from across the pool, it’s all you can do not to swim across and crawl into his lap, wedging his thigh between your legs and grinding down until the pressure tips you over the edge.

From the looks of it, your friends don’t suspect a thing. How could they after all? You leave the hotel room at the crack of dawn and come back before they’ve even turned over in bed.

John is as subtle in public as ever. A thousand times more discrete than you. He’s so good at ignoring you around the resort that it’s almost infuriating. It’s your own fault, seeing as how you begged him to keep a low profile. You have no one to blame but yourself for his inattention.

In the privacy of his hotel room, it’s a whole different story.

Sometimes he says weird shit when you fuck. The pet names you can excuse because they get you all hot and bothered, but it’s harder to ignore the way he laces your fingers and looks deep into your eyes while rocking into you, patting your cheek roughly when you try to close your eyes. It’s too intense. Too intimate. Not the kind of thing you do with a vacation fling.

You’re speaking from limited experience though. A small sample size, if you can even call your love life that. Maybe this is something people do with their flings, the rules of intimacy eschewed with an established understanding of finitude. You are going home at the end of this, after all. Whatever you do in between then and now doesn’t matter.

You could say or do anything and it wouldn’t matter. It’s not like you’ll ever see him again.

On the pet name front though, you do test him on the off chance that he actually just forgot your name entirely. It catches you off guard when he remembers not just your first name but your last name as well, murmuring it back to you like he’s memorized it when you ask.

“Oh,” you reply, unsure of what else to say. “…Sorry. I thought…”

His thumb brushes over your cheekbone when he cups your face in one hand. “I know what you thought, honey. Never had anyone pay enough attention to you, have you?”

You don’t know what to say in response to that. He pops his thumb into your mouth when you gape at him for too long, letting it rest on your tongue. The weight of it holding your tongue down is almost soothing and the thoughts in your head fizzle and pop like stars when you close your mouth around it and suck.

Sometimes though, you’re the one that makes things weird.

“I wish I came here with you,” you admit in a hushed whisper when you’ve been backed into his bed.

“Would’ve been me if I’d found you first,” John grunts, gripping you by your calves and yanking you towards the edge of the bed.

Big hands scoop up under your ass and lift you into the air to get the angle right. He impales you on his dick inch by inch, the stretch familiar now even though it still takes your breath away.

“Yeah?” you breathe.

John doesn’t answer at first, eyes going blank as he draws you off his dick and then plunges back into you. His stare is blank and yet it doesn’t waver. Locked on your face even though he almost stares right through you.

“Yeah,” he rumbles, snapping his hips forward. “Could’ve made a baby here instead of sneaking around like teenagers.”

Oh—

(fuck)

You know it’s just dirty talk, but you get all tight and tingly anyway, licking the sweat off your upper lip when you repeat, “A baby?”

His eyes go darker when he hears you say it. Animalistic; mindless. And suddenly all you can think about is the fact that you’ve foregone protection again to let an older, virile man hit it raw. Dirty talk trembling over the edge of make believe and staring down into the abyss because he could

really knock you up right here and now.

His lip curls up almost into a snarl. “Came enough times in you by now. ‘Be a miracle if you weren’t.”

You lick at the sweat beading on your upper lip. “You want that?”

Dumb question. You know there isn’t a shot that a man his age on vacation is looking to knock up the first girl he comes across, but it gets you so hot that you forget about common sense for a second. It’s irresponsible. Selfish. Stupid.

He hikes a knee onto the bed to get some leverage before folding his whole body over yours. All however many pounds, enough to take your breath away and make your heart beat faster. A heavy, suffocating presence punctuated by the way he fucks into you even harder, huffing as he chases after it.

“Would’ve used a fuckin’ condom if I didn’t,” John snarls right in your face, and the pleasure that evokes hits you so hard that you nearly pass out when you come.

Sooner or later, you were bound to slip up.

Your friend catches you on your way out the door one morning on your way to see John, your hand barely brushing the doorknob when her voice suddenly comes out of nowhere. “Going to get breakfast?”

You flinch at the sound of her voice, head whipping to the left. In your hurry to meet up with John, you hadn’t noticed her standing in the bathroom with the door wide open. Arms crossed and already dressed, staring at you like catching you almost out the door isn’t surprising.

“Uh, yeah. What’re you doing up?”

She shrugs. “I slept long enough; been up for a while actually. Mind if I come with? I’m starving.”

You do in fact mind, but short of telling her why you’d prefer she didn’t, you have no excuse for why she shouldn’t join you for breakfast. You acquiesce instead, forcing a smile and nodding before following her out the door and in the opposite direction of the elevators.

Breakfast is awkward, to say the least. The conversation comes strained and stilted, like it’s the first time you’ve ever met the girl sitting opposite you instead of a friend of several years. You can tell that she suspects something, but since she doesn’t bother bringing it up, you don’t either.

All you can focus on is the fact that somewhere upstairs, John is still in his room waiting for you, and that as more time passes with you downstairs at breakfast, the less time you’ll have with him when you finally make it upstairs to his room.

“Hey? Are you listening to me?”

Your head snaps up. “Hm?”

The look she levels you with is thoroughly unimpressed. “I asked if you’d finished your book yet.”

“Oh, yeah. I finished it the other day at the beach. Did you want to borrow it?”

“Yeah, that’s why I asked.” She sounds annoyed, and with good reason. You’ve been flighty and inattentive at best; downright neglectful at worst.

You eat quickly, downing half your plate before a server comes by with coffee, which you very nearly refuse until you catch the way your friend squints across the table at you. Too obvious. Her hackles are already up, suspicions hissing like snakes in her hair.

The terse conversation that follows only further illustrates that. If she hasn’t already figured it out, she’s at least begun to suspect your frequent absences and the perpetual smell of sex on you. She’s just nice enough to not come right out of the gate and say it.

A busser comes by as soon as they spot your empty plate, gathering everything up and piling the cutlery on top before hurrying away to bus another table. When the server comes by again to top up your cup, you politely refuse, finishing the rest in a single swallow.

“What’s the rush?” your friend asks, cocking an eyebrow. “Somewhere else to be?”

“No, I just—” You freeze, half out of your seat, the sound of the chair scraping against the tile underneath abruptly cutting out. Excuses assemble on your tongue but refuse to leap off, choked back by the fact that you just don’t know what to say. “I just…I’m done eating.”

“Right,” she drawls, arms folded on the table, nearly full plate still in front of her. “I guess my conversation was staler than the food.”

“No, look, it’s not—”

“It’s fine,” she sighs, waving you away. “I’ll tell the others you went down to the pool when they wake up. Just be there in an hour.”

You didn’t expect the reprieve. You barely deserve it, as a matter of fact. But her dismissal rings loud and you aren’t about to pass up the opportunity to go up to John, despite the guilt curdling in your belly.

“Yeah, okay,” you promise. “I’ll be there.”

And you really, truly think you’re in the clear until you turn to walk away and she says her parting words. “Give him my best, by the way.”

Full body cringe. You don’t turn back around though, shame finally catching up to you, and the sound of your flip-flops squeaking against the tile on your way towards the elevators mocks you the whole way up to John’s room.

#ceil writing #cod x reader #price x reader #price/reader #john price x reader #price x you #john price/reader #captain john price x reader #captain john price x you

1K notes · View notes

izanakore · 2 days ago

Text

LET YOU BREAK MY HEART AGAIN

IT’S OK, I’M OK

Izzy notes: ya’ll this chapter was a rollercoaster, we vfinally get to see Zayne! And caleb and him have a little heart-to-heart, i heacannon that caleb looks up to zayne like a big brother and is very relaxed around him, ALSO Zayne sees caleb as a little puppy since he always follows him around like one in their younger days 🥺. I tried to hold back from adding anything weird in this chapter because i don’t think it’s the time for it but as you can see later i couldn’t hold back and added juuuust a little bit. Also caleb will start becoming more and more like the calbe in the canon as time goes on, because i planned for him to become a yandere so if you’re in for that then stay tuned in!

P.s i don’t know if i mentioned this but this story will contain nsfw in the future chapters because….obviously it’s caleb what do you expect? Also Zayne…Also—-

CW: CALEB, he’s weird, hurt/comfort, angst, Zayne’s humor, mc is here, again Caleb is weird here—in a freaky way…

——————————————————————————————————————————

He’s finally made it.

He looks up the tall, monumental building. The campus was huge, it’s making him a bit nervous. He inhales a deep breathe, taking in the crisp morning air, sharp and fresh—he lets it out a few seconds later. He takes a step forward and another til he’s entered the colossal architecture.

Walking in, many thoughts circle his mind with one that echoes the loudest—

Will he meet you here?

His subconsciousness had become in tuned with you, trying to find you in every little thing he does. whether it be eating, sleeping, working, showering— he keeps you in his mind and closer to his heart, however close that is, he genuinely wants to be better and this time?

He”ll do anything and everything to earn your mercy.

In whatever way you will spare him.

A few months in and he’s already established himself as a star student. Good grades, good build—perfect for the athletics club, good looking, his face card was absolutely lethal(not his words, Gideon’s), losing whatever baby fat he’s got left over the summer, becoming even more of a hunk and now he was even a part of the Student Union of Linkon university! He manages the sports sections—go figure honestly, anyone could tell he was meant for anything physical/muscle-related, his new group of friends joked that he’s all brawn and no brain but he proves them wrong with his perfect test scores all the time. How amazing of him…perfect Caleb as always.

He’s even got his driver’s license now, when deciding to live at the campus dorms since University was so far from home, he thought it was the perfect time to get one, he wonders if you’ll find him desirable now that he can drive his own car, he’ll take you wherever you wanna go, pick you up for your dates and drive to the places you tell him to take you—anywhere you want.

Another pleasant surprise is when he bumps into their oldest(in both ways lol) childhood friend Zayne, the latter not as surprised as him, saying ‘it was inevitable that they would meet again as the college had every possible undergrad course they needed.’ Typical Zayne. They enjoy the next few days and weeks catching up, find out he’s in pre-med—again not surprising, he’s always wanted to be a doctor. Very admirable he thinks. He feels you and Zayne would’ve gotten along well if he didn’t move away so soon….. then suddenly the thought of you two getting closer without him in the picture fills him with a feeling that is dark and messy—-he realizes way sooner that it’s jealousy(but why?) he tries to shake the thought away but the thought of you and zayne together—alone makes his skin itch….

what the..?

He ignores the feelings, throughout their time together, they reminisce about the old times, however Zayne wonders where you were? And all He can do is avoid the question or quickly change the subject, Zayne doesn’t push it, it’s none of his business, he moved away before witnessing any of the drama anyway……besides— He’s sure Caleb will tell him when he’s ready.

Although Caleb seems to be feeling the beginning of his bad karma when he is introduced to his new roommate—Zayne.

Motherfuck——

He’s becoming even less fortunate at being avoidant to his inquiries seeing as Zayne is literally his fucking roommate, he’s asked about his previous one and Zayne’s only response to that was he moved to a different building. Weeks pass, and it’s now October, Zayne had suggested that they embrace the halloween spirit by testing each other’s courage at the many haunted houses the university students has prepared, a sort…of fun way to pass the time and to celebrate the holiday, pump up the students energy and spirits for upcoming sports events. Of course Caleb was Not expecting Zayne of all people to be asking him that, but Zayne said it might strengthen his skittish nature, since he just lovesss tiptoeing around him like a scared puppy afraid to be scolded for tipping over his owner’s favorite flower pot— were Zayne’s Exact words.

This Bitch—-

He’ll go to this stupid haunted house and show him—!

….

It only takes him 10 minutes to know how he failed horribly, who knew fake ghost could make him scream five octaves higher?? It seems all those muscles were for show Zayne muses, he was obviously very pleased with himself, though unlike he, the ice-cold ravenette came out looking prim and proper, it seems the actors and even props freeze when meeting his gaze. Did the temperature just drop?! A student dressed as bloody mary sweats when he walks past.

He wins coupons for free food and out of the kindness of his half-way frozen heart he shares it with him, keeping the sweets to himself of course, no puppy eyes can snatch it from his (literally)cold hands.

——————————————————————

Midterms arrives like a tidal wave over the students and they spend a lot of time having study sessions that result in tears—Calebs and hair pulling-also Caleb and Zayne is on his fifth slice of strawberry shortcake because lord know he needs it if he has to repeat Choledocholithiasis for another 30 minutes and remember the difference between ather/o, arthr/o and fucking arteri/o for the thirteenth time.

Fingers crossed for the passing scores, sighing in relief when they pass with the flying colors of the Chinese flag. Winter vacation begins and Caleb and surprisingly Mc join Zayne to celebrate christmas together, they have a brief reunion before finally seeing his family, enjoying traditional chinese dishes instead of turkey and ham but there’s never a shortage of shortbread ginger cookies, which Zayne almost hauls to hide in his room until his mom scolds him for being too greedy.

Well at least they can finally drink alcohol with the rest of the adults.

Of course of all things, what they were not expecting was to have a freaking monkey fucking jump him in the face, it almost caused a disaster until Zayne calms them down and introduced them to his…brother.

His brother—who is a monkey..

A Monkey whose name is Sweet potato.

Because he loves sweet potatoes.

Mc holds back tears when sweet potato decides her hair was his perfect distraction for the night, messing and yanking on it, pulling out all the pins and pretty clips she used to keep her hair in the way it should until he came along and broke them all, Sweet potato laughing all the while Zayne smiles at them like ‘it’s gon be okay’.

Though they became close friends soon enough, Sweet potato making his place on her shoulder, ”better watch out Zayne, me and sweet potato as besties now. maybe i’ll take him home for myself” she says, only joking. Until Zayne fixes her with a freezing stare, ” You could do that, but then i’ll call the cops on you for kidnapping” she quickly backtracks and laughs nervously “ i’m just joking zayne!, honest!’ She waves her hands, trying to move sweet potato away but the monkay latches on.

He chuckles, “So was I..” he turns to the table for another helping(i.e his eleventh) of egg tarts, ’that definitely did not sound like a joke’ both sweat nervously at his apparent…jokes.

Though they had a fun time and a few traumatizing ones (Caleb thinks of getting Zayne a book of jokes that are actually funny and not mildly concerning), they have to go back to the dorms in their third week of holidays to prepare, Caleb stops by his grandma to wish her a new year and leave a few gifts he’s bought while thinking of her, “take good care of yourself, Caleb” a knowing look in her eye as she coos and he hugs her tight before leaving for college, Mc does not join him back though, her family has plans to celebrate the up-coming new years on a family trip and he spends the new year counting down the seconds with Zayne in their dorm room, drinking homemade(correction dorm-made) eggnog, made from ingredients he bought at the convenience store on his way back.

“Feeling sentimental?” Zayne casually asks beside him, they watch the fireworks dance across the sky from their balcony, the colors were vibrant, filling up the night sky and chasing away the darkness in just moments before disappearing forever. “why do say that?” Caleb swishes his mug, looking out into the dark sky yet not at the same time, “ you’ve got that look in your eye again—“ zayne gestures with his head, “ like you’re missing something….or” he tilts his head “someone…? perhaps...”

Caleb drops his head, a tired sigh leaving him, “oh really now, is that what gave it away?” The ravenette raises an eyebrow before gesturing to the cups, “I don't know who in their right mind would prepare ingredients for eggnog, on new years no less, just to share it with their one roommate.” Caleb chokes at that “ hey! Come on—we’re friends aren't we?” All his gets is Zayne’s deadpanned look.

He lets out scoff “ dude, don’t think too much about it, it’s just eggnog and i didn’t feel like drinking alone so i made enough for you too, no big deal—“

“Is that why you look so much like a kicked puppy tonight?”

“why you asking so much anyway??, besides what about you? Don’t you have people inviting you to places?” He grumbles, “ you don’t have to stay if you wanna leave so bad….”

“Are you sulking, puppy—“

“Don’t call me puppy!” He almost whines, immediately blushing, he turns to hide but he’s sure Zayne can see the reddening of his ears. He then chuckles “ don’t worry, i didn't stay to pity you..” he exhales, warm vapor leaving and reacting with the freezing air.

“Then..?” if he had ears it would perk up immediately, Zayne smirks at the thought. He hums, drumming his fingers against the railing, “feeling….sentimental i guess…”

A silence rests between them, not awkward but welcomed, allows them to gather thoughts before Zayne poses another question, “Caleb…” he hears a ’hm?’ in reply.

“What truly happened between you three when i was gone?” No answer. He sighs “ Although i was never as close to her like you two were,” he unknowingly flinches at that, Zayne doesn’t comment. “ We were still friends, I would like to know why you avoid the topic like your vaccine appointments—”

“Gege, that was one time—“ caleb finally turns to let out a huff, changing the topic again, Zayne raises an eyebrow at this, “besides it hurt like a bitch—”

“Language.”

“Fine, it hurt like a witch.”

“You were seventeen, caleb, you don’t have a fear of needles yet mc had to console you with a lollipop while yn distracted you with puppy videos.” Cue the second round of embarrassment, he was sure his face was as red as a ripe apple. “ Gege—stop bringing those up!” He groans into his hands, eggnog forgotten.

“Then stop changing the subject and answer my questions” he counters, “ you don’t have to tell me everything, but at least let me know what happened to her” the younger man in front of him suddenly slouches onto a chair, like an air of depression sat on him. “That’s the thing..gege.. we—“ he bites his lip, the memories of that morning flash through his mind for the first time in months, making his chest contract in pain he can’t heal. His eyes burn and he knows he’s gonna start crying if this goes on, he hopes zayne can’t see the tears welling up. “ we..don't know where she is..”

“what does that even mean? Was she kidnapped?” Zayne stands up straight, immediately worried, “No, no just…” he sighs, “ i guess i can’t avoid it forever…..”. He leans back into the seat. “ you deserve to know.”

He spends the next 2 hours recounting the events the led to how your friendship sunk into nothing, Zayne does not say a thing, his face not betraying him with how he truly feels as he listens intently and Caleb can’t help but wonder if he wants to punch his face in or leave. “So that’s that.” He breathes out, for some reason, a weight has left his shoulders, it felt better than he thought sharing that with someone.

Zayne was silent for a while, before finally responding with, “ You are a deplorable human being.”

Caleb flinched, honestly what was he expecting? A welcome hug? “ i suppose i am..”

“You don’t suppose, you are” zayne affirms, “Both of you were terrible at keeping things fair and peaceful,” referring to mc and him, “you’ve abused her kindness and taken her sweetness for granted, you never asked how she felt nor did you even have the consciousness to think about her mental well-being. I knew something had happened based on you two’s aversion to my inquiries but i didn’t think it was because you both were emotionally abusive!” He angrily sighs, fingers going up to massage his temples. “I did not expect you would be such a scumbag, Caleb”

He scrutinizes him in disappointment. “You lead her on for nothing, she wasn’t just your girlfriend, she was your friend first and you should’ve treated her as so! and now she’s just..gone?” his voice slightly raised made him wince, he’s never heard Zayne get angry before. Annoyed yes but never angry..

Perhaps the alcohol did help with feeling sentimental, to get these stupid feelings out for good.

Caleb doesn’t answer, he just sits there, tears uncontrollably rolling down his cheeks and zoning out, relieving the moments, “if you think, whatever you’re doing is going to bring her back, then you’re sorely mistaken” he lectures.

“Then what should i do, gege?” He asks shakily, voice quieter, the room seemed too cold now as goosebumps littered his skin, but he doesn’t seem to feel a thing. “ i believe that you should move on Caleb.” He advices, “ i know you feel terrible about what happened…but if she has left for the better then maybe you should do the same instead of stewing in it for months and years, hoping for forgiveness you’re not even sure she is willing to give.” He walks forward to place a surprisingly warm hand on caleb’s shoulder, “ the change starts with you. Learn to forgive yourself..only then will you understand how to be good for her sake,” he gives him a small, tiny smile “i only wish you the best Caleb..” he whispers,

“Happy new year.”

Zayne doesn’t stay that night…he wonders where he went.

——————————————————————

The second semester begins and it’s still too cold, they’re both too busy to meet up for their daily brunches, until one slow Wednesday after classes, when a message from mc has caleb looking up from his homework, the continues buzzing translates to multiple messages, he eyes the growing pile of homework to the side as he picks up his phone, he reads the message and yup—mc has another place to go again.

“Hey gege, wanna come?” He turns to zayne who was reading a book on the dining table. He eyes his attire, crisp black button-up shirt and matching ironed black slacks. Is he going somewhere?

Zayne raises an eyebrow, there was a joke in that sentence and he didn’t want to touch that in outcome Caleb throws his notebook at him again “ to where?” He drawls, dog-earing the book in his hands, another medical case file about some untreatable heart conditions.

“There’s apparently a new cafe down the street, said it’s been open for a week now, mc wants to see it.”

“And why—pray tell do you need me to come along?” He crosses his long legs and Caleb just rolls his eyes, “ like you aren’t curious what treats they’ve got, i see you writing down what desserts to try next in that little notebook of yours” he teases. Zayne lets out a haughty scoff, “ i see the puppy has learnt to eavesdrop?” He gets up to fix his things, at the comment Caleb flushes red, “ i-i wasn’t spying!” Zayne zips up his bag, “ Suit yourself, are you coming or not?” He points his chin to Caleb’s attire “ i doubt they’d serve us with your getup”. Caleb look to his clothes, boxers decorated with hearts and bunnies and a t-shirt he isn’t sure he’s washed yet..

He takes a sniff—yep not washed, zayne gives him a disapproving look at that. Caleb sighs “ just—wait for me outside”.

It was a surprisingly short walk from campus, they enter the cafe quickly to escape the cold weather, sighing at the warmth of the establishment. It was warm and cozy, they see mc wave them over, three drinks on the table already. They walk over to take their respectable seats before zayne quickly gets up again to join the line at the counter, “ typical zayne” Caleb laughs, “ think he’ll let us have a little nibble?” she wiggles her eyebrows at him. “ might give us frostbite if we try, pipsqueak” he chuckles, settling into the seat, removing the padded jacket he wore and placing it onto the head of his seat.

A few minutes and zayne comes back with a tray full of goodies, of course a few handslaps go around but they were successful in getting a few bites in, Caleb was in the middle of shoving a whole slice of decadent chocolate cake into his pie hole when the hear the barista call out an order for a name they never thought they’d hear again—

“ A large vanilla latte with double shots for yn!”

At this, all twisted their heads in unison, they were sure to get a cramp later, their eyes roam the entire cafe to find you, they almost look away in disappointment, maybe it’s just someone with a name like yours? It’s happened before and Cakeb just waits for the familiar feeling of dismay to fill him when they hear it—

“Oh that’s me!”

That familiar voice, sweet and soft like they remember and then—there you are,

Caleb lets out a shocked gaspp.

You looked so comfy, so content in your pink fluffy sweater and matching scarf, the sleeves seem to be long enough to cutely cover your hands—likely on purpose as you don’t seem to be wearing mittens, he eyes your red hands when you go to collect your order, a to-go cup he sees. You still like the same things.

