#I need a beta reader just to check | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

spikedfearn · 1 month ago

Text

As if It’s Heaven’s Gate

one-shot

Remmick x fem!reader

summary: You take a job as a live-in nurse for the town’s most infamous recluse—Remmick, the strange, soft-spoken man hidden away in a rotting Victorian farmhouse no one dares approach. Locals warn you not to touch him. Not to linger after dark. But when you meet him, he’s all big eyes and broken manners, trembling hands and gold chain glinting at his throat. Touch-starved, tender, and ruinously ancient. He flinches when you reach for him—and sobs when you don’t. You drop to your knees, and he forgets the taste of blood. He’s already yours before you ever put your mouth on him.

wc: 8.5k

a/n: holy 2k followers batman!! I wanna thank everyone for the outpouring of love and support my work has gotten over the last month, truly insane, still processing, gonna release something soon as a massive thank you <333 based off this post, I'm sure I'm not the first but I haven't come across any fic of reader going down on Remmick yet and I have a great need to suck that man's dick until his stomach caves in like a Capri-sun (someone revoke my internet access) so here we are. Thank you to @ddlydevotion for finding my photo refs. Dedicated to Sam @matrixfangs for not only beta reading this but also requesting I incorporate Jack's cross tattoo into one of my fics!! title from the song too sweet by hozier.

warnings: vampirism, oral sex (m!receiving), d/s dynamic, begging, spit kink, hair pulling, praise kink, humiliation kink (soft), drool, overstimulation, ruined man behavior, touch starvation, religious imagery, cross kink?, control kink, sub!remmick, somniloquy, emotional degradation (tender), slight dacryphilia, mildly unhinged reader, dark romance, southern gothic atmosphere, implied violence, implied murder (offscreen)

I am doing away with my tag list because it's getting a little long so I recommend turning on notifications if you don't wanna miss when I post c:

likes, comments, and reblogs always appreciated, enjoy!!

The bus wheezed like it was exhaling its last breath, sputtering to a stop in the middle of nowhere. Dust kicked up around its wheels as the brakes hissed and the door creaked open with a reluctant sigh.

You stepped off into the heat—that heavy, wet Southern heat that sticks to your skin like tacky glue, curling into your clothes and dragging its teeth across the back of your neck.

The sun hung fat and merciless in a sky bleached bone-white, cicadas crying loud enough to shake the treetops. Sweat bloomed across your collarbone before your boots even hit the dirt.

It wasn’t real pavement, not out here. Just cracked-red earth, dry and crumbling, veined with weeds and the roots of things too stubborn to die. The main road—if you could call it that—was lined with rusted fence posts, bowed under the weight of creeping kudzu and wire that hadn’t held anything in years.

The town itself looked like it had been forgotten in a drawer: sun-wilted storefronts with paint peeling off in strips, glass windows clouded with grime, and a gas station that hadn’t changed its prices since Prohibition.

A man with no teeth watched you from a bench outside a bait shop. A girl gnawed a peach in the shade of a feed store awning, juice dripping down her wrist as she stared without blinking.

No one smiled. No one welcomed you. Just silence and the shrill, electric whine of summer bugs, loud as a curse.

You adjusted your grip on the suitcase handle—leather, secondhand, the clasp a little loose—and stepped forward, your boots crunching on gravel as the bus hissed again and pulled away behind you. The sudden stillness in its absence made your ears ring. Somewhere down the road, a dog barked once, then went quiet.

The driver who’d agreed to take you the last few miles was late. Or not coming. You checked the watch on your wrist—scratched crystal, the hour hand a little jittery—and waited. The skin on your shoulders prickled. Not from the heat. From the eyes.

They were still staring.

A woman in a gingham dress crossed herself. Didn’t stop walking. Didn’t look at you twice.

Then a voice—cracked with age and smoke, coming from just over your shoulder—broke the thick, humid quiet: “That house got ghosts in it.”

You turned. It was the man from the bench, leaning forward now, elbows on his knees, eyes milky with cataracts. He spat to the side, aimed like he’d done it a thousand times before.

“He don’t come to town. Don’t let him touch you, honey.”

Before you could ask what the hell that meant, the groan of old suspension and rattling chains cut through the air.

A pickup truck, wheezing like the bus, pulled up in a cloud of red dust. Faded forest green with rust eating away the sides and a crooked license plate hanging on by one bolt. The man driving it looked as old as the truck—tan leather skin, yellowed shirt, a straw hat pulled low.

He didn’t say your name. Just nodded once. Like he already knew.