You have gotten prettier, with a haircut that just accentuated your features better, showing off your eyes that seemed to shimmer in the light—or maybe it’s just him, you seem to lose all your baby fat—or maybe there was still a little left, he zeroes in on your plush cheeks, very munch-able he decides, Zayne was thinking the same thing.

Everyone was silently watching you like a hawk.

You had gotten so much cuter, Zayne thinks but it didn’t feel like a glow-up, more like a sense of peace has overcome you, you didn’t change any aspect of yourself, rather—they could feel it in your aura(yes even though they were ten feet away from you), the way you stood, confident and sure, the way you held yourself. So unlike the unsure and sad posture you had before, Caleb hates the fact that they caused you to be like that. You looked content, happy and very much enjoying life in the last 8 months you hadn’t seen their faces (a few years for zayne).

You leave as quickly as you came and just like that, the noise returns and they let out a breathe they didn’t know they were holding, they turn back to their drinks, it was silent for a few minutes. “Soo…” mc starts “ that was unexpected huh?” She chuckles nervously eyes darting between the two men. Caleb clears his throat before reaching for his cup, a hot americano.

“So she goes here as well” Zayne’s comment has Caleb choking on his coffee, he beats his chest as the coffee goes down the wrong pipe, hot and fast, his nose burns and mc pats his back for emotional support.

“W-wha? Why would you say that?” He wipes at his face with the provided napkins, “ didn't you see her i.d?” They both shook their head no, he sighs, “it’s the same color as ours, though it’s most probably a different course from yours, i’m surprised you haven’t seen her yourself, aren’t you in the same year?” Caleb blinks rapidly, “ i don’t….think so, i definitely would’ve noticed”.

“Maybe different schedules?” Caleb weakly suggests, not wanting to admit that he probably wasn’t as observant as he thought he was to not notice you for a whole ass semester.

When did you even arrive? Did you transfer just this year?

Why didn’t they see you around? Did you somehow figure out they were also here and tried to avoid them once more?

He widens his eyes at his conclusions, “ Caleb, relax, stop making assumptions in your head.” Zayne warns, very familiar with the brunette’s constant spiraling. Caleb swallows, nodding his head at Zayne’s advice. “okay…..okay” he leta out a heavy sigh, leaning back into the cushy chair, he feels exhausted already.

“Well…” the pre-med student sighs, getting busy with his slice of matcha roll cake, “Nows seems to be the perfect time to make amends.” He looks fixes them with a hard stare. “don’t waste this golden opportunity.”

The two don’t have to ask him what they meant. They know full well what they need to do.

Caleb inwardly agrees, this was probably the sign he was waiting for!, life was finally giving him a chance to make things right between you too, to finally give you the apology you deserved.

Because fuck— he really, truly misses you.

He misses you so much he keeps a bottle of your favorite perfume so he can spray it into his pillow,pressing his face into it every night so he doesn’t forget your scent, he even turned one of your shirts that you’ve forgotten at his house into his own personal pillow case. (Totally not weird Caleb.) it’s honestly a good thing they have separate bedrooms or Zayne would have thought him weird (unfortunately he already does, Caleb).

The next day, he gets to work finding you, searching around for a ’y/n l/n‘ in their office, it was easy enough, they don't question him at all, being apart of the student union had it’s perks, he found your student file within the database and copied down your schedule. He stares at it for a full minute, letting it sink in, he feels his heart beat incredibly fast.

Ba-dump, ba-dump, ba-dumpbadumpbadumpbadump—!

You were here.

You were not a hallucination.

He can finally talk to you again.

The next week, he spends the time following you around, figuring out your routine, you like going to the library to read books for pleasure but you prefer studying in the open space-but away from the crowd, he keeps his distance, often watching you while pretending to be doing something, he wears a disguise as he doesn’t want to scare you if you believe it’s him in the flesh.

He stays close—not too close but close enough to keep an eye on you. He swears he’s not being weird. It comes to him that you probably know they were here, i mean he was a literally a part of the student council—you had to have heard his name on the intercoms right? Or maybe you didn’t pay attention to those things, Caleb remembers you were forgetful like that, it takes you a good minute to put names to faces after it’s been a while. Or—maybe you were too shy to approach him!

An imaginary lightbulb dings on top of his head. oh no

Then he should find you instead—maybe you were waiting for him to make his move instead.

A new day starts and he finds you in one of the many picnic tables scattered across the school grounds. He feels his palms get sweaty, seeing you in the flesh up close was nerve-wrecking,

What does he say?

You turn a bit, almost facing him and a stuttered gasp leaves him—you really were the loveliest thing he’s ever seen. Hair in that messy bun you always think looks like shitty bird’s nest, no sweater this time, instead you wore a loose cropped t-shirt with a pair of snug jeans hugging your legs, you seem to be busying yourself with something on your laptop, a look of confusion adorning your cute face as you squint your eyes to whatever you’re looking at, as though in disgust.

He gulps, why did that look so hot?, a breeze passes by and your shirt rides up, a bit of creamy skin blesses his eyes and he swears he’s melting, there was a breeze just now and yet he feels too hot underneath his clothes—!

He mentally slaps himself and makes the walk to go to you (finally).

I’m ready, i’m gonna go up to her and tell her everything i need to—no no.

He stops halfway, just a few feet behind, suddenly the fear of rejection grips him once more, ‘what if she doesn’t listen, what if she truly really hates me and there’s no chance of redemption? No matter how much i beg?’

Is that okay for you?

For him?

You were right there, so close—so near yet he can’t get any closer, he feels his throat closing up and his eyes burn, he wants to talk to you, to hold you, feel you, smell you..

But he can’t…

So he runs,

Like a coward.

You hear footsteps behind and a shiver runs down your spine, you quickly turn around, but see nothing, your eyes scrutinize the open area behind, going over the leaves that fall and the trees that sway, you crane your neck a bit, maybe someone hiding in the trees? Behind them?

Feeling weirded out and a bit unsafe, you quickly gather your things and leave, leaving not a trace of you behind—-or so you thought.

Caleb breathes heavily behind one of the trees he was hiding, “ too close…” he pants, removing the cap he used to hide his face, any slower and she would’ve seen me!

He lenas back against the tree, he hears your footsteps walking away, he waits a moment, making sure you’ve left before he turns around, he stares at the picnic table you were just at, trying to re-imagine your form that was just sitting there, occupied with the problems of being a college student.

He turns to leave before something catches his eye, something on the picnic bench, something you left…

He walks forward, carefully moving step by step as though trying not to scare away whatever was there, he looks down—a handkerchief, you left your handkerchief.

He picks it up with a careful hand, taking a good look at it, it was pink and covered with the designs of cutely drawn Sweets and bunnies—very you he agrees.

Without hesitation, he brings it to his nose, taking a deep breathe..

Oh…

You were deadly,

This was deadly.

Was this your natural scent? Did you use it to wipe the sweat off your forehead when it gets too hot out? maybe wipe your hands when it gets too sweaty from writing so much…..it smells soo good, he doesn’t feel an ounce of shame when he feels his eyes roll to the back of his head at another whiff, eyes fluttering when the smell of you enters his lungs.

A shaky exhale leaves his mouth, and he takes a while to control his bearings, to become a normal fucking human that doesn’t follow people around and sniff their personal belongings like an animal—

He whimpers, a familiar feeling overcomes him, instantly he knew what the problem was…

He was hard.

He got fucking hard,

at the scent of your handkerchief…

Oh… he’s fuuuuucked.

He groans, leaning against the table with his palms, the dainty fabric clutched tight in his hand, his pants felt too tight and suffocating and he needs to reign himself in before someone sees him and reports him for being a degenerate. In Public.

He doesn’t need any more disapproving looks for Zayne.

He looks at the cloth in his hands, he’ll…keep it--for now

Yeah..he’ll hold onto it for you…just until he can give it back—

He’ll make sure to be careful not the mention the amount of times he’ll wring his dick dry to his only connection to you, the fabric held tight, pressed right up against his nose while he jacked off desperately, cock throbbing with need as pathetic whimpers leave his mouth, sweat collects at the back of his neck despite the cool air and he sobs as he cums for the fourth time that night. Your scent drives him crazy and he can’t help himself.

He’ll make sure to not get any of his dirty cum on it, he wants to give it back nice and untainted.

He’ll make sure to give it back…

——————————————————————————————-

When he finally gets to meet you again, it’s at a party, Gideon’s to be exact, honestly he doesn’t know why he’s here; he’s got multiple tests tomorrow and a report he hasn’t even started researching yet he’s here in a room full of room who know him but don’t want to kniow him.

Something catches his eye and he see you—walking away.

You’re here too? He feels hopeful now, looking at the red cup in his hand, still half full with whatever alcohol Gideon supplied them with, he decides to chug it all down in one go, hoping the liquid courage will help him get through what he needs to do tonight.

Following after you, he sees that you're alone on a balcony, looking out into the night. Clad in a white cropped tee and cargo pants, it looked so simple, so comfortable so….

you.

You looked every bit of the word beautiful and he hopes his words doesn’t slur.

“hey..” here it goes, he waits for a reply, “umm.. nice night out?” He hears you chuckle, still looking over the world below, it sounds like angels. “ something like that…” you don’t turn to him, perhaps unaware the man you’re talking to is the same one who broke your heart a year ago.

“Are you…waiting for someone?” He asks, he finally gets the courage to stand beside you, leaning against the railing, he looks in whatever direction your eyes face toward, “something…like that” your reply this time was soft.

He gulps. His peripheral vision looks to you.

He registers that fact that he’s scared, his heart is beating fast, too fast and he wonders if you can hear it.

“I wonder....if they’ve been waiting for me?” you said after a while, “ i hope they weren’t too angry with me for leaving so suddenly…” you sigh, looking up to the sky as though you can find whoever you were looking for up there.

he stares at you, unable to say anything for a while, “ i think..” he clears his throat, “Maybe….they have been waiting for you…patiently” he says this with pathetic hope in his voice, was he trying to convince you? Or himself? “ and..i don’t think they’ll mind waiting a little longer…until you’re ready to come to them..”

…..

“ is that right?” You say almost in a whisper, “they won’t mind waiting for me? Even if I never will be?” He’s breathing through his mouth now, a slight tremor goes through him, was it the cold? He can’t tell.

his mind screams at him to turn yet he can’t look at you,

Hecanthecanthecant—

His body feels too stiff, tongue heavy like lead and his mind is blank..he wants to look at you, hold you and tell how much he loves you, but his body betrays him.

He wishes you were braver, and as though you heard him he feels you move—

“It’s been a while..” you finally turn, looking straight at him,

His breathe hitches,

“Caleb.”

——————————————————————————————————————————

Badumtssss, anyway i just wanna let people know the non!mc in this fic isn’t a hateful or the type to be angry and hold grudges, i think it fits and although i love the petty type, i don’t feel it’s right to completely change her from her core attributes, i also am soft-hearted so i hope some of you can relate to this mc, i’ll try my best to create different types of non!mcs in the future.

So there will be grovelling and crying but non!mc is a diva and she will hold her head high and be the bigger person. (No matter how painful)

That’s all for this chapter, stay tuned for the next~!

TAGLIST: I WILL ONLY TAG THOSE THAT EXPLICITLY SAY THEY WANT TO BE TAGGED, I WON’T TAG YOU OTHERWISE TO AVOID ISSUES.

@mentaltrouble2201 @leftpoetrymoon @aboobie @violentriddlehoard @thirstblogforaparchedgirl @gigikubolong29 @animegamerfox @slimearchon @cockiiess @anonmeansanon @mcdepressed290 @makingfanfictionstosleep @sleepisfortheweakpooh @sillyfreakfanparty @potania @noxus123 @prasinus4 @auty-autumn @leftpoetrymoon @yutaffirm @sassy-snassy @am-drawings @lunadisun @mcdepressed290 @nm4565natty @ciaradream8 @quill-for-glory @riribibisworld @chiikasevennn @emo4r @yuji4liferrr @3xv5s @1ren3n @cherrybomb5000 @sleepykittyenergy @skibudiiiiui @goochfiddler99 @elegantpoliceflower @nicora04

#non mc x caleb #caleb love and deepspace #caleb xia #love and deepspace zayne #love and deepspace x reader #lads angst #angst #love and deepspace angst #lads caleb #love and deepspace caleb #caleb x you #caleb x reader #lnds caleb #caleb #xia yizhou x reader #xia yizhou #lads non mc #lads x reader #izanawrites

201 notes · View notes

icarusignite · 2 days ago

Text

the sickness you foster, your favourite addictions (p.3)

Pairing: Colonel Caleb Xia x Non-MC Reader

Summary: After your brother was killed under the command of newly appointed Colonel Caleb Xia, you swore you'd never forgive the man who returned from the mission when your brother did not. But when you're forcibly reassigned as his second-in-command, you're pulled into a cold war of secrets and bloodstained power plays.

Assigned to spy on the colonel by the same institution that decorated your brother's grave with empty honours, you find yourself caught between two monsters, one who watches from above, and one who stands too close. But there's more to Caleb than perceived cruelty. He’s calculating, obsessive, and far too interested in what lies beneath your controlled fury. The closer you get, the more you begin to wonder: Is this grief? Hatred? Or the start of something far darker?

Warnings: SLOWBURN. Enemies to lovers. Caleb being a sad pathetic yearner, and his emotions are a bit all over the place, but that is totally intentional :)

Word Count: 6.2k

A/N: Ooops, this is going to need at least one more part to properly conclude (also, we will finally see Caleb on his knees next chapter, so worth it), sorry friends, I yap too much, and then the word count gets away from me lmao, but our boy gets the verbal smack down he deserves in this one, someone's gotta correct his menace ways.

I hope yall are enjoying it so far anyway. Reblogs and comments are very appreciated <3

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | AO3

You wished that you had fought harder, that you'd stormed out of Caleb's office, slammed the door, and refused the order like you'd refused a dozen others before. You wished that you hadn't let his infuriating certainty get the better of you, but the truth was you were tired. Your mind was ravenous with unfinished work, but your body had begun waving the white flag long ago, so you took the break. Not because he told you to, but because you couldn't keep outrunning the exhaustion anymore.

The first three days passed in a sort of fever dream. You didn't leave your bed at all, curled in a fetal position with the lights off and the blackout curtains drawn. You'd never given your grief room to breathe before, so now you let it crawl out of the crevices you'd shoved it into, letting it spill into the sheets, soak into your pillow, and stain the silence around you. You let yourself cry all the tears you'd been holding back since the funeral, and your broken sobs were the only sound in your apartment.

By the fourth day, your stomach finally won the war, and you shuffled into the living room dejectedly. You didn't bother with lights, content with the dim glow of your phone screen as you dialled the tiny takeout shop across the street, the one with oil-stained menus and the chime that jingled when your brother pushed through the door, throwing a wink at the old woman behind the counter.

You ordered without thinking, two portions, like always, and the ache only hit you once you hung up. You stared at the phone in your lap for a long time, mouth pressed into a bitter line. You should've changed the order, but muscle memory had betrayed you, moving on autopilot like some part of you still thought he'd be walking through the door any minute now, complaining about the wait time, and juggling the bags with his coat half-off his shoulders.

When the food arrived, there were three containers instead of two. They'd sent along an extra helping of dumplings like they used to when your brother picked up the food himself. The woman at the counter used to say it was for being "handsome and polite", even though he was neither of those things, really. Just loud and full of life.

You didn't feel like eating anymore, but you forced it down anyway, picking at the noodles until the hollow in your gut was a little less cavernous. Then, without fanfare, you left the rest on the counter and went back to bed. You did not dream.

By the seventh day—your last day before returning to work—you found yourself standing in the middle of the living room staring at the trail of wreckage your brother had left behind. Coffee cups. Jacket flung over an armchair. Socks kicked into corners. His laundry—half-folded, half forgotten—draped over the back of the couch like some ghostly presence frozen in time.

You didn't scrub him from the house entirely, but you cleaned up to reclaim the space, mostly because you couldn't stand the sight of all his things strewn about. It was a life he would never return to, and you couldn't look at it without melting into a puddle of tears. You didn't dare enter his room, but you gathered the pieces of him from the shared spaces. You tidied the table, folded the shirts, washed the cups, and let the silence fester. You didn't cry anymore.

When the house no longer looked like the last day you'd seen him, you collapsed onto the couch and stared at the ceiling, wondering when your life had started feeling like a task you couldn't finish. When work became the only thing tethering you to motion, and grief became your only companion.

The thought of going back made you sick, not because you didn't love your job, but because you couldn't bear another day of Caleb watching you. You knew why, of course. The glint of suspicion in his eyes had never faded, even after you'd obeyed every single one of his goddamn orders like a good little subordinate. Maybe he thought you were still capable of selling him out to the admiral. Maybe you were. Maybe you weren't. Either way, it didn't matter, because he hadn't made a single mistake worth reporting in weeks. There was nothing to sell out.

Yet his gaze was constant, and it made you claustrophobic. Being around him felt like you were trapped in an airlock with a shrinking oxygen tank, each inhale thinner than the last. You didn't know why his presence made your skin itch, only that it did. You couldn't breathe when he looked at you. You couldn't rest when he didn't.

Maybe you just wouldn't go back. Maybe you'd send in your resignation letter and disappear. But then what? What would you do?

For all your growing contempt for the uniform and the politics wrapped inside it, you still loved your work. You loved being an engineer. You loved the whir of prototypes coming alive and the sacred silence right before an invention sparked to life. You loved the logic and the problem-solving and the impossible deadlines. It was exhausting, but it was yours.

You didn't want to quit, but you didn't want to go back either. The two notions wrestled inside you like two creatures with matching teeth, tearing into each other until you were too tired to root for either.

Then you remembered—absurdly, stupidly late—that you had power, too. All this time, you'd been crawling around like a frightened intern, letting two power-hungry men tug your strings, forgetting that you'd earned your seat through blood and brilliance. You had rank, and you had valuable connections, both of which you had forgotten in your haze of overwork and sorrow.

Your hysterical laughter echoed in the emptiness of the living room. You had overhauled two failing satellite systems with less than a week's notice and redesigned the defence schematics for the entire Farspace twice. You weren't some replaceable cog; you were essential infrastructure.

You crafted your emails with purpose and authority, sending them to all the right people, ones even Admiral Harkins had to answer to. You reminded them of your work and how many classified schematics lived inside your head. Then you demanded that you be allowed to return to your previous position full-time or you'd quit altogether.

Of course, there was the very real possibility they'd rather kill you than let you walk, but you found that acceptable. It was better to be dead than not be able to do what you loved. Better to be dead than spend a minute under the admiral's thumb or the colonel's scrutiny.

Caleb had been looking forward to your return all week, not that he would admit it aloud. He told himself he wasn't counting the days, but he was. He told himself he wasn't distracted, but every time a footstep passed his office or the comms crackled to life, his spine straightened involuntarily.

He'd replayed your last encounter more times than he cared to count. The way you'd looked at him like you didn't know whether to scream or splinter. He thought, maybe—naively—you'd come back looking a little more rested. Maybe, if he were lucky, you'd offer him a smile.

No, that was too optimistic. He would've taken a sardonic smirk, too. He would take anything that spilled past your lips. He had been fine being away from you before, but being near you for so long had ruined him, and now, a few days apart felt like punishment.

Then, the day of your return came and went, but you didn't show up. Caleb waited, rationalized, and told himself that you'd extended your leave. Maybe you needed more time. After everything you'd been through, you certainly deserved it.

A week passed. Then another. Fourteen days of radio silence and an ache he couldn't justify. Fourteen days of resisting the urge to show up at your apartment. Fourteen days of not sleeping through the night, dreaming of the enticing curve of your lips, even when you snarled at him.

Eventually, a message arrived, telling him that he would be assigned a new second-in-command at the end of the month. There was no mention of you, your status, or your condition. He was out of his seat before the notification finished loading, boots echoing down the hallways with military precision, masking the boiling pressure behind his ribs.

Admiral Harkins' office was drenched in the smug scent of old cigars, and the man looked up lazily when Caleb stepped in.

"What happened to my previous second-in-command...sir." He forced himself to remain polite and detached. "Having this many replacements in short succession will disrupt workflow efficiency."

Harkins snorted, leaning back in his chair. "You must've driven her away, Colonel. Poor thing requested the transfer herself. Can't say I blame her. Working under you must be exhausting."

Caleb didn't react outwardly, but something inside him went white-hot. "She requested it?"

"That's right. The paperwork came from way above me, so even if I had objections—and I don't—I wouldn't be able to stop it. Chain of command and all that. You understand."

"Where was she transferred?"

Harkins waved a hand. "Back to her usual haunts, I suppose. You'll have to take it up with her. Nothing I can do, my hands are tied."

Bullshit.

Caleb could see it in the oily way the man grinned, and the gleam in his beady eyes. Whoever they were assigning next would be a pawn too, but at least they would be easier to eliminate because they weren't you.

He exhaled slowly, his hands stiff at his sides. "The transfer was abrupt. I don't appreciate being blindsided."

Harkins shrugged. "Well, maybe if you weren't so cold to your subordinates, they wouldn't run off the first chance they get." His grin turned lecherous. "Or maybe she just got bored of playing games with a man who doesn't know how to enjoy his company."

A flash of red danced at the edge of Caleb's vision, and his jaw ticked. The gravity in the room shifted imperceptibly, and he could feel the pull of his Evol like a tidal swell in his blood, coiling around his ribs like a vice. It would be so easy to let it loose and fold Harkins into a smear beneath his boot.

But he didn't. There were better ways to deal with people like him, ways that didn't draw unnecessary attention. He was still Caleb's superior after all.

"Well then," Harkins said. "Let's hope your new second-in-command can handle your charming personality better than the last one. If that is all, you may leave, Colonel."

Caleb stormed out and down the corridor toward the engineering sector like a man on a mission. Tension bristled along his spine, but he forced it down. He refused to make a mess of things and lose control like he did the last time he was in your domain. But he needed to know why you no longer wished to work under him, why you would dare deprive him of your presence. Although the bitter voice at the back of his mind whispered that he already knew.

You had left because of him. He was who he was, and anything good that touched him didn't stay that way for very long, so of course, everyone fled. He hated that Admiral Harkins was right.

He shook the thoughts loose and stepped into your workspace. He had half a mind to bark your name like an order, but stopped himself. Your posture—loose, easy, for once without the stiff hunch of stress—stunned him into silence. You stood at your cluttered desk, flipping through a stack of schematics, a half-sipped coffee nearby and a stylus tucked behind one ear. The bags under your eyes were still bruised, but you looked calmer than you ever did around him.

When you registered his imposing presence, you studied him briefly. Then you returned to your schematics, as if you'd only been interrupted by the automatic door, not by the Colonel himself.

Caleb stood in the center of the room like a soldier awaiting orders, though he was neither welcome nor summoned. He tapped his boot against the floor, showing the barest sliver of impatience. The tables had turned, it seemed.

"I hear someone will be replacing me by the end of the month," you finally remarked. "Worry not, I've made sure everything is in place for them to take over. They shouldn't have too much trouble getting the hang of things."

He noticed that you'd omitted the honorific you usually tacked on halfheartedly in your conversations.

You looked up at him then, offering a tight smile that didn't touch your eyes. "I even fixed your delayed comms and the malfunctioning sliding door. No need to thank me, but I'm sure the replacement will be grateful."

No one could ever replace you.

Caleb bit back the words that threatened to burst from him. Instead, he demanded, "Why will you not be returning to your position?"

You didn't waver beneath his stare. If anything, you looked tired of it, as if you had already fought this battle privately, and now were waiting for him to catch up.

"Working for you was no longer beneficial to my productivity," you told him. "I believe my skills will be of better use if I focus on my engineering duties full-time."

Caleb frowned. "Your skills were an asset as my second-in-command."

You snorted, unable to resist the urge to roll your eyes. "An asset? Oh please, you had me on coffee duty, Colonel. Let us not lie to ourselves, or each other. I'm certain they'll find a more capable person to assist you, but I can no longer be that."

Caleb stared at you like you'd just slapped him. He stepped closer, trying to catch the subtle shifts in your face—the twitch of your brow, the minute quirk of your lips, anything to hint that you didn't mean what you were saying.

"Did I..." he began, then swallowed hard. "Did Admiral Harkins—has he said something to you? Has he made your work more difficult, because if so, I can—"

"All the Admiral does is inconvenience me," you cut in, "but I no longer answer to him. Or to you, for that matter." You sighed and pinched the bridge of your nose like this entire conversation was a formality you wanted to be over with.

"Look, Colonel," you continued, "I know you dislike me. You're unsettled when I'm around, which is fair. You think I'm going to report you or undermine your command. And honestly, I shouldn't have accepted the assignment in the first place."

Caleb faltered, trying to think of something to say that would halt your train of thought, but being near you made it difficult for him to stay rational. "That is not what I meant—"

You shook your head. "It doesn't matter. We make each other uncomfortable, so this is for the best. I get to do my job without worrying about your next outburst. You get to do yours without feeling like I'm watching all the time."

The Colonel's pulse thundered in his ears, equal parts despair and fury.

Dislike? Unsettled?

Is that how you thought he felt? Did you think you made him uncomfortable? Did you think that the reason he fumbled around you, the reason he went silent or hot or reckless, was that he didn't want you near?

He felt the floor tilt under him, and his Evol buzzed faintly at his temples, barely restrained. His jaw was locked so tight it ached. He didn't know if it was frustration or panic that roiled in his chest like a storm, but it was all tangled up in you. How could you stand there and banish him from your orbit like it cost you nothing?

His fists clenched helplessly at his sides. Words fought to leap off his tongue, but as always, the right ones never reached you.

I don't dislike you. I never did. You undo me, and that terrifies me. I don't want you gone.

When it came, Caleb's voice was colder than he meant, but his pride grasped it like a shield. "If this is about discomfort, you've made yourself perfectly clear. But I would've appreciated being informed directly. Not left in the dark like a subordinate waiting to be deemed worthy of communication."

He regretted the words the second they left his mouth.

You arched a brow, unbothered. "You weren't left in the dark, Colonel. I submitted the formal notice to Command before my vacation ended. You were informed as soon as it was finalized."

"Finalized," Caleb repeated quietly. "Just like that." His tone lost some of its edge, and something raw broke through despite his best efforts. "Do I really make you that uncomfortable? Is it truly so unbearable to be around me? I thought..."

He trailed off. What did he think? That the tension that buzzed in the air every time you two shared space meant something to you too? That your silence wasn't rejection but self-preservation? That would be delusional, and Caleb Xia was not a delusional man.

You scowled at him, and he hated the feeling that welled up within him at the sight of your expression.

"What are you planning to do, Colonel?" you snapped, staring him down. "Are you going to slam me to the floor like the last time? Or maybe this time you'd like to crush my knees instead, since damage is your signature. What exactly is your plan here?"

Caleb returned your glare with an equally thunderous one. "That's not what I—"

You talked over him, fury bubbling out from beneath your cool exterior. "Go ahead, do your worst! Hell, shatter me if you must. God, I am so fucking tired." Your voice dropped, trembling with righteous fire. "It'll be your funeral if you do. Even you are not above reproach. You can't threaten me every time you come in here and expect me to cower. I will not do that anymore. I am not your subordinate, and I do not answer to you, so please just leave. There's no reason for us to ever cross paths again."

You had unconsciously stepped forward, your face inches from his, and your breath hot between the two of you. Caleb flinched at the proximity, and you caught it, your lips twitching as you suppressed a triumphant smile. He was finally getting a taste of his own medicine. A pity that it took you so long to dish it out.

You stepped back and pointed toward the exit. "There's the door, Colonel. I'm sure you have a busy schedule to adhere to, so don't let me keep you too long."

Caleb stood silent for several long seconds. The air in the room was thick with the remnants of your fury, but you had already turned away, as if the conversation had ended and he no longer existed.

He never considered himself a greedy man, never yearning for more than what was given, never letting himself chase the things that weren't meant for him. It was why he'd forced himself to let go of MC, even if it killed him to do it. But with you, he was insatiable.

He had once thought he could stomach your loathing. That even anger was a form of connection, better than the crushing void of being forgotten. In all his self-righteous madness, he had convinced himself that he could survive on that alone, but it wasn't true.

He didn't want fear or surrender. He wanted adoration, warmth, and the version of you who looked at him like he was something more than just a powder keg in uniform. He wanted to be wanted with the same ferocious ache that consumed him whenever you so much as brushed past.

Instead, all he had was your indifference, and he could not swallow such a devastating poison. He could withstand your insults, your scorn, your ire, but this casual dismissal, as though he meant nothing, was worse. This was annihilation.

He resisted the urge to grip your shoulders and shake you until all you could think of was him. Until you couldn't breathe without filling your lungs with the gravity of him. His fingers twitched at his sides, but he didn't move. He didn't touch you, because he knew it would change nothing, only drive the wedge deeper. You were already gone.

"I wish you well," Caleb said at last. "In your future endeavours."

You didn't even bother looking at him.

He cleared his throat, as though he could scrape sincerity into the words if he tried hard enough. "Your work has been... exemplary. Thank you for your efforts."

He hesitated once more, a final moment to salvage what couldn't be salvaged, but there was nothing left to say. So he left, and when you didn't watch him go, something in his chest cracked open and spilled out sawdust, choking him from the inside.

In the months following your resignation as Colonel Xia's glorified assistant, you never once laid eyes on him. It was as if he'd vanished entirely from your sphere. You chalked it up to him finally honouring your wishes—for once—and staying out of your way. And what a relief that was. Not having to look at him meant not having to remember or feel. No Caleb meant no memories of your brother. Avoidance, after all, had always been your most effective coping mechanism.

You also tried not to think about the look on his face the last time you saw him, the almost forlorn expression, as if you'd offended him by not resigning in person. As if you owed him that kind of intimacy, which was ridiculous. He didn't care enough to be hurt. He was probably just being a pompous ass again, wounded in his pride that you'd gone over his head to do things your way. You tried not to read too much into it.

What you couldn't ignore were the strange things that began occurring around you. For starters, a new workstation had been set up for you in the fabrication bay, sparing you the long trek across the compound every time you needed to use it. Your request for it had been denied weeks prior, but suddenly it had sorted itself out, and no one ever told you how or why.

New clearances began appearing in your inbox, for systems you never requested access to but had previously expressed interest in. Your ID access was also upgraded to include restricted areas, places you'd always needed someone else to escort you to in the past. And when a new prototype failed during testing, the replacement tubing, perfectly machined to your specs, had already been delivered to your station by the next morning, sparing you the bureaucratic nightmare of ordering one yourself.

Someone had their fingers in every crevice of your world, smoothing the edges before you even knew they existed. While a more suspicious person might've tried to sniff out the source, you weren't going to look a gift horse in the mouth. You weren't in a position to reject help, and you valued efficiency above all else, so if this benevolent spirit was helping you get things done faster, you were not going to shut it down. Maybe your superiors had finally learned to appreciate the value you brought and were making your life easy. And because you never shut it down, the helpful acts became more frequent and more personal.

Most bizarre of all was the coffee. It started appearing at your workstation on nights when you stayed late, always at the exact time your focus began to waver. There was never a note, but it was made exactly the way you took it. The servers at the canteen could never brew it right, but somehow your omniscient watcher had made it just the way your brother used to, and the taste alone reduced you to tears.

You never received it from the same person twice. Sometimes it arrived via drone courier. Sometimes it was delivered by a lower-ranking officer, or a sheepish maintenance tech who claimed someone "up the chain" had made the order. In some small way, it was as if your brother were looking after you from the great beyond, making sure you were alright.

Your delusions were shattered when one day, the officer delivering your drink slipped up.

"Didn't think Colonel Xia was the type to send out late-night caffeine deliveries," the man joked after handing you a steaming cup. "He was very specific, though. Had me write it down and all that."

You stared at the cup like it had turned radioactive. "Wait—what? Did you just say Colonel Xia ordered this?"

The young officer was probably fresh out of the academy, with a nervous eagerness to please, and he blinked at you owlishly, then nodded. "Uh, yes. He was very specific about it."

Immediately, you shoved the cup back into his hands. "No," you said flatly. "I can't accept this. Please take it back. And the next time you see Colonel Xia, tell him to stop meddling in matters that don't concern him."

The poor kid nearly dropped the cup in his panic. "Wait, no, please don't make me do that," he blurted. "He was very clear! I have to deliver it to you, or it'll be my head he comes for. He said if you didn't receive it, I could 'go work in the waste tanks where thinking clearly isn't a job requirement.' His words, not mine."

"For fuck's sake."

"I—I'm really sorry if I got the order wrong. Maybe I can remake it to your liking? I just didn't wanna screw it up—"

You held up a hand to stop him, sighing deeply. You couldn't, in good conscience, send this poor fool to face Caleb's judgment for something this inconsequential.

"It's fine," you muttered. "Not your fault. I'll take it."

Relief washed over his face so quickly it was almost comical. "Thank you, really. You're saving my life."

You grunted noncommittally and waved him off. The moment he disappeared, you set the cup on your desk like a ticking bomb and sat down, staring at it in disbelief. This had to be some kind of joke. Was this Caleb's way of returning the favour? Some karmic reversal for all those miserable weeks you spent making him coffee?

You almost laughed out loud at the absurdity. What a cowardly little apology.

The coffee sat there, sweating faintly on your desk as the minutes ticked by, and you contemplated tossing it into the nearest bin. You even reached for it once, then pulled your hand back like it might explode.

Eventually, curiosity won over pride, and you took a sip, scowling in response because it wasn't terrible. Fine, you wouldn't throw it out, but only because you'd been raised to never waste food, and you weren't about to start now just to spite an idiot.

The next slip-up happened on a slow Wednesday afternoon. Your mind was fogged from too many hours without food and too little sunlight, and the ventilation in the workshop was acting up again, drenching you in sweat. You were already considering filing yet another maintenance request when the crate arrived.

It was brought in by another younger officer you'd seen around, and he stopped just beside your workstation with a bit too much ceremony.

"Delivery for the Head Engineer," he said, squinting at the label. "It's marked urgent."

You frowned at him. "I didn't request anything."

He scratched the back of his neck, visibly confused. "Oh...huh. That's weird. This is the right sector. It's a spare part for your ventilation system? Don't worry, it's already been logged and cleared. Colonel Xia marked it personally."

You froze. "Excuse me?"

The man continued cheerfully, "Yeah, he signed off on it this morning. Said it was unacceptable for engineering personnel to keep working in a lab that overheats like a foundry. Which is fair, honestly. I've been sweating since I stepped in here."

"But this is not even related to fleet aircraft. It's for a sub-lab ventilation system. He's never even set foot here."

"Beats me. But hey, Colonel Xia's orders go through quickly, so lucky you." He snapped his fingers. "Anyway, have a good one!"

Just like that, he left you with the crate and the unsettling weight of the knowledge that Caleb had ordered a replacement part for something not even remotely connected to his work. It was for an issue you hadn't filed a report for yet, which meant he noticed on his own, which made no sense since you practically lived here and never once saw him around.

Why go out of his way, again and again, to fix things that weren't his to fix? He hadn't spoken to you once since your resignation, but this wasn't the work of a man who despised you. You brushed it off as a coincidence. Surely someone else on your team had filed the complaint. You refused to entertain any other possibility, even as the obvious signs began to pile up. You wanted to confront him, to tell him to back off and stop interfering, but what if it wasn't him at all? What a fool you'd look like then, yelling over false assumptions. It was better to simply ignore everything and bury your head in the sand.

The final straw came as a dull manila envelope on your desk. Inside was a fully investigated case report on your brother's death—months late, and entirely unexpected. You'd thought, foolishly, that you already knew everything there was to know, and that he'd died in action, but here it was, the entirety of your brother's career, distilled into paperwork.

The death was labelled an accident, not in combat, or even during the mission, but after it. A catastrophic failure in the ship's secondary systems caused an explosion in the cockpit, and he just happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time.

You flipped through the pages in growing disbelief, looking for anything that would prove it to be a lie. There had to be some sign of sabotage or cover-up, but all you found was a USB drive labelled "Blackbox Footage".

Your fingers fumbled when you plugged it in, and grainy footage lit up your screen. You saw Caleb first, looking irritated as he punched something into his datapad. Your brother approached from the side, his gait familiar, his posture as relaxed as always.

There was no tension or coercion, just a frustratingly normal exchange. Your brother said something, gesturing to the cockpit. Caleb shook his head, visibly annoyed. "You should head home to your sister. I'll manage on my own."

Your brother, the eternal helper, the idiot with a martyr's heart, smiled and insisted, "No, sir, let me do it. You run enough late hours as is."

Caleb exited the space, and a whole two minutes later, fire bloomed across the screen, swallowing the blissful image of him humming off-key.

You bit your lower lip so hard you tasted blood, but you barely registered the sting. It was suddenly hard to breathe. Everything the head office had told you was a lie. He hadn't been commanded to forfeit his life for a mission; he'd been a victim of his own generosity.

Or maybe he'd been a victim of your incompetence. In a sudden flurry of doubt and self-loathing, you began to scour your inspection logs from months ago. You were sure you had been responsible for final checks on his aircraft, the very same one he'd died in. How had you missed the signs of malfunction? You scanned the inspection report and let out a strangled sob of frustration. There was nothing in it that would have led to this kind of failure. You weren't stupid; you wouldn't have overlooked it.

You stood abruptly, wanting to hurt someone else the way you were hurting, and you already had the ideal candidate in mind. You stormed all the way to Caleb's office, common sense and decorum burning away in the wake of your outrage.

You didn't knock or alert your presence, but when the Colonel caught sight of you, he looked almost relieved. That was until you tossed the case report onto his desk, and it skidded across the polished surface with a slap.

"What the hell is this?"

He didn't move or speak.

"Did you set this up?" you demanded, voice rising. "Is this supposed to pacify me? You expect me to believe this bullshit report and some conveniently recovered footage? Did you fake all of this?"

Caleb stared at you with his usual maddening calm, but there was something brittle around the edges.

You pushed forward, hating your unsteady voice. "Did you put him in there? Is this another one of your manipulations? Was he supposed to die instead of you?"

Caleb's shoulders sagged, and he sighed like it cost him something. "You saw the video for yourself. I only just managed to acquire it, and thought you might like to see it. I know you think I must have tampered with something, but I—."

"Like hell you didn't!"

"I won't deny it. It was my fault, but not in the way you think it is. I should never have let him stay behind. The explosion was meant for me, yes, but I never meant for him to take my place. It should have been me."

Your fist slammed against his desk before you could stop yourself. "Damn right it should've been you, you fucking coward."

He flinched. In the seclusion of his office, there was no audience to perform for, and without his perpetual shield, he looked hollowed out. Guilty in ways you hadn't let yourself imagine.

You relished in his crestfallen expression. The part of you that hadn't stopped screaming since your brother's death wanted to push deeper and see just how far the cracks in his armour ran. You were vindictive and selfish, and you wanted to bleed him dry for what he'd done, intentional or not. Maybe you were projecting your guilt, because if Caleb hadn't actively ordered his death, that meant you were more at fault. You had let your brother die because you were bad at your job.

"You walk around here like you're some untouchable goddamn hero," you spat, "but you're not. You let him burn in your stead. What sort of person does that? But then again, you're not really a person, are you?"

No response.

You stepped closer. "All that discipline, all that protocol, what the fuck did it amount to? You let someone else die for you, and what? You think sending me coffee will make up for it? Is that your game, Colonel? Don't act like this is some noble tragedy. You only care now because it makes you feel like shit."

That finally struck a nerve, not enough to make him retaliate, but enough for regret to colour his expression. Nonetheless, he didn't yell back or shut you down or pull rank and smother you to pulp where you stood. He took every accusation and brutal truth because it was you who offered it.

When you were finally empty, throat hoarse and hands shaking, he simply closed his eyes and took a shallow breath.

"I'm sorry."

Two words, so quiet they almost didn't reach you. But they did, and they almost sounded sincere. There was no pretense, or even an attempt to defend himself. Just an apology.

You hated that for a moment, you wanted to believe it. But then all your torment came rushing back. You hadn't meant to let it out like this, but the dam had cracked, and there was no holding it back. It had been nearly a year since your brother's death, but standing there in Caleb's office, with the damning footage still playing in your head, it felt like yesterday.

Your lungs burned, and your voice came out a snarl. "Stay out of my life. You've taken enough from me. I don't know what all these little acts of charity are supposed to mean, or what twisted form of penance you're trying to buy, but stop it. Whatever you want from me, I can't give it to you. Search for it somewhere else."

Something achingly soft flickered across Caleb's face, something startlingly close to heartbreak. It stunned you, but in your attempts to avoid thinking about how it made you feel, you laughed, bitter, broken, and ugly.

"And here I thought you incapable of human feeling," you drawled, "but it seems you possess a soul after all. Maybe it will do you some good to rot in your guilt, if that's really what you feel."

You didn't wait for his response or give him time to collect himself, turning on your heel to storm off before the tears could breach your eyes again. The door shut behind you with a resounding click, leaving Caleb standing in the ruins of his own heart.

Taglist: @astudyoftimeywimeystuff @mi-yaw @userjunhuii @yahumankdj @twismare @missybabes @elielielira @kazbrkker @sylusgirlie7 @velvtcherie @potania @lyn-auxcord @rjreins @applecaviar @dramaticalsachan @iwantsomepotatoxx @inzanekillian @unbaed-you @poisonpomme @jisodior @risagichi @san-axa0 @killcxm

(hope i didn't miss anyone ❤️ lemme know if you wanna be added/removed)

#icarus ignite writes #love and deepspace #love and deepspace x reader #love and deepspace caleb #lads caleb x reader #lads caleb #caleb xia #caleb x reader #yandere caleb #caleb x non!mc reader #non mc reader #lnds caleb #xia yizhou #lnds #caleb x you #love and deepspace fanfiction #xia yizhou x reader #caleb xia x reader

197 notes · View notes

formulafanfics13 · 1 day ago

Text

Watch Her Learn - MV1 🔥

Masterlist

Summary: You’re a brat, and Max fucking loves it. Loves the challenge, the eye-rolls, the way you test him in front of the other drivers and team principals like you’ve forgotten exactly who owns you. So today, in the quiet corner of the Red Bull motorhome during a private paddock strategy meeting, Max decides it’s time to remind everyone — and especially you — who’s really in control. Warnings: smut, dom!Max, bratty reader, public setting (semi-public sex kinda), exhibitionism, spanking, rough dom/sub dynamics, face grabbing, degradation ("brat", "my toy", "filthy girl"), power play, use of fingers, choking (light), overstimulation, orgasm control, Max talks down to her in front of the others, team principals + drivers witnessing it but not intervening

It started with the gum. You knew it would push him over the edge. Because you were already testing him from the second you stepped into the Red Bull strategy room, chewing lazily, popping bubbles while the drivers and team principals settled into seats and the screens flicked on behind them. Max had warned you once already, 'no gum when I’m talking business, schat', but you’d shown up in his team colours anyway, popped a fresh strip of minty rebellion onto your tongue, and made damn sure he could see it from across the table.

Lando clocked it first. Gave you a side-eye and a half-smirk, already bracing for what was coming. Charles just sighed, like a man too deep in denial to admit he was invested. Christian Horner was too busy arguing with Guenther about fuel regs. But Max? Max didn’t even flinch. And that was worse.

You kept chewing. Louder. You let your foot find his under the table. Brushed your knee against his. Blew a bubble. Popped it.

He still didn’t look up. Fine. You waited until the second the Pirelli rep switched to tire strategy. Boring. Christian was rambling. Stefano looked like he wanted to fake a stroke to get out of the meeting. You leaned closer to Max, lifted your hand beneath the table, and popped your gum directly in his ear.

His head turned so fast it should’ve dislocated. He stared at you, deadpan. The silence that followed was so sharp, it sliced through the chatter like a knife. Everyone noticed. Every single person in the room, Lewis, Carlos, Fred, even Laurent and Jonathan, all looked up.

And that’s when Max smiled. The slow, evil, I’m-going-to-fuck-you-into-the-ground smile. He didn’t speak. Just grabbed your wrist and stood, chair scraping against the floor like a threat. “Up,” he said.

You blinked. “What-”

He tugged. Hard. “Now.”

Your whole body shivered. He didn’t drag you far. Just to the far end of the motorhome meeting room, behind the dividing screen, where equipment cases were stacked. Still visible. Still open. No doors. No real privacy.

He pushed you against one of the crates with both hands on your hips, bent you over slightly, and pressed in close behind you. You could feel every hard inch of him through his jeans.

“You wanna act like a brat in front of everyone?” he growled, voice low in your ear. “You wanna humiliate me in front of the whole grid?”

“I wasn’t-”

“Shut up.” He grabbed your jaw, yanked your head back so you’d look at him. “You wanted this. Don’t lie.”

You swallowed hard. You could still see them, across the room, glancing, pretending not to watch. Toto trying not to smirk. Lando shifting in his seat. Lewis pretending to read the slides but very much not focused. And Max didn’t care. Not one bit. He hiked your skirt up with one hand. Slid the other between your thighs.

“You’re wet already,” he hissed. “You like being punished where they can see.”

You whimpered. “Max-”

Two fingers shoved inside, ruthless and deep, knuckles pressing against your walls as he fucked them in hard.

“You don’t get to say my name like that,” he spat. “Not when you’ve been nothing but a filthy little distraction all day. I should bend you over that table and make you watch the others eat while I use your mouth, is that what you want?”

You gasped, legs trembling. “Yes- fuck- yes-”

He pushed deeper. Curled his fingers just right. “And you know what the worst part is?” he said, voice still that low, venomous growl. “None of them are gonna stop me. Not one. They all know what you are.”

Your thighs buckled.

“My toy,” he snarled. “My brat. My pretty little hole to ruin. You think any of them are gonna save you from me?”

You shook your head.

“That’s right. They’ll just sit there and watch.”

His fingers moved faster, wetter, knuckles slapping against your cunt in slick rhythm. Your body rocked forward with every thrust. You could feel the blush climbing your chest, the shame and heat and want mingling into one messy, desperate thing.