You climbed in beside him, the vinyl seat burning hot through your skirt. Neither of you spoke. The ride out of town was long and winding, lined with cypress trees and fields that had gone to seed. Every now and then, the man would spit out the window. You watched the land unravel into nothing—just swaying grass, rusted scarecrows, and buzzards perched on telephone wires.

Then, after what felt like forever, the truck crested a hill.

And there it was.

The house.

Aging Victorian farmhouse, two stories tall, white paint weathered to the color of bone. Porch bowed in the middle like a snapped spine. Shutters hanging off their hinges. The front door was so dark it looked like a hole punched through the front of the house. Vines crept up the sides like veins, crawling toward the chimneys and windows like they wanted to choke it. Or hold it down.

The iron gates at the front were rusted and tall, still latched shut. You could make out glass-paned windows that looked hollow, staring out at the road like eyes that hadn’t blinked in years.

The man parked, killed the engine, and didn’t move. You stepped out. Shut the door behind you. He didn’t offer to help with the suitcase. Just lit a cigarette, slow and deliberate.

“He sleeps durin’ the day. House is yours ‘til sundown. Don’t linger on the porch.”

You waited for more.

He didn’t offer it.

He put the truck in gear and reversed down the dirt road without another word, vanishing behind the veil of oak and kudzu until there was nothing but eerie birdsong and your own breath.

The wind kicked up. Dry. Hot. Mean. The house creaked—just once. Like it had been holding its breath too.

And then…the front door groaned open.

The open door breathed out a draft of air—cool and heavy, smelling of cedarwood, old paper, and something vaguely sweet, like dried flowers pressed between book pages. It curled around your ankles like mist.

You stepped forward. The porch groaned beneath your feet, boards soft with age, and for one heart-pounding moment you thought the whole thing might give. But it held. Just barely. The screen door had been ripped clean off its hinges long ago. The wooden door itself was open wide now, dark as pitch inside.

You crossed the threshold. The world behind you dropped away like a curtain falling shut.

The house swallowed sound. Swallowed light. It was dim and old in the way caves are old—cooler than it had any right to be, shadows pooling like ink in the corners. Lace curtains yellowed with age hung limp at the windows. The wallpaper had peeled back in strips, revealing ribs of rotting wood beneath. A hallway stretched long ahead of you, lined with crooked picture frames and closed doors.

Your hand skimmed the wall, trying to find your balance. The place felt like it was holding its breath.

Then you saw him.

He stepped out of the parlor like he wasn’t used to being seen, like he expected to vanish the moment your eyes landed on him.

Remmick.

And he was…nothing like you expected.

Not some grizzled recluse with wild hair and yellow teeth, not a hissing, skeletal shut-in like the townsfolk seemed to imagine. No. He was—

Broad.

His shoulders were built like a man who used to work with his hands, chest thick under the open collar of a blue-and-white pinstriped button-up, the sleeves messily rolled to his elbows. Beneath it, a threadbare white wife-beater clung to his torso like second skin. His jeans were dark, faded, worn at the knees, and he was barefoot—toes pale, dust smudged across the tops of his feet, like he hadn’t stepped outside in years.

His hair was short and messy, soft-looking, brown with uneven bangs that fell just above his brows in a way that felt almost boyish, almost accidental. Not styled. Just…unbothered. Untamed. Like he’d dragged his fingers through it and given up halfway.

And then his eyes.

Blue. Too blue. Not sky-blue. Not ocean-blue. The blue of cracked porcelain. The kind of blue that shouldn’t exist in nature. They looked almost glassy, as if someone had painted them on too carefully.

You didn’t know that they were artificial, not yet, like a predator blending in with its surroundings to fool the naive prey. That the real eyes were red as flame and waiting underneath.

But even so, you felt it.

Something inhuman. Something primordial.

You didn’t know what you were seeing. But you knew it wasn’t just a man and yet—you weren’t scared.

He froze when he saw you. Like he’d walked into a memory.

His mouth parted slightly. His hands hung at his sides, rough-knuckled, long-fingered. One of them twitched, just once, like he meant to lift it—and then stopped. Like the very thought of touching was…too much.

His voice came slow, thick. Raspy from disuse. “Evenin’.”

You blinked. “Hi.”

That same hand moved to scratch the back of his neck—awkward, almost boyish. He ducked his head slightly, eyes flitting away from yours. His lips pressed together like he wasn’t sure whether or not to smile, and then decided against it.

“I, uh…I didn’t expect you so soon.”