You turned your head slightly, just enough to glimpse past the screen. Lando was frozen, legs wide, arms crossed, clearly hard under the table. Lewis was biting his lip. Carlos looked like he was about to die. Fred didn’t even blink, just sipped his espresso like he’d seen it all before.

And Max? Max loved it. He pressed his other hand to your throat, not tight, just enough to ground you. “You gonna come on my fingers like a good girl?” he whispered. “Let them all hear how wet and pathetic you get for me?”

You whimpered. “Please, Max- please, I’m so close-”

“Then come,” he said. “Let them see what happens when you misbehave.”

You came hard. Back arching, thighs twitching, his name spilling from your lips like a prayer. He didn’t stop. Not even when your body went limp. Not even when your moans turned to broken, overstimmed sobs. He pulled his fingers out slowly. Dragged them up your spine. Smeared your slick across your lower back.

Then he grabbed you by the jaw, turned your head, and made you look. At all of them. Staring. “Say thank you,” he ordered.

Your voice trembled. “Thank you.”

“Louder.”

“Thank you, Max.”

He kissed your cheek. Soft, smug, victorious. Then turned to the room and said, completely deadpan, “She won’t interrupt again.”

#max verstappen fic #f1 fanfic #f1 fanfiction #f1 x reader #formula 1 fanfic #f1 imagine #f1 fic #f1 smut #max verstappen #max verstappen smut #max verstappen x reader #max verstappen x you #max verstappen imagine #max verstappen fanfic #mv1 #mv1 x reader #mv1 fic #mv1 imagine #mv33

328 notes · View notes

cherryberrycheol · 17 hours ago

Text

Gym Crush pt.2 | Choi Seungcheol | romance, (+18)

Pairing: choi seungcheol x fem!reader

Summary: After that first set of flirty texts from Cheol, you actually start going to the gym religiously. It’s no surprise that it brings the two of you closer (in all senses). One evening, when he invites you over to his place to cook pasta and drink wine, things get heated very quickly. And who are you to decline a steamy cardio session with your personal trainer, after all?

Word count: 5.2k

Genre/warnings: romance, slow burn, fluff, smut; slice of life, humour if you squint, workplace crush, gym!au, personal trainer!cheol x client!reader; professional/client boundary crossing, mild possessiveness/jealousy (his reactions to relentless teasing from his lovely friends), mild injury (pushing too hard at the gym, tiny knife cut), Seungcheol is a simp to put it simply, he’s flustered and adorable and a little awkward (until he’s not), caring and attentive man; not the most accurate representation of gym training (i researched but not in-depth); Kkuma makes an appearance because we love our pretty princess

Smut warnings: fingering, piv sex (do it like them, use condoms!), a bit of nipple play, some marking with teeth, Cheol is a little commanding, minor injury kink if you squint (reader gets turned on when the accidental knife cut happens—you’ll see), reader gets to be called mine by Cheol, a little bit of overstimulation (multiple orgasms for reader). I might’ve totally forgotten something…

A/N: i sincerely despise writing summaries and breaking down genres and warnings, it gives me legit anxiety. I procrastinated it for several days straight even though the story was all done and ready to be scheduled for posting. But as always I hope you enjoy! I love reading your comments and reposts, and you’re always welcome to message me through ask box! (๑˙᎑˙๑)♡

If you see any mistakes I’m sorry, English isn’t my first language, proceed at your own discretion.

Masterlist. | PART 1

The next morning, you find him leaning against the mirrored wall beside the squat rack, a protein shaker in hand. Dawn bleeds through the floor-to-ceiling windows, painting the empty gym in shades of liquid gold. His eyes snap to you the moment the glass doors sigh shut behind you, tracking your movement like a compass finding true north. There’s no mistaking the way his shoulders relax, the subtle curve of his mouth, a silent hey, you actually came that warms you more than the weak sunlight.

"Late," he announces, but it’s softened by the way he pushes off the wall, already reaching for your gym bag. His fingers brush yours as he takes it, a deliberate, lingering graze that sends a jolt up your arm. "Two extra sets. Penalty."

"You texted at 5:45 AM saying you’d be late yourself," you protest, shrugging off your hoodie. The air conditioning bites at your exposed arms, raising goosebumps and you shiver briefly before shaking it off.

"Did I?" He feigns wide-eyed innocence, setting your bag down with exaggerated care. The scent of his shampoo or shower gel—something clean and woodsy, like cedar after rain—drifts between you. "Must’ve… misremembered." His gaze drops to your lips for a heartbeat too long. You pretend not to notice and scoff at his attempted obliviousness.

He’s relentless during the session. "Feet wider." "Chest up, not out." "Breathe, don’t hold it." His voice is a low, grounding counterpoint to the clatter of distant weights and the rhythmic whir of treadmills of other early birds (suicide squad you call them and yourself). But every correction from Seungcheol is delivered with his body angled close, his presence a solid wall against your back. His palm settles lightly on your spine to guide your posture during lunges, calloused fingertips skimming your elbow to adjust your grip on the kettlebell. The whole process is a screenplay of plausible deniability: 30% actual training, 70% him weaving a net of near-touches and searching for every and any reason to be as close as possible. You don’t mind, after all there’s something uniquely satisfying in the knowledge that at the very least he likes you enough to try and spend as much of his time on you as he’s allowed without being fired for it.

And yet, his colleagues notice.

"Since when does Choi Seungcheol work pro bono?" Mingyu’s voice cuts through the focused quiet, dripping with amusement. He leans against a nearby elliptical machine, arms crossed, grinning like a cat presented with a bowl of cream.

Seungcheol doesn’t flinch outwardly, but you see the muscle jump in his jaw. A faint, telltale flush creeps up the back of his neck, staining his skin beneath the short hairs. "Since she actually puts in the work. Unlike some people." He keeps his eyes fixed on your form, his hand lingering protectively on your shoulder blade.

"Putting in the work, huh?" Wonwoo appears beside Mingyu, wiping sweat from his brow with a towel. His smirk is knowing, sharp. "Looks like you’re the one working overtime, Cheol. Charging her in smiles instead of session fees?"

You focus fiercely on the smooth arc of the kettlebell, your cheeks heating as you desperately attempt not to listen. Seungcheol’s thumb presses a tiny, reassuring circle against your shoulder blade. "Ignore the peanut gallery," he murmurs, his voice suddenly thick. "They’re just jealous I found someone who doesn’t whine through every set." The pink now blooms fully across his ears.

Three weeks dissolve into a rhythm as comforting as the worn grip of your favorite dumbbell in the gym. He meets you at the crack of dawn, when the world outside is still painted in grays and the only sounds are the hum of fluorescent lights and the rhythmic thud of your own heartbeat. He starts bringing you smoothies—vibrant green concoctions he blends himself before dawn, claiming they’re “recovery essentials” when you throw him a look that is half suspicion, half mild displeasure at the taste. ("Spinach, banana, almond milk. Not poison. I think.") He warms your cold hands between his own large, rough palms after you complain about the AC, rubbing life back into your fingertips with a tenderness that belies his gym-rat exterior.

And then there’s the day you push too hard on the leg press. Your quadriceps scream in protest, trembling violently as you try to lock out the final rep. A wave of dizziness washes over you, the room tilting precariously even though you’re basically sitting-lying down. Before you can even gasp, he’s there. Not spotting the weight – it’s safely racked – but his hands are suddenly firm on your shoulders, grounding you so you don’t lean to either side and fall, easing you back against the padded support. His face is inches from yours, eyes wide with alarm stripped bare of any trainer-client detachment.

"Hey. Hey, look at me." His voice is rough, urgent. His thumbs stroke the tense cords of your neck. "Breathe. In… out. That’s it. Just breathe."

The scent of him—clean sweat, cedar shower gel, and something uniquely Seungcheol—fills your senses. His heartbeat thuds against your palm when you reach up in slight disorientation, trying to stabilise yourself, vision darkened around the edges. His heart beats frantically, mirroring the wild rhythm of your own. He doesn’t pull back. Not immediately. His gaze searches yours, filled with a concern that feels too deep, too personal.

"You good?" he asks, his voice softer now, scraped raw.

You nod, swallowing hard, suddenly breathless for reasons that have nothing to do with oxygen debt. You remove your palm when you realise it’s still pressed against his compression shirt. "Yeah. Just… pushed too hard."

He exhales slowly, a shaky breath you feel against your temple. His hands remain on your shoulders, warm and heavy. "Stubborn," he murmurs, but there’s no real annoyance, only a strange, breathless fondness. "Let’s call it a day. Cool down. Properly." He finally eases back, but his eyes stay locked on yours, attentive and unreadable, like there are too many thoughts running through his head all at once.

The teasing from his colleagues evolves into an art form of sorts. Jeonghan, the gym’s resident fox-faced yoga trainer with a knack for psychological probing (simply called ‘getting on everyone’s nerves’), corners Seungcheol near the water cooler during your post-workout stretching. You’re lying on your back on a mat, one leg extended towards the ceiling, focusing very hard on your hamstring and not on their hushed conversation drifting over.

"So," Jeonghan drawls, slinging a conspiratorial arm around Seungcheol’s stiff shoulders. "Heard you spent twenty minutes explaining the biomechanics of the bicep curl yesterday. Very thorough. Very… dedicated."

Seungcheol tries to shrug him off, but Jeonghan clings like a limpet. "She asked." His voice is tight.

"Did she? Or did you just really need to stand that close while she flexed?" Seungcheol’s expression sours and, before he can retort with anything, Jeonghan’s grin is luminous as he turns to you, talking intentionally louder to make sure you hear even if you try not to listen. "He bought new deodorant last week, you know. Said the old one was ‘too sporty’. Needed something ‘cleaner’. More… approachable."

Seungcheol chokes on his sip of water. A droplet escapes, tracing a slow path down the strong column of his throat, over the pulse point hammering visibly beneath his skin. He swipes at it with the back of his hand, glaring daggers at Jeonghan, but the furious blush staining his cheeks and neck gives him away entirely. He avoids looking in your direction.

"Focus on your hip flexors," he barks suddenly at you, his voice cracking slightly. "Hold for thirty seconds. Deep breaths."

You obediently switch legs, sinking into the stretch. When you chance a glance, he’s turned away, meticulously re-racking weights that were already perfectly aligned. His shoulders are stiff, radiating a potent mix of embarrassment and irritation. You bite back a smile, warmth blooming in your chest. It’s absurdly endearing, this confident, sculpted man reduced to a flustered boy by his friends’ teasing and his own poorly disguised crush.

The pretense shatters on a rain-lashed Thursday. The gym is a cavernous echo chamber, empty save for the two of you and the rhythmic drumming of water against the high windows. Grey light washes everything in monochrome. You’re on the mat, lying on your back for glute bridges, pushing your hips towards the ceiling. He’s kneeling beside you, one hand hovering near your lower back for form, the other resting lightly on your hip bone. His touch is electric, even through the fabric of your leggings.

"Higher," he murmurs, his voice unusually husky in the quiet. His thumb presses gently against your hip. "Engage the core. Squeeze at the top."

You push up, holding the position, feeling the burn in your glutes. The silence stretches, interfered only by the rain and your own measured breaths. His hand on your hip feels heavier, hotter. His gaze isn’t on your form anymore; it’s tracing the line of your shoulder, the curve of your neck exposed by your high ponytail. You can feel the weight of it, intense and unwavering.

You carefully lower your hips back to the mat and turn your head to look at him. His eyes snap to yours, wide and startled, caught. A flush instantly floods his face, vivid crimson against his fair skin. He jerks his hand back from your hip as if scalded.

"Sorry," he rasps, scrambling back slightly on his knees. He runs a hand through his damp hair, making it stand on end. "Got… distracted."

The raw admission hangs in the air, fragile and undeniable. The carefully constructed trainer-client facade lies in ruins around him. You push yourself up to sit, facing him. The mat is cool beneath your palms. Rain streaks the windows in tiny running rivulets.

"I know," you say softly.

His head whips up. "Know what?" He looks genuinely terrified, bracing for rejection.

"That this," you gesture vaguely between you, encompassing the pre-dawn meetings, the smoothies, the lingering touches, the blushes, "isn’t just about deadlifts and protein intake."

He stares at you, his chest rising and falling rapidly. The panic in his eyes slowly morphs into something else—vulnerability, hope, a desperate kind of relief. He swallows hard, the sound audible in the quiet. "No," he admits, the word rough, scraped from his throat. "It’s not." He looks down at his hands, clenched in his lap. Strong hands, capable hands, now looking uncertain. "It hasn’t been for a while. I just…" He trails off, shaking his head, a frustrated, self-deprecating chuckle escaping him. "I didn’t know how to stop being your trainer and start being… someone who just wanted to see you. Every morning."

He risks a glance up, his dark eyes searching yours, laid painfully bare. "My friends are never going to let me live this down."

"Good," you whisper, shifting closer on the mat. The scent of rain through the open crack of the window and his clean sweat fills the small space between you. "Maybe next time you want to see someone every morning, you could just… ask them out? Like a normal person?" You can’t help but tease him.

A laugh bursts from him—genuine, surprised, tinged with leftover nerves. It transforms his face, softening the sharp lines, crinkling the corners of his eyes. He scrubs a hand over his face, smearing sweat and the remnants of his embarrassment. "Yeah. Okay. Point taken." He drops his hand, meeting your gaze with a newfound, albeit shaky, resolve. "So. Would you? Let me take you out? Somewhere that doesn’t smell like rubber mats and sweaty people?"

The tension melts, replaced by a warm, giddy lightness. "Only if you promise not to critique my menu choices."

He grins, that bright, unguarded smile that makes your stomach flip. "Deal. But I reserve the right to steal your fries," he jokes, wiggling his eyebrows and laughing when you swat him lightly.

He takes you to a tiny, steamy noodle bar tucked away in a side alley, far removed from the gleaming, work-hard world of the gym. The air is thick and fragrant, laden with the pungent aroma of simmering bone broth, fried garlic, chili oil, and the earthy scent of fresh herbs. Neon signs from the shops across the narrow street smear vibrant streaks of reds and blues and pinks across rain-slicked pavement visible through the fogged-up windows. He’s swapped his gym gear for soft, worn jeans and a charcoal grey hoodie that makes his shoulders look impossibly broad. His hair is still slightly damp, curling softly at his nape.

Seungcheol fumbles with the laminated menu, his usual confidence replaced by an endearing awkwardness. "I, uh… wasn’t sure what you’d like," he admits, pushing the menu towards you across the small, slightly sticky table. "Besides glaring suspiciously at smoothies I bring you."

You nudge his foot gently under the table with yours. "I like spicy things. And trainers who turn into adorable, blushing messes when they’re caught being obvious."

He groans, dropping his forehead onto his folded arms on the table with a soft thud. "You are never letting me forget that, are you?" His voice is muffled.

"Not a chance," you laugh, sipping your hot jasmine tea. The warmth spreads through you, chasing away the last of the rainy weather chill. "It’s officially my favorite thing."

He lifts his head just enough to peek at you through his fingers. The neon lights from outside reflect in his dark eyes and the vulnerability that is still lingering in there becomes more obvious, the hopeful curve of his mouth more prominent. "Your favorite thing, huh?" he echoes, testing the words. Slowly, deliberately, he lowers his hands, then reaches across the small table. His palm is upturned, an open question on the scarred knuckles and calloused skin. "So… was the whole free personal trainer charade worth it? The relentless teasing? The existential dread every time Jeonghan opened his mouth?"

You place your hand in his without hesitation. His fingers close around yours, warm and strong and sure. His thumb sweeps slowly across your knuckles, a gentle, grounding stroke that unravels the last threads of tension coiling in your shoulders. It’s a touch that speaks volumes – apology, promise, relief.

"Best bargain I never paid for," you murmur, giving his hand a playful squeeze.

His answering smile is pure sunshine, banishing the last of his shyness, revealing the soft, earnest heart beneath the sculpted muscles and confident facade. "Good," he says, his voice warm, squeezing your hand. "Because I might have or have not accidentally booked your usual slot for tomorrow. Six AM. Sharp."

You gasp and kick his shin lightly under the table. He just laughs, a warm sound that blends perfectly with the buzz of conversations of other patrons and the murmur of the rain outside, his hand holding yours tighter, anchoring you firmly in this new, delicious reality.

The noodle bar becomes a catalyst. Dawn gym sessions still happen—Seungcheol wouldn’t let you skip leg day if the world was ending—but now they bleed into something softer, slower. He starts texting you things that have nothing to do with reps or protein: Saw this stray cat that looks like your smug face after finishing all reps without dying. Thought of you. Or: It’s raining. Perfect day to stay in bed. (Alone. Obviously. Unless…?)

His invitations evolve.

"Come over Saturday," he says one Thursday, spotting you on the bench press. His palm rests lightly on the bar, not guiding, just there. A steadying presence. "I’ll cook pasta. Homemade sauce. None of that jarred crap Mingyu eats."

You arch a brow, lowering the weight. "You cook?"

He grins, wiping the nonexistent sweat from his brow with the back of his hand. The movement makes his biceps flex. "I survive. But for you? I’ll try not to poison us."

His apartment is exactly what you imagined: clean but lived-in, dominated by a massive navy blue sofa and shelves cluttered with protein tubs among which you spot a gaming console, and a surprising number of well-loved cookbooks. Kkuma, his cotton de tulear, greets you with a wiggling frenzy, nearly knocking over an umbrella stand by the door.

"Down, menace," Seungcheol laughs, gently nudging her aside. He’s barefoot, wearing faded jeans and a soft white henley pushed up to his elbows. The sight of his forearms—corded muscle, faint scars, the dusting of dark hair—makes your mouth go dry. "Make yourself at home. Wine’s open."

He cooks with intense focus, brows furrowed, lips pursed together in a slight pout, sleeves rolled higher as he chops garlic. The air fills with the rich scent of tomatoes, basil, and sizzling pancetta. You perch on a stool at the kitchen island, sipping pinot noir, watching the fluid shift of his shoulders beneath the thin cotton. It’s domestic. Intimate. A world away from clanging weights and his colleagues’ teasing.

"You’re staring," he murmurs without turning, a smile playing on his lips. He scrapes onions into the pan. They hiss, releasing a cloud of fragrant steam.

"Admiring your form," you counter, swirling your wine. "Elbow in. Wrist straight. Very professional."

He snorts, finally glancing over his shoulder. His eyes are warm, crinkled at the corners. "Flattery gets you extra parmesan."

You chuckle in response.

Dinner is surprisingly good—al dente pasta coated in a velvety sauce, garlic bread crisp and golden. You eat at the small dining table, Kkuma walking in circles around your feet, trying to get food from you by giving boba eyes and quietly whining (Seungcheol forbids spoiling her). The conversation flows easy: terrible gym music, his childhood fear of pigeons, your (not so) irrational hatred of folding fitted sheets. The wine bottle empties. The city lights blink on outside the window, painting streaks of gold across his cheekbones.

He clears the plates, his hand brushing yours as he takes your fork. A spark jumps between you, lingering in the sudden quiet of the kitchen.

"Dessert?" he asks, voice lower than before.

You stand, following him to the sink. "Depends. Is it more protein powder disguised as pudding?"

He turns, leaning back against the counter. The space between you shrinks. You catch the scent of him beneath the garlic and wine—cedar soap, warm skin, something uniquely male. His gaze drops to your mouth, then back up, dark and intent.

"No powder," he murmurs. His hand rises, calloused fingertips tracing the curve of your jaw. The touch is feather-light, questioning. "Just this."

He kisses you.

It’s not like the quick, rain-dampened press after your first date. This is slow. Deliberate. His lips are soft but insistent, tasting of red wine and basil. One hand slides into your hair, cradling the back of your head; the other settles low on your spine, pulling you flush against him. You feel the solid wall of his chest, the rapid thud of his heartbeat against yours. A low sound vibrates in his throat—part satisfaction, part hunger.

The world narrows to the slide of his mouth, the warming air between your bodies, the firm pressure of his hands anchoring you. You sink into him, fingers fisting in the soft fabric of his henley. The kitchen fades—the hum of the fridge, the drip of the faucet, Kkuma’s soft snore from the living room rug. There’s only his warmth, his scent, the dizzying rightness of his body aligned with yours.

When he finally pulls back, his breathing is ragged. His eyes search yours, pupils blown wide, lips slightly swollen. A faint flush stains the tops of his cheekbones. He looks wrecked. Beautiful.

"Okay?" he rasps, his thumb stroking your cheekbone.

You nod, words lost somewhere between your ribs and your throat. You lean in, chasing his mouth again.

He meets you halfway.

It becomes a rhythm. Saturdays are for pasta, wine, and Kkuma stealing meatballs—you’re becoming her favored human for sneakily feeding her when Seungcheol doesn’t see. Tuesdays are for early morning jogs that start at his apartment (“Easier than coordinating a meet up spot through texts, and my place is closer to the track,” he insists, handing you a travel mug of coffee, his fingers lingering on yours). His couch becomes your couch. His hoodies migrate to your closet.

One rainy Thursday, you show up drenched after work, hair plastered to your neck, shivering in your thin blouse. He answers the door, takes one look at you, and mutters, “Fuck,” before pulling you inside.

"Shower," he orders, already steering you down the hallway. "Now. Before you catch pneumonia and I have to nurse you back to health again." (It happened just recently).

His bathroom is steamy and clean, smelling of his cedar body wash. He hands you a thick towel and one of his hoodies—soft, grey, swallowing you whole. When you emerge, hair still slightly damp, skin flushed from the heat, he’s in the kitchen making tea.

He freezes when he sees you, the kettle forgotten in his hand. His gaze travels slowly from your hair, down the oversized hoodie swallowing your frame, to your bare legs. A muscle ticks in his jaw.

"You," he says, his voice rough, "are trying to kill me."

You pad over, taking the kettle from his stiff fingers. "Just borrowing clothes. Is that a crime?"

He crowds you back against the counter, palms flat on the cool granite on either side of your hips. His body radiates heat, blocking out the rest of the kitchen. "When you look like that? Yeah. Capital offense." His eyes are dark, intense, fixed on your mouth. The air crackles.

He kisses you like he’s starved for it—deep, claiming, one hand sliding into the damp hair at your nape, the other splaying possessively low on your back. You arch into him, the soft cotton of the hoodie being pretty much the only barrier between your skin and his. A whimper escapes you, swallowed by his mouth.

He pulls back just enough to rest his forehead against yours, breathing hard. "Stay," he murmurs, the word a plea against your lips. "Just… stay tonight."

Weeks blur into a comfortable intimacy. But the tension simmers, a low heat beneath every shared glance, every accidental touch on the sofa, every time he catches you wearing his clothes. It’s a promise hanging unspoken between you.

It bursts on a quiet Friday. You’re helping him chop vegetables for another pasta attempt, elbows brushing, the radio playing soft jazz. He’s recounting Jeonghan’s latest attempt to embarrass him at work (“He put googly eyes on my protein shaker. Said it looked less intimidating.”) when your knife slips.

A sharp sting blooms on your thumb. "Ow!"

Seungcheol is at your side instantly, catching your wrist. "Shit. Let me see." A bead of crimson wells on the pad of your thumb. Without hesitation, he brings your finger to his mouth, sucking gently.

The shock of it—the warmth, the wet suction, the intense focus in his eyes—rocks you. Your breath stops at the top of an inhale. He holds your gaze, his lips sealed around your finger, tongue pressing softly against the tiny wound. The world tilts. Heat pools low in your belly, sharp and insistent.

He releases your finger slowly, his lips glistening. His eyes haven’t left yours. "Better?"

His voice is gravel. It scrapes over your skin.

You don’t answer. You fist your hands in the front of his soft, worn t-shirt and pull him down, crushing your mouth to his.

It’s a match thrown on gasoline.

He groans, deep and hungry, his hands flying to your hips, lifting you onto the kitchen counter in one smooth motion. Bowls clatter. Abandoned vegetables tumble to the floor as he frees up space with a vague swipe of his palm. He doesn’t care. His mouth is hot and demanding on yours, his tongue sliding against yours with a desperation that steals your breath. His hands slide under the hem of your shirt, rough palms skimming your waist, your ribs, the sensitive skin just below your breasts. His touch brands you.

"Seungcheol—" You gasp his name against his lips as his thumb brushes the underside of your breast.

He pulls back just far enough to look at you, his chest heaving, eyes blazing. His hand slides up, cupping your breast through your bra, his thumb circling your nipple until it pebbles into a hard point. A shudder runs through you.

“Cheol,” he corrects, voice low and thick with need. He leans down, nipping once at the sensitive skin of your inner thigh, just below the hem of your shorts. The sting makes you jolt. His breath is hot against your skin as he murmurs, “When I’m inside you, I want my name short on your tongue.”

The raw command, the possessiveness in his voice, the feel of his teeth and the promise in his words—it unravels you. A whine tears from your throat, your head falling back.

"Yes," you breathe. "Cheol. Please."

He makes a sound like a growl, surging up to reclaim your mouth. His hands are everywhere—pushing your shirt over your head, fumbling with the clasp of your bra, his palms hot and greedy on your bare skin. He lifts you off the counter, your legs instinctively wrapping around his waist, and carries you down the hallway to his bedroom without breaking the kiss.

The room is dim, lit only by the streetlights filtering through the blinds. He lays you down on his bed, the sheets cool against your back. He strips off his t-shirt, revealing the sculpted planes of his chest, the defined ridges of his abdomen, the trail of dark hair leading below the waistband of his jeans. Your mouth waters.

He follows you down, his body covering yours, skin to skin. The weight of him, the heat, the sheer presence is overwhelming. He kisses you deeply, his hands mapping your body—the curve of your hip, the dip of your waist, the swell of your breast. His mouth follows, trailing hot, open-mouthed kisses down your neck, across your collarbone, lower. He takes a nipple into his mouth, sucking hard, swirling his tongue. You cry out, arching off the bed, fingers tangling in his hair.

"Cheol—"

He releases your breast with a wet pop, his eyes dark and predatory in the low light. "Tell me," he demands, his hand sliding down your stomach, dipping beneath the waistband of your now unbuttoned shorts and underwear. "Tell me how much you want it."

"I want you," you gasp as his fingers find your slick heat, circling your sensitive nub with maddening pressure. "God, Cheol, I’m begging—"

He kisses you again, swallowing your pleas as his fingers slide inside you, curling deep. You moan into his mouth, your hips rocking against his hand, seeking more friction, more depth. He adds a second finger, stretching you, his thumb still working tight circles on your clit. The pleasure builds, coiling tighter and tighter, a white-hot wire about to snap.

"Look at me," he rasps.

Your eyes flutter open, meeting his intense gaze. He watches you as he works you, watches every flicker of pleasure on your face, every gasp, every tremble. It’s so unbearably intimate you find that it undoes you on a different level, somewhere deep inside.

"Come for me," he commands, his voice rough velvet. "Now."

His thumb presses harder, his fingers crooking just right inside you. The coil snaps. Pleasure detonates, radiating out from your core in blinding waves. You cry out, back arching, your inner muscles clenching rhythmically around his fingers. He holds you through it, murmuring your name against your skin—"That’s it, good, so good for me"—until the tremors subside, leaving you boneless and gasping.

He pulls his fingers free, sucking them clean with a low groan that vibrates against your neck. The sight, the sound, sends a fresh jolt of heat through your spent body.

He makes quick work of your shorts and underwear, the air of the room brushes your slick folds and you shiver. It takes Seungcheol a minute of staring, his gaze filled with appreciation at the sight before him. “So pretty and all for me,” he purrs—the low timbre of his voice makes your insides clench—and then proceeds to take off his jeans and boxers, freeing his erection—thick, flushed, straining. He rolls on a condom that he grabs from his nightstand drawer, his hands trembling slightly, the only sign of his own fraying control. He settles between your thighs, the head of his cock nudging your slick entrance.

His eyes lock with yours, burning with need, tenderness, and that fierce possessiveness. "Mine," he breathes, and pushes inside.

It’s a stretch, a delicious burn. You gasp, wrapping your legs tighter around his hips, pulling him deeper on sheer reflex. He sinks into you slowly, inch by agonizing inch, until he’s fully sheathed, his hips pressed flush against yours. He stills, forehead resting against yours, breathing ragged.

"Fuck," he chokes out. "You feel… perfect."

You manage a mere whimper in response, too deliciously overwhelmed to use words for anything.

He begins to move—slow, deep thrusts that drag against every sensitive nerve inside you. He kisses you, deep and messy, swallowing your moans. His arms cage you while he braces himself above you, biceps bulging with effort as he continues guiding the rhythm, pushing harder into you with each powerful stroke. The friction builds again, a deep, throbbing ache coiling low in your belly.

"Cheol," you gasp, your nails scraping down his sweat-slicked back. "Harder. Please."

He grunts, obliging, his thrusts turning faster, deeper, more urgent. The bedframe knocks rhythmically against the wall. His name becomes a chant on your lips—"Cheol, Cheol, Cheol"—short, gasping, desperate, just like he wanted. He watches you, mesmerized, his own control visibly fraying with every cry that spills from your mouth.

"Gonna come," he grits out, his rhythm faltering. "Look at me. Come with me."

His hand slides between your bodies, finding your clit again, rubbing firm, rapid circles. The dual stimulation tips you over the edge. Your vision whites out as another orgasm crashes through you, fierce and consuming, your inner walls clenching tight around him. He breathes your name, burying himself deep as his own release pulses into you, his body shuddering violently against yours.

He collapses onto you, his weight a warm, comforting anchor. His breath comes in ragged gasps against your neck. You stroke his damp hair, your own body humming with aftershocks of pleasure.

After a long moment, he lifts his head, his eyes soft and hazy. He brushes a sweaty strand of hair from your forehead, his touch infinitely tender.

"You okay?" he murmurs, his voice wrecked.

You nod, too blissed-out for words. A slow smile spreads across his face. He kisses you, soft and lingering and you respond.

"Good," he whispers, finally pulling out and leaving you empty. The used condom gets tied and thrown somewhere—you’re too spent to think about the logistics of it. Seungcheol rolls to the side, pulling you with him, tucking you against his chest. His arms wrap around you, solid and secure. "Because," he adds, pressing a kiss to the top of your head, his voice already thick with drowsy satisfaction, "you still owe me a morning jog. Six AM as usual, no excuses."

You groan, burrowing deeper into his warmth, the scent of him—sex, sweat, cedar—wrapping around you like a bear hug. The rain drums softly against the window. Somewhere in the apartment, Kkuma sighs in her sleep. You drift, anchored by the steady beat of his heart beneath your ear, knowing dawn will bring weights, Mingyu’s teasing, and Cheol’s relentless, perfect attention.

*.(๓•͙ ˕ •͙๓).* like + reblog + comment if you enjoyed your time reading this!

Masterlist.

#cheol #choi seungcheol #svt fanfic #choi seungcheol x reader #choi seungcheol x you #scoups x reader #scoups #seventeen scoups #seungcheol fluff #seungcheol smut #seungcheol fanfic #seungcheol imagines #seungcheol x you #seungcheol x reader #scoups smut #scoups fluff #cherryberrycheol

187 notes · View notes

baileysoksbakery · 1 day ago

Text

— todays word count : 1.3k+

— on the radio station today: Bathroom - Montell Fish.

Requested by @noiregodess99 sorry this is a bit rushed and short because im really tryna focus on Devil’s temptation now so i forgot to close my request but i decided to accept it anyways, i also wrote half of this at like 6am…

Cw/Tags: Powerbottom!Lara, Smut with little to no plot, edging, Cum denial, dry humping, gp!reader ( I absolutely don’t care i live for gp!anything tbh.), overstimulation, jealous/possessive Lara, begging, absolutely downbad reader, mean Lara.

A fan walked up to you after the lollapalooza performance. “ Omg, you guys did so good and I love your music so much. I love you so much! “ The Black haired fan shoved a photocard into your hand.

Her hand brushed agaisnt yours, it was so subtle you or her barely noticed. But Lara did—She felt her heart boil at how close you seemed to the fan, The way you would laugh at one of her jokes—The way the fan hugged you. It made her blood boil.

Manon noticed and smirked at this. “ uh-oh looks like someones jealous.. “ The older girl teased while poking her slender finger towards Lara’s arm. Lara scoffed in response and refused of it being anything of the sort. she waved her off with her hand.

But as her head turned she saw you taking a picture with the fan. Thats when she noticed your arm was around her waist—Now she was really pissed. Lara’s jaw clenched and her eyes narrowed—She exhaled a breath she didn’t even know she was holding in the first place.

So she immediately walked over to you and grabbed your wrist. “ She has to go now. Im truly sorry but we have alot of other things too do. “ Lara said while pulling you back to the car that you guys came in.

which also was a lie because you two also had a fanmeet there.

Lara roughly opened up the car door like she was about to rip the door off of its hinges. She pushed you into the car with a breath that sounded like an engine—As she crawled into the car behind you.

“ Lara, Whats this about.. “ you said as you sat down on the black velvet seats of the White Lamborghini. She crawled on top of you—straddling your lap. Her index and thumb finger lifted up your chin. “ So you like flirting with other girls? “ Lara said as her eyes narrowed, her lips parted slightly as she suddenly gained a mischievous glint in her eyes.

She immediately started grinding her body against yours—Feeling your dick start to perk up and harden underneath her. You groaned at the sudden erection, you bit your lip as your hands glid up her thighs to hold her waist. “ Fuck, Lara.. “ She shut you up immediately. Taking your lips into a messy and sloppy kiss. Quickly though, She immediately begun grinding her body against yours—Groaning inside the kiss entirely.

you bucked your hips upward as if hers were leaving yours too quickly. You separated from her and start panting and digging your nails into her hips, your leather shorts now disgustingly wet at the crouch area. But you didn’t care—All you could think about was the current situation you were in with Lara

“ You weren’t acting like this when you were touching all up on that girl.. “ Lara whispered as she kept going—Faster this time as you threw you head back, your mind was everywhere. The way she rode your cock even though it wasn’t out of your shorts made you go numb.

But you noticed was she said and you furrowed a brow. You never realized how jealous and possessive Lara was about you. You didn’t say anything else to her because you didn’t have the strength to say anything else about it—So you just sat there and her dry hump you. Her moans louder then the sound of the leather squeaking together.

“ Fuck, this cock.. all mines, not hers. “ you tried to hold back a giggle from what she just said as she fucked herself silly on your cock. Or should i say the tent of your shorts. But your breath was still ragged as you felt yourself get closer to your orgasm.

“ Lara.. What.. Fuck im always yours, never anyone elses. But yours. “ you mutter through your teeth. Lara’s gaze moved up to you face, her hand on your hand that was on her waist—Out of breath you bit your lip as you tried to plead with her into letting you cum.

“ No. Im still fucking mad at you and you’ll cum when i want you to. Understood? “ She told you in a stern voice. Her eyes never left yours she felt herself get closer and closer. She threw her head back having no disregard for her clothes that were about to get ruined from her sticky mess.

A choked gasp as she tried her best to get out the words. ‘ Im gonna cum ‘. Without cutting herself off—Her eyes rolled back as she threw her head back and rode you like you were some kind of toy to her—You whimpered upon being so overstimulated and overwhelmed you decided to try and beg her again to let you release.

“ Please, Lara, I’ll do anything let me cum. “ Instead of letting you though. She stopped altogether—You whimpered from the sudden disconnect. You begged Lara to keep going—Your big pleading puppy eyes looked up at Lara with some type of lustful shame as your hands wandered up Laras shirt and to her tits.

Fondling and groping them. You bit your lip as you groaned upon feeling her warm skin against yours made you feel even more desperate. Your dick twitched and pulsed in your shorts—You bit your lip upon thinking of another dirty fantasy with her.

You opened your lips again to say something. You begged her even more, you wouldn’t stop. You couldn’t stop no matter how much she told you to—But she finally gave in and rolled her eyes and sucked her teeth. You were about to say something to Lara before she silenced you before you could even open your lips.

“ Say something and i swear i won’t let you cum no matter how much you beg me. “ you immediately pressed your lips closed as she got down on her knees and began to slowly pull down your shorts. Teasing you slightly. You whimpered at the act and moaned at the slight feeling of friction.

you looked at you with narrow eyes—As if daring you to say something or do something she doesn’t like. But she knew you were such a good girl for her and wouldn’t dare defy or go against her word like a brat.

her eyes marveled at your already wet cock. She spread your legs apart and darted her tongue out—Licking up your shaft slow and steady while looking up at you with eyes that pierced your soul. She kissed your tip and curved her tongue around the flushed, sensitive area—Your hips jerking at the small action. She soon took your member into her mouth whole.

slowly bobbing her head up and down as she stared at the sight infront of her. Your face, the way your lips slightly parted—Your flushed cheeks and furrowed brows. She sneakily crept a hand into her own shorts and begun playing with her clit.

her fingers became wet and sticky from earlier when she came—She quickened her pace on your cock—You gasped and let out a high-pitched moan—Her moans muffled into your own cock as your hips tried chasing her face, you put a hand into her hair and pushed her further. Testing the waters a little bit, but her mind was spiraling. Too all over the place to care.

So you kept face-fucking her. Your head thrown back as you went at an impossibly fast pace—Your moans were breathy and uncontrolled. As for Lara, she sped up her fingers that were still rubbing her clit in tight circles to match your pace. Her legs shook slightly as she let out filthy and sultry anthems that was muffled from your cock engulfing every last possible inch of her mouth and throat.

the sound of gags and moans left her throat as tears begun leaving your eyes from everything your feeling all at once. You finally cummed inside her mouth without warning—The feeling of the white, warm, and sticky fluid entering her mouth seemed to help her finish all over her fingers—Swallowing all of your cum little by little during the process.

“ Still mad at me now? “

161 notes · View notes

siren-ha · 19 hours ago

Text

p: husband!toji x fem!reader

synopsis: what started off as a lil shave sesh turns into something more as toji gets distracted by you (or) shaving him while cockwarming him

tw: MDNI! cockwarming, nipple play, creampie, spanking, fingering, unprotected sex (girl, they're fictional- you arent, so pls dont do it!), dirty talk, standing sex-?, groping, kisses, breeding, cums inside.

your back is pressed against the counter, your hand holding a razor while toji is standing infront of you- bending slightly so you can slowly swipe the razor across the side of his face.

your brows furrowed as you concentrate on not hurting him, your other hand holding the side of his jaw- moving his face as you wished and tiptoeing despite him bending for you already.

you're focused. too focused.

and thats why you didnt notice toji's gaze drifting away from your pretty face to the cleavage you're showing due to the oversized shirt you're wearing- his ofc.

he tries to stop his mind from going south. he does. he really does. but he just cant help it that you are oh so unaware of the thoughts unravelling in his mind.

god, he just wants to chew you up with how cute you look right now.

is this what cuteness aggression is? doesnt matter when the thoughts in his head are not so cute.

you rest on your feet as you wash the razor in the small bowl you kept filled with water and bring it back again.

and thats when his restraint snaps. the very small movement of your breast when you went back on your feet? yes. that alone couldve made him cum in his pants.

he hums as you press the razor on the shaving cream covered part of his cheek- the slight coldness of the razor making him bring back to his senses.

he slowly straightens and goes a little closer to you. too close.

you didnt think much of it. he probably got tired of bending for you for so long. but that thought came to halt when he sliped his hand under your shirt.

the roughness of his hand is quite contrast to the softness of your skin. still. maybe he felt cold.

and maybe that cold is the reason why his hand started to move to your back and maybe that cold is the reason why his hand found the hooks of your bra and maybe that cold is the reason why he unhooked your bra with his single hand- i mean ofcourse he knows how to do that, especially with the amount of times he's done it with you- with you only ofc.

you pause your moments at that and look at him to see he's already looking at you with that teasing glint in his eyes. you raise your brow at his antics while he just shrugs, "continue baby, you dont want me shaved on one side and hair on the other, do you?"

you roll your eyes at that and continue your work while he continues his- trying to take to you, that is.

his hand goes on this mysterious and naughty path to your chest, as he gropes your bare breast.

your breath hitches but you dont stop shaving him- occasionally dipping the razor in water to clean it.

he holds your nipple with his index and thumbs twists it, then just rubs it with his thumb all while the tension in his pants grows and the wetness in your core too.

he retracts his hand after sometime and slips his hand into his boxers, he moves them a bit down and take his hot, red, pre-cum dripping length out.

you totally stop whatever you're doing at that. but toji grunts, "What did I say about you not stopping?"

you gulp and continue slowly shaving his jaw. he pushes the shirt up until your hips and pushes the tip in without any prep. your gasp and he groans at the feeling of finally being in you.

with a tight grip on your hip, he pushes his length fully in you and sighs at the huge cock filling you perfectly.

and so, you continue to cockwarm him while shaving all while he's grunting in between of whispering dirty things to you.

you like to keep my cock in you doing nothing huh?

you fit so perfect 'round me, you were made for me, werent you, baby?

such a perfect little cock slut you are

you gently wipe cheeks and jaw with a towel after you're done shaving him- all while he's still inside you.

"Now, now, since you've been oh so good to me and helped me shave, I think I should give you a reward." he says as you keep the towel behind you- voice muffled due to his face in your neck.

he slowly starts moving while sucking and licking your neck.

your hands automatically found their way to his hair as you play with it while the other holds his shoulder- gasps and moans slipping out of your lips.

he bites your neck and slowly starts thrusting as you grip onto his shoulders.

he groans, "You feel so good baby, all 'f me yea?"

you nod- your eyes closed tightly- unable to form words.

toji slips one of his hands from your hips to your ass and slaps it- and watched your cheek recoil, "I asked something, baby"

"y-yes" you moan.

"Yes what?" he asks after slapping your ass again- this time leaving a red hand print.

you moan, "y-yours, toji, alll-l yours."

he starts thrusting quickly up into you as you slightly bounce everytime he pushes into back into you. he rubs the cheek which he has slapped and brings it to your front- your clit and starts rubbing circles.

you roll your eyes to the back of your head and throw your head back still while slightly bouncing up due to his forceful thrusts.

"You gonna take my load, baby? all of it?"

you nod- your brain mushy, mouth slightly ajar, hands clenched onto his shirt, body jerking and in absolute pleasure land.

"as you should. you're gonna take all of it."

he says as he brings the fingers which he rubbed your clit with and sucked them on all while plunging his length into you- his balls slapping against your skin.

you go crazy at the sight and feel the knot tightening in your lower stomach.

"loose yourself baby, come on me, make my dick wet like the fucking slut you are."

you reach your high at that and collapse on top of him, he places a gentle kiss on top of your head like he wasnt the same person who spanked you few mins ago.

he doesnt stop his ministrations though.

"Im reaching baby, nguh- shit" and just like that, hot ropes of cum shoots inside of your walls. both of you sigh at the sensations.

he pulls his dick back and cups your pussy, "keep it all in, yea? dont let it go to waste."

he thrusts a finger into you making sure his cum stays inside, you jump as you're still sensitive but he quickly retracts his hand.

he hums and with a playful tone, "Now that you've shaved me up here, how about you shave me down ther-"

"Toji!"

©siren-ha all writing belong to me. do not copy, modify or repost my works.

siren ✍(◔◡◔): ayyyyyy toji debut fic!!! lets gooooo. literally pulled it outta my ass, idk how i even came up with this idea but hope you like it lol. also not profreed so if it sounds messy- you know why

jjk taglist: open! lmk in comments if u wanna be added.

interactions are always appreciated!

141 notes · View notes

bluebnny · 18 hours ago

Note

hellooo how are youu?? js dropping by a lil request!

how would law react if his s/o said there safeword mid sex? :>>

uhh I don't know what else to add in so the rest is up to u😅😅

Safe word

trafalgar law x gn!reader

contents: reader using their safeword during sex, reader is pretty shaken up, but law takes good care of them - GN reader, no descriptions of genitalia, reader sits down to pee

warnings: MDNI! descriptions of very rough and painful sex (only in the beginning), safeword use, tiny bit of angst, but mostly fluff. law is the way I like to write him (so not super affectionate, but caring in his own way)

a/n: I love this request! I was actually thinking of writing this at some point bc this is such a good prompt! Not sure if you wanted something like hurt/comfort, but I tried to do it according to how I usually try to write law. Also, I have never used a safe word before, so idk if this is realistic at all lol. Hope you like it, enjoy! <3 :D

word count: 2.079

“I’ll be quick.” Is all Law had said before grabbing your arm and pulling you into his quarters like it was the most natural thing in the world.

But that was well over an hour ago.

Here you are, pushed up against the wall of your shared bedroom, desperately trying to catch your breath as Law drives himself into you with a force that has you scrambling for purchase.

You’re currently three orgasms into this so-called “quickie”, and that delicious line between pleasure and pain has long since been crossed.

“Too much…” You whine, subconsciously clawing at the wall from the painful pressure rising in you.

“You can take it, pretty.” Law is panting into your ear, completely oblivious to the state you’re in. “Just be good f’me a little longer, yeah?”

And you try; your fourth orgasm building so suddenly you don’t even have time to process it. A few more thrusts, and your exhausted body is forced to cum yet again.

His forehead pins your face to the wall from behind, forcing you to arch your back with the bruising grip he has on your hip. Law’s other hand is between your legs, stimulating you at a brutal pace, taking more than you can give.

All you can do is cry out as the rush overtakes you. It charges through your body at lightning speed, leaving a numb sort of soreness in its wake. Laying itself like cotton over your ears; blunt and deep. Like a knife to the stomach.

You feel on the verge of passing out, and still, he isn’t stopping. Your mouth is dry, vision blurry, and the feverish heat wracking your body feels like an ice bath.

“I can’t, Law! Red, red!” You manage to sob out the safe word between spasms, and that finally gets his attention.

Two more thrusts.

That’s how long it takes him to process your words.

Then, he freezes. As if struck by lightning.

His grip on your hip softens, and he leans back, no longer trapping you against the wall.

There’s a moment of silence, but you can’t even begin to worry about what he’s going to say next, entirely too wrecked to do anything other than cry.

You’ve never used your safe word before, and you have no idea how Law will react to it. It’s unlikely that he will get angry, but a part of you is still apprehensive. You feel vaguely guilty, even though you know you shouldn’t.

A moment later, Law’s hazy mind seems to have fully processed the situation, because he starts moving. He’s thankfully lucid enough to take hold of your hips when pulling out, as you would otherwise have collapsed from the lack of support. He’s taller than you and as a result, the force of his thrusts made your body jolt upwards, barely even standing on tiptoes.

He carefully turns you around, bending down to inspect your face more closely. It's honestly quite gentle, the way he handles you. Much more than you have come to expect from his usual demeanour.

Your gazes meet, and despite his permanent look of annoyance, you don’t miss the genuine concern in Law’s eyes. It’s rare for him to be like this. Or at least, it’s rare for him to let it show this much.

It feels like an eternity before he speaks.

“Fuck. I’m sorry.” Despite his low voice, there’s genuine worry in his face, and it shakes you up a little to see Law like this. So sincere. “Do you need to be alone? Should I leave?”

That takes you even more by surprise. “No! I mean, I want you to stay… if you want to.” Despite the fact that you’re a little apprehensive of Law when he drops his stoic demeanour, you also really don’t want to be by yourself right now.

“Of course.” Law pulls you into a tender hug, resting his chin on top of your head.

You accept the comfort he offers you, gripping him tighter and burying your face into his half-buttoned shirt. He simply holds you while you cry. It’s neither from pain nor fear, not really. Maybe it’s guilt.

When you’ve calmed down a few minutes later, Law looks at you again.

“Let me clean you up, ok?”

You nod, following him to the bathroom.

He still has that cautious air around him. The same one he has after a really bad fight. Or whenever he makes you cry. It’s always weird seeing him like this, but at least it means he’s cooled down.

But you don’t have much time to think about it further when Law interrupts your thoughts.

“Did I hurt you?” His question is very direct; his strong gaze makes you squirm.

You don’t know how to answer, so you simply shake your head.

He doesn’t look convinced but seemingly decides not to push it further. “Right… well either way, you’re not getting out of the aftercare.” He scolds you, eyes narrowed.

The lazy attempt at bickering brings a smile to your face. “Wouldn’t dream of it, doc.”

He squints at you again when you use the nickname he hates but doesn’t take the bait. Instead deciding to assess your neck and shoulders, which are littered in bruises and bite marks.

You love watching Law when he’s like this. All serious and focused, eyebrows furrowed and eyes squinting in that specific way that tells you he’s deep in thought. You like watching the lines on his face and finding the first grey hairs among the black ones. Plus, getting Law’s undivided attention is always nice, as it’s a rare occurrence.

After spending a few minutes inspecting your bruises, he stands upright again and motions his head in the direction of the toilet.

“Go pee. I’m taking care of this after.” And with that, he turns to grab one of the many first-aid kits he has lying around in the sub. This one is in the cabinet under the sink, and probably the one used most often, as it’s the one he usually reserves for aftercare.

You don’t protest, instead wobbling over to the toilet on unsteady legs, sitting down much less gracefully than you would have liked to. You’ve learned long ago that arguing with him about this kind of stuff is pointless. And you don’t need another gross lecture on urinary tract infections. The presentation still haunts you to this day.

Law is busy unpacking the red box on the bathroom counter, and only briefly glances in your direction when he senses you standing up.

After washing your hands, you turn to face Law again, who wordlessly helps you sit on the counter. He already has a cotton pad with alcohol ready, applying it to any bruised areas he finds.

It’s completely pointless; your skin is unbroken except for one small spot on your shoulder where he’d bitten you. But you enjoy the attention too much to argue, and it’s not like he would listen anyway if you told him to stop.

When he’s done – much too soon for your liking – he hands you a glass of water.

“Do you feel any pain or soreness?” Law’s gaze is scrutinizing. Unavoidable.

“Hmmm… no, I don’t think so.” You ponder, drinking the water under his close supervision. “I think I just need a nap.”

“Of course.” He looks satisfied with your answer. “It goes without saying, but you have the rest of the day off.”

“‘… a nap with my boyfriend.’ Is what I meant to say” You quickly correct yourself, trying to put on your most innocent expression.

He gives you another look.

“Y/n, I have work to do.”

“Yes, but now that I think about it, my muscles are quite sore from that position. I think some warmth would really help them relax, but you know I get cold if I’m in bed by myself…” It’s difficult not to laugh at his deadpan expression, but you manage to only let out a little smirk.

“Are you seriously trying to pass off cuddling as a medical necessity?”

“Ok, well obviously it sounds stupid if you put it like that.” You put on your most hurt expression, knowing how weak he is to it. “But were you really just going to wipe me with some disinfectant and then leave?”

Law grumbles, muttering something under his breath that sounds a lot like “manipulation”. But he also doesn’t argue further. Letting out a defeated sigh, he speaks. His expression shows none of the exasperation in his voice.

“Fine. If you think it’ll help the pain…” His sharp look softens a little. You can tell the exact moment he switches from doctor to boyfriend. “Let’s cuddle. For… medicine.”

He follows as you lead him to the bed, a wide grin on your face you’re no longer attempting to hide. But you start arguing again when he tries to climb under the covers next to you.

“No pants!”

“What? Why not? These are clean.”

“Yeah, but your legs are warm, and my hips are reeeeally aching right now... I need the warmth.” You pout, trying to look as weak as possible. It works. Of course, it does.

He scoffs at that. “You’re shameless.”

“And you’re my boyfriend. Don’t act like cuddling with me half naked is a death sentence!” You snap.

The sharp tone makes him smirk – the first real smile you’ve seen him give all day. You know he finds it funny when you scold him, so you give him a little glare, hoping it will make his smile last longer.

When he gets in bed with you – only in underwear and a tank top this time – you immediately cuddle up to him. He’s not actually that warm; he never is. You just lie to him about it. It’s easier than trying to explain how he is the weird one for not seeking out physical contact.

Deciding that he’s still too much of a flight risk, you climb on top of him and rest your chest on his. He doesn’t protest, automatically starting to massage your hips with his large hands.

The silence stretches comfortably between you. All you hear is Law’s heartbeat and the rustling of the blanket from where his hands are working your muscles. It's incredibly relaxing.

The time goes by like this, and you even doze off for a little while. That is, until you’re suddenly woken up by Law shifting beneath you.

It seems like he wants to get up, and you give him a stern, disapproving look.

“What? I have a lot of work to do. I’ll be back in a few hours.” It's clear how hard he's trying not to sound like he's defending himself.

“No, stay!” But you can tell from the look he gives you that he won’t, so you try to get whatever you can. “Fine, then. At least take me with you.”

“You want to sit around in my office while I work?” He looks confused.

“Yeah, why not? You look hot in those reading glasses. And I like to see you all brooding and concentrated.”

He scoffs, clearly at a loss for words.

As much as Law is a terrifying and unyielding person, you’ve learned that the one way to make him squirm is to compliment him. Specifically, his looks. He gets too flustered to say anything coherent, letting you do whatever you want. In this case, follow him around work like a lost puppy.

“Whatever…” He mutters under his breath. “Guess I can keep an eye on you like that.”

“If you do that, we’ll just be staring at each other the whole time.” You tease. “If you want to stare deeply into my eyes, we might as well stay in bed.”

He groans and avoids your gaze, which is how you know you’ve got him. But Law still manages to get the upper hand on you.

He abruptly gets out of bed with you still in his arms. Simply carrying you like a koala and plopping you down in front of the dresser.

Your surprised squeal quickly turns into laughter, although his own face remains unchanged.

“If you’re this loud while I work, I’m throwing you out. Now get dressed.”

Ignoring his threats, you focus on picking your outfit. You wear your comfiest pair of pyjama pants paired with a sweater you’re “borrowing” from Law. It’s his favourite outfit on you, and you know it.

Your revenge is only just starting…

Thanks for reading, I hope you liked it!! This is inspired by me always asking my bf to sleep in boxers bc he has warm legs, and my feet are ice cold 99% of the time.

Dividers made by me

This is my fic, don't repost or use in AI training! Reblogs are always appreciated <3 Here are my rules, and my masterlist.

#trafalgar law #trafalgar law x reader #one piece x reader #one piece fanfiction #one piece #one piece smut #trafalgar d law x reader #one piece fluff #one piece hurt/comfort #trafalgar d water law #one piece law #trafalgar law fluff #request

116 notes · View notes

myhobari · 2 days ago

Note

POV: miles had known for the longest that you’re a female pothead and he walks in on you hotboxing one day ready to try it. That night they both realize weed stimulates his already high sex drive just like the reader, resulting into the reader with a painful back and inner thighs but the good kind of pain

- high

miles caton x black reader

Summary - read the request 😚

**warning** ⛔️ - SMUT (under 18 dni)

a/n: love this story, very explicit and nasstyyyy!!

masterlist

————————————————————————

You always looked your best when you were high.

Skin glowy. Eyes low.

Chillin' on your back in just a tank and panties, blowing slow puffs of smoke up at the ceiling, thighs slightly apart, your playlist filling the room.

Miles had definitely seen it all before.

He’d come in, catch a whiff of the weed, kiss your cheek, and let you do your thing.

But tonight?

He walked in shirtless, towel around his neck, and paused in the doorway—eyes locking on the thick haze wrapping around you like some kind of craving.

“You hotboxing in here now?”

“Door’s closed. Fan’s off. I deserve this.”

He smiled.

“Let me take a hit.”

You blinked.

Sat up a bit. Passed it slow.

“You serious?”

“Let’s see what all the fuss is about.”

⸻

He took a drag like a champ.

Sat next to you, hand on your thigh, exhaled slowly and heavily.

Then he went for it again. And again.

Until his breathing got slower, his eyes got darker.

And his hand started wandering.

“Damn,” he said, rubbing your bare inner thigh.

“Everything feels amazing.”

“Told you…”

You leaned in, straddled his lap.

Took the joint from his fingers and blew smoke right into his mouth as he leaned closer.

His hands slid up your shirt, thumbs grazing your nipples.

You gasped, extra sensitive.

His grin deepened.

“It makes you feel all this?”

“Mmhmm…”

“Bet.”

⸻

He flipped you over then placed the joint on an ashtray on the nightstand.

Laid you back into the pillows, legs open, panties soaked.

He kissed every inch of your inner thighs first—slow, high, hungry.

Pulled your panties to this side, then tongue flat, he licked up your center until your hips jumped.

“Miles—oh fuck..”

“Shh. Let it take you. Let me take you.”

His tongue moved in circles.

Then pressure.

Then sucking your clit until your voice cracked.

You came fast and loud—back arched, moaning so hard the windows fogged up more.

But he didn’t stop.

He kept going.

“You can come again. Right now. Right fucking now.”

You screamed his name this time.

“God—Miles—I can’t feel my thighs—”

“Good.”

The first stroke was slow.

Miles slid in inch by inch—hands gripping your thighs, pulling you closer with every deep push until your walls wrapped around him like you were trying to swallow him whole.

“God… you’re tight,” he hissed.

“High and wet? This shit unfair.”

You whimpered, your nails digging into the sheets, mouth falling open with no sound coming out because the stretch was that good.

“Miles…”

“What, baby?”

“It’s too much?”

He rolled his hips.

Deep.

Slow.

Letting you feel every ridge, every throb, every thick inch as he sank all the way in—until your stomach fluttered and your breath hitched.

“F-fuck…”

“That’s it.”

“Say it just like that.”

He pulled out just to the tip, then snapped his hips forward—hard and deep.

You yelped—back arching, body twitching.

He grinned.

Eyes low and focused on how your body shivered.

“Sensitive, huh?”

“It’s the weed—fuck—it’s you, it’s—Miles—”

“Shhhh.”

“Don’t even try to speak. Just feel.”

He held you there—hips pressed tight to yours, pulsing inside you, letting you feel how full you were before pulling out again…

…and slamming back in.

“Miles—!”

“Right there, huh?”

“That spot that makes your thighs shake?”

He found it easy.

Over and over.

Like your body was a map he knew by memory.

Your moans turned ragged.

Your eyes blurred.

And still he didn’t stop—his pace brutal and slow, enough to make your mind go blank.

“Say my name.”

“Miles—fuck—Miles, Miles, please—”

“You’re gonna come again.”

“Even if you cry through it.”

His hand came up, wrapped around your throat.

Not squeezing—just reminding you who had you open.

“Look at me.”

Your eyes fluttered open, full of tears and haze and want.

“You pretty when you high.”

“Even prettier when you beg.”

He slowed.

Real slow.

Grinding his hips—his tip dragging against your g-spot until your whole body clenched and you screamed.

“Miles—oh godddd—fuck—I can’t—”

“Yes the fuck you can.”

He kept thrusting.

Kept talking.

Kept claiming.

“You gon’ walk tomorrow?”

“No—no, I can’t—”

“That’s right.”

“Legs don’t work, but this pussy still mine.”

You came again.

And again.

Back arched, hips fighting him while your body gave in completely.

He didn’t stop until you were shaking, sobbing in pleasure, whispering “thank you” like it was all you knew.

——

The next morning?

You couldn’t walk straight.

Back tight. Inner thighs throbbing.

And Miles?

He handed you your smoothie, grinning.

“So we doing that again tonight?”

You just glared.

Smirked.

And whispered:

“Only if you take the first hit this time.”

——

this is so nastyyy.. i enjoyed writing this sm.

thank you for this request anon, this was an easy one to write since i can relate to it (not gonna specifically say anything LOL)

muah 💋

#black writers #myhobari #x black reader #x black fem reader #miles caton x black reader #miles caton #miles caton x reader #sinners x reader #smut

90 notes · View notes

bumblebeeonthistle · 2 days ago

Text

virgin!Levi being very virgin

warnings: MDNI!

You’re sitting on the edge of the bed, wearing one of Levi’s shirts as he emerges from the bathroom.

You turn your head to greet him, but find yourself unable to utter a single word as soon as you see him. All moisture leaves your mouth which suddenly feels dryer than the bread they serve at the Training Camp.

Breath hitching in your throat, heat immediately starts pooling at your core as you take in the damp hair falling into his eyes, his toned chest and stomach, the V line dipping down beneath the towel covering his--

“Ahem. I, uh…I forgot my clothes.” Levi coughs, cheeks flushed pink.

“Sure, you did,” you say, unable to hide the fact that you’re practically drooling right now.

“Hm…” He raises his brows at you. “Like what you see?”

“Definitely.”

Gosh, you aren’t even able to deny it.

An unsuspected moment of courage washes over you – and not the kind of courage it takes to venture outside the Walls, or to face a titan – but the kind of courage it takes for you to get off the bed and approach Levi.

Slowly, but surely, you close the distance between you, watching, mesmerised, the way his Adam’s apple bobs, the way his muscles flex as he shifts on his feet, the way the pulse fluttering at his throat quickens.

You stop when your face is only a few inches from his. Then, you take his hands in yours and start walking back towards the bed.

He follows without protest.

When your knees hit the edge, you let yourself fall over, Levi not even resisting as you drag him down on top of you, towel pooling onto the floor behind him.

You blink up at him. His eyes are a little glassy, flush still evident across his cheeks, breaths coming in short, ragged gasps. A single drop of water falls from his hair to land on your face, trailing down your cheek and into your hair.

Slowly, you lift your head to press your lips against his. He opens his mouth for you, and you let your tongue slowly, teasingly, trail along his teeth, then deeper, moaning as he starts sucking on it.

You wrap your legs around his waist, fingers clawing at his back as you pull him closer, closer, closer…

Until you flip him onto his back, straddling his hips. You keep your eyes locked onto his face as you lean down to kiss him again – on his mouth, his jaw, his chin, trailing your lips over his throat and sternum. You linger a bit there before moving lower. Lower, lower, lower, until you reach the trail of soft, black hair on his stomach, leading you right too--

“What are…” His eyes widen as he realises what you’re up to. Immediately, he shoots into a sitting position, grabbing your arms to pull you towards him again. “Hey. You don’t need to do that shit, you know?”

You roll your eyes at him. “You’re such a mood killer.”

He scowls at you.

Sighing, you press a hand to his chest, trying to push him back onto the bed. But to no avail. “I want to Levi. Is that so hard to understand?”

“Yes.” He eyes you with a deadpan expression.

You close your eyes for a moment, letting out a small huff before opening them again. “Okay, so if you were to-- you know…on me. If you were to put your mouth down there…does that gross you out too?”

“No.” He says it without missing a beat. Still looking at you as if you are the one being stupid.

You groan. “Ugh, you’re such a hypocrite.”

He presses his lips together. Hands moving from your shoulders to rest on your hips instead, thumbs caressing over your skin. Gulping, he averts his gaze. “If you really want to. I’ll…allow it.”

“How generous of you.”

He leans back again, arms crossed over his chest. “We could also just go to bed.”

You shake your head. “No way. I’m going to suck your cock and you’re going to shut up.”

Your comment makes Levi choke on his spit, but you’ve already moved further down the bed. Palms resting on his thighs, the ridges of his muscles hard and flexing under your touch. You glance up at him again. “Just tell me if I do something wrong, okay?”

You’ve never done this before, but you do know the concept of male masturbation. And besides, you have studied anatomy, so…how hard can it be?

Levi nods once.

Breathing in deeply, you glance down at his cock.

And then…your mind blanks. “Holy shit, how the fuck’s that supposed to--”

“What?” Levi shoots up again, almost knocking you backwards and off the bed.

You try to gulp, but your throat is too dry. Your voice is hoarse and croaky as you finally figure out how to string together words into something coherent. “Sorry, sorry, it’s, uh…actually, it’s nothing, just--”

“Don’t give me that shit,” he snaps. “Did I do something wrong? Are you hurt somewhere? Just tell me, dammit.”

“It’s just…” You hide your face in your hands, cheeks reddening and all your previous courage thrown out the window.

“Just what?”

“Is it supposed to be, uh…” you gesture vaguely at his crotch, “you know…so big?”

“Wha-- what the…?” Levi splutters, the blush across his cheeks spreading to his ears and all the way down his neck.

“Sorry, I just have zero experience whatsoever,” you apologise, “but, uhm, how is that ever gonna fit anywhere?”

Levi falls back onto the bed with a huff. “It’s just slightly above average,” he mumbles.

He’s rather cute when he pouts, but you can’t really focus on that right now. “If that’s slightly above average, then your height is too,” you argue, glaring down at him over the bridge of your nose. Trying to hide the fact that you’re this closeto barricading yourself in the bathroom, from shear and utter embarrassment.

“Let’s just go to bed,” he grumbles.

“No!”

His eyes widen minutely in surprise.

“Uh, I mean…I still want to, uhm…you know,” you stammer, before adding, “but only if you do!”

For a moment, Levi just stares at you.

You’re half debating whether you really should flee to the bathroom when the smallest of smiles tugs at the corner of his lips.

He tilts his head, grey eyes never leaving yours. “Then, get to it.”

my headcanons are that all of Levi's height went to his cock and that he doesn't like bathing with the other Scouts so he doesn't know how well-equipped he is🙃

Excerpt from chapter 35 of call my name || Levi x Reader on ao3

74 notes · View notes

scannainscanrula · 1 day ago

Note

For a potential prompt: Rockstar!Remmick wanting Popstar!Reader to sing a cover of one of his songs for him 🎤🖤? One with REALLY explicit lyrics? It leads to them fucking after she finishes the song, with Remmick being super into it. He gets turned on hearing her voice sing the sexual lyrics and he’s a freak egomaniac ofc.

loved this. everybody gets a treat.

You arrive at his apartment with a CD in your purse. You did everything yourself– a perk of having a home studio– and you’re buzzing to share it with him. Last time you were together, swapping spit on a messy little midnight rendezvous in Berlin, he had expressed interest in hearing you sing one of his songs.

“Goddamn- however you wanna sing it, sugar, you just sing my words in that pretty voice and- oh, f-fuck, I’m gonna cum,” he groaned, pounding into you from behind.

You had barely registered his words, focused on his fingers in your mouth and his other hand snugly wrapped around your throat, warm and welcome as ever.

You had begun to work the moment you got home. You flipped through the booklets included in the CDs and vinyls, finally coming upon his song Tongue Out, a dirty little ballad not only about oral sex, but also about doing LSD.

You decided it was perfect. You recorded it, recreating the grimy instrumental with some of your synths to make it more of a dance track, then put it on the CD.

Now he tugs you into his place, kissing you like he wants to eat your tongue.

“I brought you something,” you tell him, lips brushing his.

“Oh, yeah? What is it?”

You produce the CD.

When he sees TONGUE OUT in your handwriting in pink marker, he snatches it from your hand and drags you to the bedroom. He takes out the current CD, putting it to the side– out of a jewel case.

“Remmick,” you chide, putting the old one in the case from yours.

He cranks up the volume knob on the stereo, tugging you into his lap as he does. He stares at the speakers, like he can see the music coming out of them. In his version the song starts with him humming, which you’ve done just a bit more breathy to sound like a moan.

Let’s get lost, here’s a map, open up (Don’t be proud)

Ain’t no cost, push it back, that’s enough (In this crowd)

Your voice travels over his words perfectly, and the pulsing bass of the dance-quality you’ve given it makes his cock throb. Remmick’s always felt this way about music. From the first time he saw a pretty girl sing, he’s always loved it.

He gazes at you, his eyes half-lidded from how bad he needs you.

“Do you like it?”

He’s on his knees in front of you before you can think, hands under your shirt and dragging your panties down your legs with his teeth.

“Rem!”

His noses brushes your clit as he meets your cunt tongue-first. You’re wet already, from the dirty lyrics of his song to the pointed, sexual way he’s responding to it.

On the top, underneath, just let it (Fade out)

Close your eyes, don’t need teeth, just put your (Tongue out)

He licks you relentlessly, pushing a finger inside of you.

“F-fuck, Remmick-”

His finger curls up and you squeak.

“Yeah, hit that high note, pretty fuckin’ thing. C’mon, babygirl, scream for me,” he moans, the vibrations making you grab his hair and pull. “You sound like such a slut, you’re such a little fuckin’ whore.”

You yank hard on his hair.

“Says the guy with my pussy in his mouth,” you shoot back.

He shivers, making a disgustingly desperate noise. You can feel the rhythm of him humping the sofa, and the way he’s pushing in his fingers to match the music. You scoff at him.

“Are you fucking me to the beat of your own song?”

He doesn’t answer you, grateful that his face is hidden under your skirt. He just laps at your clit like there’s a prize at the centre, the two thick fingers inside of you still strumming you to the song blaring through the speakers.

You’re close, feeling that warmth pooling in your belly. His other hand holds one of your thighs to the side, and you feel him slobbering all over you.

“You’re so nasty,” you huff at him. “You just drool all over me every time I’m here.”

“Sing it,” he gasps out between presses of his tongue on your clit.

“What- oh my God!”

“Sing my song, baby, sing it…”

He’s so pathetic, whimpering and begging to your cunt. You’ve seen him get desperate, but never seen him like this before.

But you want to see where this goes, so you oblige him. Trying– to the best of your ability with how rough he’s shoving his fingers into you– to sing along to your own voice.

In your mouth, swirl around, good girl (Swallow that)

Stick it out, show me once, then twice (All of that)

Don’t be shy, don’t be coy, that’s it (Wild out)

I’m your guy, you’re my toy, no shit (Tongue out)

Remmick is trembling, grinding his cock in his flannel pants against the harsh upholstery of the sofa.

“Please, please, baby… please, fuck, give it to me… let me cum, baby, let me cum with you all in my mouth,” he begs you.

“Remmick- fuck, right there, yes! Yes, yes, d-don’t- ngh, need more, a l-little deeper- oh my God, fuck… yes!”

He tightens that string inside of you until it snaps, your thighs clenching around his head as he cums in his pants. He’s whimpering, gasping for air but refuses to stop sucking on your clit, fingers lazily moving in and out of you like he’s just stuck like that.

You shove his head away and he sways back, catching himself with a hand. He looks ruined, face wet from the nose down with your slick, a wet spot of cum in his pants– you can see his cock twitch through the fabric– and his hair a mess, sticking up where you grabbed it.

“Good boy, Rem,” you sigh, wiping the sweat from your face.

“Fuck, do that for the whole album,” he croaks.

#remmick x reader #remmick x you #remmick #remmick sinners #sinners fanfiction #remmick fanficiton #remmick fanfic #jack o'connell x reader #sinners 2025 #sinners #rockstar remmick #brought to you once again by this mental hybrid cart

132 notes · View notes

starconstruction · 21 hours ago

Note

Hey can you please do a yunjin x male reader smut where they’ve been dating for a bit and go out for readers birthday jus fluff and vanilla sex thank u

The Greatest Gift of All

Yunjin x Male Reader (Smut)

Smut Tags: oral, missionary, creampie, vanilla, love bombing.

I put the most general presents I could think of, sorry if you've never wanted one of those... Hope you enjoy.

Word Count: 3021

Your birthday usually isn't the most eventful of days, eat some takeout, lay in bed, say thank you to anyone who offers a congratulations/happy birthday. Then go to sleep, a comfortable ritual if not a bit boring.

Things are different this year though, because you aren't alone anymore.

Huh Yunjin. Your girlfriend, the sweetest girl you've met. It's been a blissful 8 months, meeting in a shoe shop of all places. Her gaze caught your eyes while fumbling through shoes, real fairytale stuff. She came over, you started talking, the rest is history.

"So. What would you like to do for your birthday?" Yunjin asked the morning of, giving you the infinite expanse of options in this mundane town to pick from. Not that you had that many options, but the activity does not make the event.

Although, habits are hard to break. "Would rather just stay in here, probably. Easier." You were laying at the bottom of your shared bed, inches away from Yunjin's legs who was resting in her half (though both halves were hers)

"Really? I mean, come on. That's so boring!" She's right, but you don't have a remote clue on where to go or what to do.

"Yeah, but" You gave what was an attempt of a shrug, difficult to do pressed in a mattress. Avoiding the luminous sunlight flowing between your shitty blackout curtains that didn't work.

"No buts, we are doing something! I'll pick if you don't!" She had far too much energy for 7 in the morning, radiating more than the obnoxious light to your left. Her cheeriness was a fantastic motivator, a real beacon.

"How are you so energetic? sigh You can pick something if you want, always been the better planner." The immediate gasp of approval made you chuckle.

"Yea! I'll keep it simple– since I know you don't like me making a massive show of things. Anyways let's go downstairs!" And in a moment Yunjin was up, flying out of bed long before an objection could be mustered.

"Alright..." You said to yourself, she was miles away. You took a moment to brush your teeth before heading down, she could wait a second.

You slid down the last few stairs in sheer tiredness, falling on your feet with a thump, at least you are still standing. You approached the living room door, mysteriously closed. Your hand grasped onto the cool metal handle, pushing it forward. The sight in front of you something unpredictable.

Yunjin sat on the sofa, two boxes, one in each sideways direction. Both medium in size, the entire room populated with red and purple balloons. The faint smell of orange wafting throughout the entire room.

"Surprise! Happy birthday!" She shouted, throwing her heads into the air in celebration. "Do you like it?"

"I love it! – when did you have time to set this up?"

She leaned back slightly, preparing to describe her mastermind scheme in all its glory. "Sneaked down while you were sleeping, came back upstairs and slid back into bed." Not the craziest story but you were impressed none the less, how she managed to get out without you waking up is a task never succeeded before.

"Very impressive, thank you. Really." It still felt weird to have any form of effort directed into such an inconsequential day, but it felt nice, great even. Your heart aching in appreciation.

"Don't mention it, you did similar for my birthday, but come over here I have gifts!" She was a gift to your life in its own right, but material goods are tangible love. You'll take whatever she gives you with joy.

You moved over, sitting in the smallest crevice between the boxes and Yunjin. Accepting the minimal space, her thigh brushing against yours. "So, my first gift is..." She leaned over, picking up the right box in order to increase your range to sit. But you didn't move, sitting against Yunjin.

The box ended up on your lap, wrapped in the same colour of red and purple as the balloons. "Open it neatly..." You followed her simple request, fingers searching for the weak spot in the paper, opening it on the seams she left intact for you. Slowly it gave way for what was inside, the thing you've had put in your wish-list for longer than it was possible to remember.

A smoothie maker. Put there entirely on a whim, as if to say 'if you win the lottery maybe' well that hasn't happened, financially at least. Regardless its a neat gift. "Thank you, this is sweet." The emotions ran rampant in your body, a whole swarm of butterflies migrating from one quadrant to the next.

"Don't thank me yet, I still have another gift, save your praise for the finale thank you very much." Your bad, definitely. Yunjin shifted, grabbing the box next to her. Adjusting herself to face you head on.

You opened the second gift, somehow even better, an ice cream maker. You smiled. "We are going to get so fat after this. But this rocks, so thank you, again."

"Definitely a good reason to get fat, now put it down! I have one final gift." You quickly complied, stacking it on the other box. Getting a millisecond to look back at her before she pulled you in by your pajama shirt, soft lips pressing against yours. Full of love and passion, letting the seconds linger on. Enjoying each other's embrace.

She pulled away, "Now I'm out of gifts, happy birthday." She repeated herself, picking between three is slightly unfair. But Yunjin's kisses blew the other two items out of the water.

"I love you."

"I know, I'm perfect and wonderful. We'll go out later for some food, but for now.. I think we should cuddle." You can't turn down a request that perfect, flawless even, especially when she's giving you those fucking puppy eyes. No choice but to concede, letting the warm blanket of Yunjin cascade over you. Her head nestling into your chest, a satisfied sigh escaping her lips. "There we go."

You knew how to complete the picture, shoving the actual blanket you two had over the top, turning on the old TV to some random movie and letting the hours pass, the shared body heat and soft skin rubbing together pleasant.

The rest of the morning/afternoon was fantastic, getting to experiment with the two new trinkets she bought you. Makes sense why she went on a last minute shop of products neither of you two would ever buy. Making a smoothie out of banana and blueberry, sharing it out of the same cup. Yunjin seemed very happy about that.

Now it was night-time, she had dragged you out to your favourite fast food place, both of you wearing the most casual attires. She looked fucking beautiful, brown hair falling down to her shoulders, wearing the nicest auburn shirt that you got her for her birthday. She smiled at you in the seat adjacent, both of you cooped in the booth in the corner, the most private seats.

"Surprisingly busy today." You remarked, looking at the group of people congregating by the counter.

"Yep, got in just before the horde arrived. Talk about luck." Oh you could talk about luck all day, especially with Yunjin in the room. The food was divided between you two, pieces of fried chicken. Deep fried to perfection. "You look great today, by the way." She slid in that complement smoothly, she'd say that even if you looked ratty, but your cheeks started to burn red.

"Thanks..." You replied meekly, opting to take a bite out of the chicken to avoid how embarrassed you felt, crumbling under the smallest complement.

"Aw come on, don't be so embarrassed! Can terrorise me with complements but can't take a simple one?" Yunjin shook her head in faux disbelief. Taking a bite of her own.

"You look cute flustered, it's not my fault." You defended yourself.

"And you don't? Should look in a mirror more." Yunjin smiled, unsuccessfully goading another response out of you. Instead you just, stared, admiring her. Something she finds endearing most days. Her brown hair catching the fluorescent, almost hospital lights which made it shine.

Her lips curled the smallest amount, morphing into a smirk, you knew that look. It meant many things but here? Definitely confidence. "Checking me out? I'm honoured." She took another bite. Even in her most innocuous, she looked divine.

"I'm, yeah. Can't help myself." She flashed you a smile.

There was a tranquil moment, food becoming the focus. In the booth there was silence, outside of it was the backdrop. Called orders, muffled family discussions. Stuff to focus on, her presence was enough. A touch of joy to your otherwise mundane birthdays. You held the tears back, an unnecessary outburst could spoil the moment.

"Good?" The words left your mouth involuntarily.

"Yep." The short exchange made you laugh faintly.

The food started to disappear, devoured by the hungry pair. Lingering in social areas wasn't really your thing, even after meeting her. She sensed your discomfort like smoke, guiding you out of noisy environment before it became too much.

"You know, I think I have one last gift for you..." Yunjin whispered into your ear, getting into the car.

Something told you that you'd have to wait and see.

Yunjin didn't make you wait long, the two of you got upstairs within seconds. Turning on music to play in the background, the only light on was a dim lamp. The atmosphere was intimate and thick with love. "Happy birthday." She purred, taking you in another kiss. Her tongue dipping into your mouth, running all over your bottom lip.

You wanted even more, pushing her deeper, tongue reaching out to passionately dance with hers. Rolling them over each other in a bout of affection. You pulled away when oxygen depleted, faces resting inches apart. "Fuck..." You husked against her saliva coated lips.

"Lay back for me, this days all about you." She gently shoved you back, turning up the music. "And as such, I'm going to do something special." You knew exactly what she was referring to, her head lowering down to your crotch. Giving head wasn't exactly something she was comfortable with, the idea was floated around once or twice but she didn't seem wanting. So you dropped it, but it seemed like today things were going to change.

"Yunjin, you don't have to do something you don't want to." You stated, her eyes looked up, fluttering slightly before locking with yours.

"I know, but I want to. I've been practicing with my dildo, I can do this." The confession spilled from her effortlessly, she meant business. Fingers grabbing onto the waistband of your pants, tugging them down to feet, wrestling them off with the faintest ounce of struggle.

You were left in just your boxers now (Your shirt got thrown off mid make out) erect at just the smallest action from Yunjin, straining against the oppressive fabric. She had mercy, getting rid of your underwear, leaving you completely exposed to the elements and her.

"You are so hard..." Yunjin's fingers wrapped around your cock, dribbling spit down onto your tip. The light sensation making you buckle for even more. "Let me spoil you today." And that let you relax, she began to stroke your dick slowly. Working her hand up and down. "Just throbbing in my hand." There was wonder in her eyes, rubbing the spit in.

"You are so good at that Yunjin..." She smirked, the appreciation making her move faster, every pump she did felt deliberate, to bring you closer to that sweet ruin.

She leaned closer, lips inches away from your swollen tip. Hot breath wafting over, she looked determined to please. Eyes narrowing slightly as she focused. The first blissful lick ran from your balls to the tip, a precursor of what was to come.

Yunjin was elegant, taking her time with every singular lick. Like a painter and her canvas. Each stroke careful and planned. "I should have done this earlier." You would have to agree.

Her lips started to close around your tip, sucking it firmly while her tongue gave small kitten licks. The pleasure already overwhelming, having to find solace in the bedsheets.

"Mmh, that's fucking good." You groaned, Yunjin wanted to make a real show of it, making seductive eye contact while she sank lower with praise. Taking more of your shaft into her mouth. She wasn't kidding about the practice, there was nothing amateurish about the way she pleasured you. Slow, precise, her mouth a slick warm heaven.

"You look so pretty like this." You whispered, moving the rogue strand of hair that obscured her left eye. Inevitably she tried to take more than she could, harshly gagging on your cock before withdrawing completely, catching her breath. "Shit– are you alright Yunjin?" You asked.

"Y-Yeah.. Yeah. I'm good, just a bit overconfident." Her words were a gasp, chest heaving up and down. "I can continue."

"You don't have to–" She cut off your words, taking your cock back into her warmth, this time she stayed in her limits. Supplementing with her hand, working at your base. "But fuck. You are so good."

Yunjins head bobbed up and down, the dual pleasure required an extreme amount of effort to hold on. Not wanting to let this moment pass. Not yet.

Her cheeks hollowed, the increased pressure made your head mush. "Keep going..." The sensation was utterly intoxicating, how willing your girlfriend was to please.

The feeling started to build in your core, orgasm only inches away. "I'm so close Yunjin, fuuck." Your warning was just in the nick of time, allowing her to pull off just before the first spurt shot into the air, falling onto her fingers. She jerked you off quickly, working you through the forceful orgasm, her fingers were dripping a gooey white. Falling into her palm.

"Wow you enjoyed my birthday gift." She marveled, looking at her prize that coated her hand. Taking long, suggestive licks of your orgasm, a whole list of firsts today. This day a symbol of the next steps being taken in your relationship. "But I think you know we aren't done yet."

She looked perfect post-blowjob, lips swollen and dark with saliva. The smallest amounts of spit coating the corners of her mouth from where she gagged, she looked beautiful. But she didn't give you very long before moving on.

Yunjin began to undress herself, letting you recover from the earth-shattering orgasm you just endured. Throwing her shirt over head, cleaning up could wait until the clock hit 00:00. Next came her bra, unclipped and disposed of. Revealing her perky nipples which you've indulged in more times than you could count. To finish her mission, she pulled her skirt down. Now she was just in her purple panties, darker in the center.

"You can do the honours." Her voice was thick with carnal desire, to have you most intimately. You complied, fingers reaching into the thin fabric. Pulling it down her bare thighs, now completely exposed under your watchful gaze. "I'm on the pill, let's do this properly, fuck me."

Her legs spread apart, inviting you to get between them. You took the invitation happily, already impossibly hard yet again. You rubbed your tip all over Yunjin's wet folds, getting yourself ready to penetrate your girlfriend.

The two of you shared a deep groan as you pushed inside, every sensation most strong, more vivid than before. Without that condom in the way, sex with Yunjin was always euphoric but every previous time paled in comparison to this.

"I love you, god." You cooed, beginning to move, she was wet, tight. Squeezing the life out of you. "So fucking tight."

The desire in the room was palpable, a sweaty mist that descended upon the two of you. There was perfect harmony, every thrust slow and passionate. "I love you too! Fuck... keep fucking me." Like you could if you wanted, she was too fucking inviting for that. Crotches slamming against each other, cock disappearing into her loving hole.

Your mind stayed empty of anything but her, "Oh god, you feel so big, so good!" Yunjin praised, slurring her words. "Faster please!"

You immediately followed her directions, speeding up your thrusts into Yunjin, immediately getting satisfied mewls of pleasure. Her face was etched in pleasure, mouth agape enough to let out those heavy sounds. Eyes struggling to stay open, but the best part was her cheeks were smouldering a bright red.

The two of you were running on pure arousal, fueled by the wet squelching noises fighting to be heard over the music and moans. You were embarrassed at how quickly your orgasm was threatening to emerge again. Trying to focus on anything else to keep the night going.

Nothing.

Nothing came to mind.

It all rotated back to her.

"I'm go–" You couldn't even get the words out, every thrust took too much effort.

"Do it! Fill me up, please!" Yunjin pleaded, clearly chasing that same high you was approaching.

With one final thrust you stopped, burying yourself as deep as possible inside. Giving her the birthday wish she desired, it didn't matter who's day it actually was. Filling her with your cum.

Your orgasm set off a chain reaction, causing her to reach hers at the same time. Her walls clamping down on your sensitive cock, giving one last breathy moan before the two of you came back to earth.

You pulled out, letting your cum flow out onto the bed without a second care. "Wow." You gasped.

"Yeah... that's how I'd put it." Yunjin chuckled, laying there exhausted. "I love you, happy birthday."

"You really like to repeat that, almost forgot what day it is. Love ya."

"Wanna run the bath? Give me a second to catch my breath?" She asked, which you were more than happy to comply with.

"Of course, lay there. We'll clean up tomorrow."

Safe to say she was the greatest gift of them all.

#kpop x reader #kpop fanfic #kpop x male reader #kpop fanfiction #kpop smut #kpop fic #female idol smut #le sserafim smut #huh yunjin smut #yunjin smut

124 notes · View notes

aithorin · 1 day ago

Text

disobedience, meet discipline

Pairing: Arthur Morgan x Reader

Summary: After sneaking off to rob a house Arthur explicitly told you not to, he proceeds to teach you a lesson you'll never forget.

Warnings: explicit sexual content (18+ DNI), degradation/humiliation, spanking, unprotected piv sex, breeding, implied impregnation

AO3 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/49412707

“No.”

Arthur barely spares you a glance as the word, spoken with rigid authority, leaves his mouth, and he’s gone before you can react, striding toward his horse with the arrogance of a man who’s certain there’s nothing left to say.

For a moment, all you can do is stare after him in stunned silence, wondering if the mountain cold somehow scrambled your head, because, surely, you’re seeing things. Arthur couldn’t possibly be walking away from you. Yet as his figure continues to shrink on the horizon, threatening to disappear entirely as he makes his way toward his horse, shock is quickly replaced by acute indignation with the realization that the damn bastard is, indeed, walking away from you.

Well, he has another thing coming if he thinks you’ll just let him.

You grit your teeth as you stomp after him, irritation flaring in your veins. Insufferable, obstinate lout. Who the hell does he think he is, brushing you off like that? With each forceful step, your anger burns hotter, brighter, near blinding you completely, as Arthur’s form comes back into focus.

“This is a damn good lead, and you know it, Arthur!” You explode from behind him, shorter legs having to work double time to keep up with his own, “The house has been empty for days, and folks in town say the family won’t be back for at least another week! The money’s practically begging to be stolen! So, why the hell won’t you hear me out on this!?”

Arthur abruptly stops, so sudden in his movement that you nearly stumble into him. Surprise renders you ignorant of the tension in his body, too focused on maintaining your own balance to notice the tight set of his back, taut muscles thrumming in agitation.

But then, he turns, and it’s impossible to miss. It’s only a small shift, a mere tilt of the head, yet you jerk upright, pierced by the steel glint of his eye shining brilliantly, dangerously, amidst the shadows steeped along his face.

“I won’t tell you again,” Arthur warns in a low drawl, “You ain’t robbing that house, so drop it already.”

He starts toward his horse again, but you’re quick to block his path, skidding around in front of him.

“Not until you tell me why!” You demand, scowling up at him with crossed arms.

“Don’t play dumb. You know why.”

With a scoff, he pushes past you to close what is left of the short distance to his horse, and you follow behind, unwilling to let this go. You stand next to him, watching, waiting for him to turn, to fully acknowledge you for once, but he never does, too busy fiddling with his goddamn horse.

“There’s a train passin’ through here in two days time,” Arthur says, enunciating the last bit with a grunt as he tugs harshly on the tie straps of his saddle, cinching it tight. “And me ‘n some of the others are gonna rob it. There ain’t nobody to go wit’chu.”

“I’ll go by myself then!” You snap, seething in frustration, “We need the money, Arthur. You know we do! Or, have you forgotten that everything we have is buried in a ditch somewhere back in Blackwater?!”

At that, Arthur whips around, his horse forgotten, and with a snarl set in his face, he stalks toward you, narrowed eyes ablaze with fury. The sight lights a crackle of instinctive fear in your belly, and you stumble back, spurs striking the ground in a stammered staccato, only to hit something rough and sturdy: a hitching post. By the time you realize, it’s too late. Arthur’s there, caging you in with his body.

He leans in close, mere inches away from your face.

“How about you let me worry about the money, and you worry about learnin’ how to follow orders, because I’ve told you one too many times already,” Arthur says, “You ain’t robbing that goddamn house. Do you hear me?”

Overwhelmed, your mouth opens wordlessly, an impulsive acquiescence on the tip of your tongue; however, your dignity bites it back. He’s the one being unreasonable, not you, and you’ll be damned before you let him have the last word.

Fueled with fiery conviction, you purse your lips, refusing to answer.

Arthur notes the defiance in your stature, vibrant as ever, but he doesn’t overlook it so easily this time. His hand shoots out, snatching your face and wrenching it upward to look him in the eye.

“I said, do you hear me, woman?!” He bellows.

Heat blooms across your face, your anger twisting with the sour sting of humiliation, as his exclamation draws more than a few astonished looks across camp, and beneath their penetrating stares, you capitulate, mumbling a petulant yes through gritted teeth.

Arthur studies you for a moment longer, his eyes narrowing with distrust, but evidently, he’s placated by something he sees as he relaxes, giving a firm nod of satisfaction.

“Good.” He says, taking a step back.

Striding back to his horse, he swings into the saddle with one fluid motion and fixes you with one final glare from atop it.

“Now stay here, and do as you’re goddamned told!”

With that, he pivots his horse with a click of the tongue, steering his mount toward the edge of camp where a few others have congregated to wait for him. You watch as Arthur joins them, taking the lead, and a chorus of horse whinnies echo back to you as they ride off into the wind, going who knows where. And as Arthur disappears from view, the judgment of camp soon becomes visceral. Tilly subtly eyes you from where she tends to the washing. Kieran gives you a furtive glance over the horse he’s brushing. Even Uncle pauses his day-drinking to stare at you while little Jack none too quietly questions, “Why was Uncle Arthur so mad, Mama?” Though Abigail is quick to shush him and ferry him along, sending an apologetic glance your way, the damage is done. Your hands curl into fists at your sides, a surge of embarrassment and anger coursing through you.

Damn him! Who the hell does Arthur think he is, ordering you around like that? Treating you like a child? You can take care of yourself, and you most certainly don’t need him. Hell, you’d probably be able to rob the house and be back before them.

You stop short as that thought sinks in. You could be back before them. The house is only about a half day’s ride away. If you left now, you’d be back by tomorrow night, a full day before they’re due to return.

The decision is made before you can think otherwise. Perhaps it’s a foolish one, driven only by a petty need to prove him wrong, but that doesn’t stop you from slinking over to your own horse and disappearing out of camp without a single trace.

After all, what Arthur doesn’t know can’t hurt him.

________

Try as you might, you can’t wipe the giddy grin off your face as you ride into camp late the next evening. Everything had gone according to plan, just like you’d said it would...well, mostly. Sure, the job hadn’t been quite as easy as you’d expected (news traveled fast and you weren’t the only one who’d had the bright idea to rob the place), but you managed to take care of the competition and snag a hefty three hundred dollars, all without a single scratch. And if that wasn't something to be damned proud of, then you don’t know what was.

Yet as you approach your usual hitching post, your smile falters, quickly dying off, for illuminated by the light of a stray lantern stands none other than Arthur’s horse. The very horse that isn’t supposed to be here.

Anxiety seizes you hard and quick. What the hell is Arthur doing back so soon? He’d specifically said a few days, not one. You’re sure of it. And yet, somehow, he’s here now, perfectly positioned to catch you red-handed.

Perhaps he already has.

Your hands tighten around the reins of your horse, heart racing as you consider the possibility. No doubt Arthur’s already noticed your absence. He did, after all, hitch his horse right next to where yours should have been. But, was your absence alone enough to tip him off? People are in and out of camp all day, all the time. Surely, he wouldn’t think anything of it.

But what if he did?

You swallow thickly, dread pooling in your stomach. God, you’re dead if Arthur knows. You’d already driven him to fury with the mere suggestion of the robbery. If Arthur finds out you not only followed through but, more than that, blatantly disobeyed him…well, suffice to say, you’d sooner take your chances with a dozen dirty O’Driscoll’s than face him.

You shudder before shaking the thought away. It won’t come to that. Arthur couldn’t possibly have been back long enough to have any true suspicions. Big jobs always bled late into the night, carried out as they were under the cover of darkness. At most, he’d been back an hour, maybe two. And while certainly not ideal, the timeframe was, blessedly, small enough to neither confirm nor deny any potential misgivings.

That is, if he even had any. Considering the late hour, Arthur was probably too tired to notice much of anything at all upon his return. He’d no doubt gone straight to bed, bone weary from the exertion of a lengthy job, meaning you were, in all likelihood, safe despite his proximity. So long as you could sneak back to your tent unnoticed, everything should—would—be fine.

Right?

As you slide down off your horse though, you can’t quite shake the feeling that you’ve already been caught. The fear gnaws at you, twisting your insides, while a voice, your better judgment perhaps, urges you to flee, and with each step you take toward camp, you’re more inclined to listen.

The whisper of the wind, the rustle of the brush, the chirp of the animals - it all transforms into a distorted apparition of Arthur. It’s his breath that teases the back of your neck. His footsteps that shuffle amongst the trees. His laugh that rings in your ear. You sense him everywhere and nowhere all at once, paranoia turning the normally quick jaunt back to your tent into an absurdly long, agonizing trek, full of anxious starts and stops as you jump at every sound.

It’s only as you venture into the heart of camp that the tension begins to lift, for it soon becomes clear that everyone is either asleep or too drunk to notice you at all. And in the stillness, protected by the warm light of the fire, caution gradually turns to confidence. It begins in your back, the tight set of your shoulders falling as they slowly ease back into their natural state. Then, your gaze settles, eyes no longer darting wildly in search of Arthur’s prowling form. Remaining fixed ahead, they instead search for your tent, and upon spotting it, meek, tiptoed steps lengthen into effortless strides, carrying you there in no time at all.

As you approach the entrance of your tent, you resist the urge to break into an all-out run, the promise of safety so near sending one final wave of anxiety coursing through you. You were so close, too close to risk it all now by causing a racket and waking up half the camp. Waking him. Because, surely, Arthur had to be asleep. You’d seen no sign of him at all.

Well, there was one way to be certain.

You glance behind you to spy Arthur’s wagon across the way, the majority of it obscured by a well-placed tree. All it would take is one look and your fears could finally be put to rest. One teeny, tiny look. What harm could it do?

You turn and take a step forward only to stop short. Unless, of course…this is exactly what Arthur wants. Perhaps he’s waiting, just out of sight, for you to stumble blindly, stupidly into his grasp, all of your own accord. You wouldn’t put it past him.

Then again… Arthur isn’t exactly known for his patience. He’s a man of action, someone who prefers to strike while the iron is hot. There’s no way he’d sit idly by if he knew. The nerves were just getting to your head, that’s all. They had to be.

You approach the tree, placing one hand against its rough bark. Then, taking a deep breath, you peer around the edge to survey Arthur’s wagon. It stands blessedly still, the coverings drawn and dark, blending seamlessly into the night.

He’s asleep. You’ve done it. You’ve actually managed to pull one over on Arthur.

A loud laugh of disbelief bursts free before you can think twice, exploding into the air and sending a bolt of panic racing through you. A few feet away, Swanson’s snores stutter at the noise, and you tense, holding your breath in anticipation. Please don’t wake up. Please don’t wake up. For a few agonizing moments, he teeters on the edge of consciousness, mumbling nonsense, but then, right when it seems like he’ll be pulled into the waking world, he rolls over, drifting back to sleep peacefully.

You breathe a long sigh of relief.

Unwilling to test your luck any further tonight (god knows you’ve surely used the last of it), you back away toward your tent, eyes sweeping across camp one last time in search of anyone else you might have disturbed. Only when you’re ensconced within, when the entrance flap has fallen and sealed safely you inside, does your vigilance cease, taking the worry you’ve been carrying ever since spotting that damn horse with it. And in its absence, all your earlier giddiness returns, a large grin breaking out across your face, so big you couldn’t bite it back even if you tried.

That is, until you hear a match strike behind you.

You freeze, blood turning to ice in your veins. No no no no no no. It couldn’t possibly be— Turning in quiet horror, you find Arthur resting against your cot, arms draped across bent knees, one hand holding a now lit cigarette. His hat hangs impossibly low, his emotions shrouded beneath it. Not a word, not a look, not even a breath is thrown in your direction.

His silence only serves to unnerve you more.

This isn’t right. The Arthur you know would’ve already torn you a new one, so why is he just…sitting there? You swallow thickly, sweaty palms curling into your skirts. Panicking now would only cost you the game. Ignorance, however, just might save it.

“Back already, Arthur?” You ask, trying desperately to mask the tremble in your voice, “I-I thought you said the job would take a few days.”

Your address does little to rouse him. The silence lingers, leaving you to squirm beneath its weight. Arthur, on the other hand, seems to revel in it. He takes a long drag of his cigarette, releasing the smoke on a deep sigh before allowing the fumes to settle in the air.

“Train was runnin’ ahead of schedule,” He says, voice gravelly as he talks around the cigarette, “so we had a last minute change in plans and pushed everything forward.”

He takes another puff, pinching the end between his thumb and forefinger as he pulls it from his mouth.

“I came back to camp, expecting to find ya here waitin’ to welcome me. Come to find out you haven’t been seen all day. Y’wanna tell me what that’s about?”

At long last, he raises his head, dark eyes locking with your own, and you stiffen beneath their intensity, suddenly wishing he’d never lifted them from the ground at all. He’s looking at you as though…as though he knows. As if he’s…waiting. And beneath his scorching gaze, a confession bubbles up, hanging on the tip of your tongue above a desperate plea for mercy—

“Hunting!” The lie springs forward before you can stop it, yet you, nevertheless, quickly latch onto it. Your self-preservation, it seems, runs farther than the depths of Arthur’s stare. “I-I was hunting.”

Unable to stand the burn of his gaze, your own slides down to settle on a spot just beyond his shoulder.

“You-you see, Pearson used the last of the meat in yesterday’s stew, and with you and Charles gone, there was no one here to hunt. So…I-I took it upon myself and set out early this morning. Those critters were so damn fast though. I didn’t even realize how late it was until the sun was going down, and by then, I’d chased them halfway across the Heartlands. I-I didn’t mean to be gone so long, I promise.”

Arthur gives a noncommittal hum, bowing his head low. And in the silence, confusion creeps in. Is-is that it then? Did he buy it? You take a hesitant step forward, then another, and then one more, overwhelmed by curiosity, and soon enough, you’re reaching out a hand, close enough to touch—

Faster than you can react, Arthur’s hand shoots out, snatching the satchel at your side, and with a deft flick of the finger, he opens it to find the proof of your sin: the wad of bills from the robbery.

Shit!

“Well, well, well,” Arthur says, lips turning upward into a mocking sneer, “Seems you’re nothing but a goddamn liar!”

He rises to his full height, pure, unadulterated fury pouring from every inch of his body. Horrified, you stumble back, desperate to save yourself, but it’s too late.

“Now, all I asked was that you stay put and listen to me!” He snarls, eyes blazing as he stalks toward you. “How hard can it be to follow a simple pair of instructions!?”

“I-I–” You stutter.

“But more than that, you lied to me!” Arthur roars, continuing as though you hadn’t even spoken. “I even gave you the chance to fess up, but you continued to act like a damn fool.”

He hurls the word fool with a venom so potent you can’t help but shrink away from it. Is that…is that truly what he sees when he looks at you? A fool? Well, you suppose it shouldn’t surprise you. Ever since that mess back in Blackwater, Arthur had hardly let you out of his sight, forever insisting that it was in everyone’s best interest to lay low at camp. Although, tellingly, he never spared the breath to lecture anyone but you.

The truth is, Arthur doesn’t trust you.

It bothers you more than you care to admit. You see how he treats the other girls, the way he lavishes them with praise when they manage to snag something off some sorry sod. Just once, you want him to look at you the same, eyes shining with pride after a job well done, easy praise in the form of a murmured good girl falling from his tongue on a low, shiver-inducing drawl. This was supposed to have been your chance. Your one brilliant shot to finally convince him of your worth. Now, in retrospect, it was a foolish thought. Arthur would never look at you that way, or any way, really. You were nothing but another silly, stupid girl in his eyes, and that’s all you ever would be.

You bow your head in dejected shame, all the will to fight now gone.

“I-I’m sorry,” You whisper.

By now, Arthur stands in front of you, chest heaving as the anger courses through his body thick and heavy. A beat of silence fills the air, one, two, three seconds, and for a moment, as he looks upon your sullen form, something flickers in his eyes, perhaps a twinge of mercy. But then, it vanishes, gone so quick it’s questionable if it even existed at all.

“Yeah,” He says, voice a low rumble, “You will be.”

Then, without hardly missing a beat—

“Get up on the bed. Face down.”

You jolt at the sudden command. Get up…on the bed? The words, so simple that even an idiot like MacGuire couldn’t possibly misconstrue them, manage to utterly confound you.

So much so, in fact, that you fail to notice the slow darkening of Arthur’s features, his patience wearing thinner with each passing second.

Until, finally, it snaps.

“Now!”

The guttural boom of his voice cracks along the length of your spine with whiplike precision, sending you stumbling forward in hurried, blind obeisance. You’re at the foot of your cot before you can blink. And yet still, you hesitate, unable to completely follow through.

You swallow thickly, glancing behind you to look at Arthur where his eyes, little more than murky, black pools in the dim light, bore into you, utterly unfeeling.

Waiting.

“Don’t make me tell you again.”

His final warning, dripping with dangerous promise, pulls at something deep in your belly, stirring a subtle warmth that is engulfed all too quickly by an onslaught of dread. This time, you don’t need to be told twice. The undisguised threat in his voice leaves no room for any more squirming attempts to weasel your way out of…whatever he has in mind. And so, despite the heaviness of your limbs, you crawl into the cot, settling face down, just as he asked, on your hands and knees.

In the darkness, blind to anything other than the faded cloth of your thin blanket, his presence rises to fill the entire room, oppressive.

Clink. Clink. Clink.

With each heavy footfall, your heart beats in tandem, staggering against your chest. He’s everywhere. He’s nowhere.

Until suddenly—

You jolt, flinching away, as Arthur slots himself behind you, yet easy hands quickly grab hold of your hips to steady you in place.

“Shh. Shh. Shh. Easy there. There’s no need to be scared now.” He says, one hand sliding down the length of your thigh in a smooth, gentle caress.

You release a shuddered breath, tasting smoke, gunpowder, and sweat as you exhale. He’s close. Too close. It turns your head heady, the smothering heat of him pressing tantalizingly into the curve of your body, made all the worse by the poisoned honey words dripping from his tongue, filling your veins with a syrupy warmth. You’re helpless to deny him. Beneath his practiced touch, your muscles ease, pliant and willing.

“Good girl.” He praises. “That’s it. You’re alright.”

This time, when his hand slides down, his fingers catch on the hem of your dress. Soft muslin glides along your calf, baring first your ankle, then your knee, then— you tense, a rush of cool air shocking you with awareness.

Your head turns, preparing to object, when, suddenly, Arthur’s hand squeezes your thigh. Fingers digging into your skin, his strength, barely restrained, rises to the surface, branding a wordless warning against your flesh: There is no getting out of this, so be quiet and take it.

Any protests you might have offered die in your throat, bitten back as you sense the danger in the air. He’s past the point of reasoning. Only complete and utter submission will satiate him.

Swallowing thickly, your head falls forward, and Arthur’s grip eases, the languid, soothing ascent of his hand resuming as though nothing had happened at all. With it, your skirts rise ever further, soon leaving the thin material of your drawers as the only barrier between dignity and indecency.

But even that he takes, greedy for more.

His rough, calloused palms wrap around your thighs, twin thumbs creeping up your sides to tease the outer waistband of your drawers.

“Now, I had hoped it wouldn’t come to this.” His thumbs dip below, scraping softly against your skin. “But, I’m afraid you’ve left me no choice.”

Slow, achingly slow, he drags his hands down, and you let out a shaky breath, trembling, throat pinching unbearably tight as you’re stripped of that last vestige of dignity and made bare before him. Ravenous, his molten eyes carve along your newly exposed flesh, igniting a trail of goosebumps in his wake. It shouldn’t thrill you, being on display like this, reduced to little more than a fatted calf ripe for the taking, and yet, beneath the scorching burn of shame, something else simmers: desire.

“M’only gonna tell you this once, so listen carefully,” Arthur says, voice rough and gravelly, “If you miss a number, we start again.”

It’s all the warning you get. The next moment Arthur’s hand cracks against your ass, knocking the breath from your lungs as the force of it pitches you forward, lurching onto your forearms. Pain explodes, searing across your skin like a thousand tiny needles, and instinctively, your fingers curl into the thin, scratchy blanket covering the cot, hardly able to keep yourself from crying out.

From behind you, Arthur whistles real low as he surveys his handiwork.

“Look at ‘er.” He says. “Sensitive little thing, ain’t she? Swellin’ real tight already.”

His hand comes up to palm the supple flesh appreciatively, and with it, tears spring in your eyes. Of pain or humiliation though, you can’t tell.

“I know that one hurt real bad, darlin’.” He croons, the slow caress of his thumb soothing your burning skin. “But, you’re gonna be good f’me, right?”

Though his voice stays honey-smooth, Arthur’s hand presses just a little harder, his thumb digging just a little deeper, and with it, the pain flares back to life, eliciting a small whimper from you as that blistering sting radiates outward once more. The silent command in his touch is unmistakable. Count.

“O-One.” You whisper.

No sooner does the word leave your mouth that he strikes again, and this time, you can’t help but cry out, having barely recovered from the first.

All too late you realize your mistake. Arthur wrenches you up, body against body, cheek against cheek. His thick arms band across your middle, just under the curves of your breasts, while his breath, hot and heavy, caresses the side of your lips, so close you can almost taste the tobacco on his tongue.

“You’d do well to keep quiet, girl.” He snarls softly, “You’re gonna wake up the whole damn camp if ya keep cryin’ like that, and I ain’t nowhere near finished with you.”

Heat flares in your veins, something in you trilling with anticipation at his words. More. You want more. But instead, he releases you, and as you collapse back onto the bed, all you can think about is how the loss of his warmth, of his firm weight pressing into you, leaves you aching.

“Now, do as you’re goddamned told, and count.” Arthur sneers, “I won’t tell you again.”

You swallow thickly, heart racing. “T-Two.”

Smack! He strikes again with whip-like precision, and you slap a hand over your mouth to stifle your cry, shivering yet longing to obey, to please him.

“Three.” You croak out.

You brace yourself for the next blow, but when it comes, something is different. No longer the perpetual sharp stab of a thousand pinpricks, the pain, only a slight tingle now, lasts a mere second before dissolving into the growing pool of heat gathering under your abused flesh. It's almost… pleasurable.

Unconsciously, you shift, angling your hips up.

“Four.” You say, a tad breathless.

And so it continues, for how long you don’t know. Lash after lash, blow after blow, over and over and over again, Arthur falls upon your tender flesh, and that heat grows ever hotter, ever larger. His hand is a brand against your skin. With every searing score of his touch, the flames of desire ignite anew, spreading farther, higher, turning your head sluggish, your veins viscous. And all the while, yawning, aching want salivates between your thighs, throbbing in tandem to each heavy strike of his palm.

It’s a wonder you last as long as you do.

“Eighteen.” You rasp.

And then, because you can’t quite help it, overcome as you are by that delicious warmth rippling through you, a low whine escapes your throat.

All at once, Arthur stills.

“Are you—“ He says, utterly incredulous, “Are you enjoyin’ this?”

Before you can answer, he slides one hand between your thighs, two fingers just barely teasing at your entrance. Yet, it’s enough to give you away completely. Your cunt spasms at the feather soft press, tensing desperately around nothing, dripping, weeping into his touch.

“Goddamn, you are!” Arthur laughs. “Look at’chu, makin’ an absolute mess. Your little snatch is damn near itchin’ to swallow my fingers.”

As though to prove his point, Arthur’s fingers curl against you, sliding languidly into the wet heat of your cunt, and a wave of violent pleasure roils through you. Hungry for more, you greedily clench around him, desperate to take whatever he’s willing to give.

At the sight, Arthur releases a labored breath, muscles thrumming with restraint. For so long, he’s waited to have you like this. On your hands and knees, splayed out before him. He’s dreamed about it. Been tortured by it.

But you just had to play the damn fool.

He’ll give you what you want, in time. But first, you still have a lesson to learn.

His belt buckle jangles, followed by a slight rustle of clothing, and soon, Arthur’s fingers are replaced by the thick length of his cock. With one hand, he guides himself between the slick folds of your pussy, beginning to move in the shallowest of thrusts, teasing, taunting in the slow drag of his cock along your cunt. Up…and down. Back…and forth. And with every pass, tiny, jolting bursts of pleasure wrack through your body, blinding yet fleeting. Maddeningly fleeting.

You shift, desperate for relief as the ache inside, that overwhelming emptiness, becomes nigh unbearable.

“Arthur, please, I’m sorry.” You choke out.

“Shh shh shh. I know you was just trying to help.” He soothes. “But what ya did was dangerous, darlin’. You could’a been hurt real bad. So, I need’ta know that you’ll listen next time, alright? Now, why don’t you use that pretty mouth of yours and tell me what you want, huh?”

Taking himself in hand, Arthur nudges the head of his cock against your entrance.

“Go on. Show me what’chu can do.” He prods.

Tell him what you want? If only that were as simple as it seemed. You’d spent months running from this, from your desire. And even now, spread before him, you can’t help but feel frightened to voice this. To confront what your body has already confessed.

Your heart pounds against your chest, tongue darting out to wet your lips nervously.

“Please,” You whisper, “I-I want you.”

“C’mon, girl, you can do better than that.” Arthur taunts. He pushes just a little deeper, offering a taste of your reward should you please him. “Beg for it.”

“I-I want you to fuck me. Please fuck me, Arthur.” You whimper.

“See, that wasn’t so hard now, was it?” Arthur croons.

Satisfied, he draws your hips back into him, his cock slowly splitting you in two. Wholly unprepared for his sheer girth, your muscles tense at the sensation, mouth opening on a wordless cry. You’ve never experienced such painful, such utterly delicious fullness. It’s as though his cock was made for you, every vein, every ridge handcrafted to heighten your pleasure. It’s too much yet not enough. Helpless, your cunt flutters around him, desperate to pull him deeper, to feel him, all of him.

“Christ, you’re squeezin’ me like a good for nothin’ whore.” Arthur grunts, fingers curling against your skin to steady himself. “Betchu’d earn a real pretty penny up in Valentine, huh?”

As he speaks, he begins to thrust into you lazily, and with each stroke, passing sparks of pleasure flicker through you, gone too quick to take you anywhere as Arthur deliberately toys with you, holding your release somewhere far beyond your reach. This, more than anything else, is the crux of his retribution.

“Fuck, darlin’ that’s gotta be the tightest cunt I’ve ever had.” He breathes out, “I can’t believe I almost lost it.”

For a moment, his words hang fragile in the air. But then, Arthur seems to register what he said, seems to remember what led to this moment, and the anger comes rushing back. His arms tense around you, hoisting you up back to chest as he holds you close.

“Do you have any idea how worried I was?” He snarls, beginning to fuck you deeper, harder as he’s carried away on a sea of rage. “When I came back to camp and saw you were gone, I thought you were dead.”

His hips snap against yours, knocking the breath from your lungs, and with it, you can feel something building, a drawstring pulling tight.

“What’ll it take to get you to listen to me, huh?” He continues, his breath heavy and uneven as he thrusts up into you, “Maybe I oughta fuck a baby into you. That’ll teach you not to leave. Can’t go nowhere if you can hardly walk, and my babe’ll make sure of that. You’ll be forced to stay at camp and sit there like a good girl, all swollen and fat with my kid, waiting to welcome me back with open arms like you should have been this time. You’d like that, wouldn’t ya?”

Your cunt pulses around him, eager to turn his words into reality, and you cry out, nodding fervently. You can’t think, can’t breathe. You’re caught on the brink of ecstasy, stuck on the edge of tipping over. Please. Please. Please.

Eyes drifting over you in appraisal, Arthur hums, “Yeah, I think that’s what I’ll do. I’m gonna turn you into my little breeding bitch.”

He drives his cock deep, shattering through the veil of your release with a force that steals all the breath from your lungs. With it, a thrumming bolt of white hot pleasure cracks down your spine, cresting over and over and over again. Lost entirely to the throes of ecstasy, you convulse around him, hardly registering the warmth of his spend as he spills inside you. It lasts for minutes, for hours, for days it seems like. When the screen of pleasure finally clears, it is only then that you note the slow, soothing caress of Arthur’s finger against your clit, working you through the peak of your release.

“Shh. Shh. Shh. I’ve got ya, darlin’.” He says, quieting your muffled, unconscious whimpers.

He leans down to nip gently at your neck.

“You did so good girl.” He praises, still lazily thumbing at your clit. And slowly, with the help of his touch, the pleasure fades at last to nothing more than a dull buzz. You collapse against him, utterly spent.

That is–

“Bet you can give me another.”

You tense, choking on your breath, as his finger digs a little deeper, sending shocks of blinding pleasure racing across your body once more. It’s too much. Too soon. You can’t.

“Wa-wait, Arthur–”

“You can take it, can’t ya? I know you can.” He coos, gently rocking his hips against yours as his half-hard cock swells inside you. “You will, won’t you girl?”

As he ruts against you, a pleasant, humming warmth begins to build inside, and you cant your hips toward him.

You never could deny him anything.

“That’s my girl.” Arthur smiles, smug and pleased. Then, splaying one hand against your stomach, he says, “After all, can’t let something like today happen again, right darlin’? ‘M gonna make sure it takes tonight.”

#arthur morgan x reader #arthur morgan smut #arthur morgan #arthur morgan x you #red dead redemption 2 #arthur morgan x female reader #rdr2 #arthur morgan fanfiction #rdr2 arthur #rdr2 fanfic #rdr2 fandom #red dead fandom

82 notes · View notes