There was a tremble in his voice, barely there beneath the deep drawl. But it was there. Not nervous. Not quite. Just…unused. He sounded like someone who didn’t speak unless he had to. Someone who had been silent for too long.

You stepped forward, instinctive. He flinched.

It was subtle—just a twitch of his shoulder, the stiffening of his posture, a faint shift backward—but your body caught it. Your eyes caught it. His eyes never left you.

“I’m your nurse,” you said softly, giving your name, your voice feather-light.

He nodded. Still didn’t move closer.

There was a thin gold chain around his neck, peeking out from beneath his collar. It caught the faint light from the window and glinted, just for a second, brushing against the pale hollow of his throat when he leaned forward slightly. Like it had weight. Like it mattered.

You took a breath, trying to read him. He was watching you the way a starving man watches a feast. Not greedy. Not desperate.

Haunted.

Like he was talking to someone who no longer walked this mortal coil.

“Where should I…?” you asked, fingers curling slightly around the strap of your bag.

He startled. “Oh. Right. Room’s upstairs. I, uh—” he hesitated, scratched at his forearm where the button-up had slipped back just far enough to reveal the edge of a vein that looked darker than it should—“I ain’t had company in a while.”

“How long?” you asked.

He blinked at you. Like the question hadn’t occurred to him before.

Then, just as softly, with a note of old sorrow so quiet you nearly missed it, he answered:

“Too long.”

He turned, shoulders shifting beneath the thin cotton of his shirt, and motioned for you to follow. He didn’t offer to carry your bag. Not out of rudeness—it was something else. A hesitation that clung to him like sweat in the air.

The hallway creaked under your steps, your boots heavy against the worn floorboards. His bare feet moved near-silent, just the soft pad of skin on old wood. Dust stirred where he passed, curling like smoke in his wake. You watched the muscles move beneath his shirt—the way the thin material clung to his back, the curve of his shoulders, the faint outline of his spine shifting when he turned a corner. You could almost imagine him once being a laborer, maybe a carpenter, with those thick forearms and that sunken posture—like he hadn’t stood tall in years.

He didn’t look back at you until he reached the stairs.

“They’re steep,” he warned, voice low, accent thickening just a touch like the words were sticking to his tongue. “House wasn’t built for comfort. Not anymore.”

You followed him anyway.

The staircase was narrow and curved, wood darkened by age and use. The banister wobbled when you touched it. His hand hovered near the wall as he climbed, but he didn’t steady himself on anything—as if he was afraid to touch the house too long.

The landing opened into a hallway lit only by a single cracked window. Dust motes danced in the beam of sunlight, and Remmick avoided it completely, skirting the edge like a shadow. You didn’t think much of it. Just heat, maybe. Or habit.

He stopped in front of a door at the far end. It was plain—faded green paint, iron handle gone dull with rust. He opened it for you but didn’t step inside.

“Room’s clean,” he said, still not meeting your eyes. “Did it myself this mornin’.”

You peered in.

Small, but tidy. The bed was old but made, white sheets tucked tight. There was a vanity with a tarnished mirror, a small closet door that hung slightly crooked, and a bedside table with a worn oil lamp and what looked like a book left behind years ago. A hand towel had been folded and left on the pillow.

“You didn’t have to do that,” you murmured.

“I did,” he said simply. Then, quieter: “Didn’t want you thinkin’ I’d leave it…unfit.”

He stood there, barefoot and awkward, hands half-curled at his sides like he didn’t know what to do with them. His bangs had fallen deeper over his eyes, hiding them. But you saw the shape of them behind the strands—wide, almost deer-like.

He looked like he didn’t know whether to apologize for being alive or thank you for showing up.

You stepped inside. Set your bag down. When you turned to speak again, he was already halfway down the hall.

He hadn’t made a sound.

Later, after you’d unpacked and washed your face in the cracked porcelain basin, you made your way down to the kitchen, following the faint clatter of dishware. You paused at the doorway.

He stood at the sink, back to you, sleeves rolled higher now—his forearms dusted in pale hair, thick with muscle, the veins just barely raised under the skin. The gold chain shifted at his throat as he rinsed out an old tin mug. He didn’t seem to notice you.

The light from the window cut across the floor, a bright bar of late-afternoon sun. It stopped just inches from where he stood, and he didn’t cross it. His toes curled against the edge like it was a line he couldn’t breach.

You finally spoke. “Do you want any help?”

He jumped.

Not violently—just a twitch. His shoulders drew in, spine straightening, as if your voice had reached into him and plucked something loose.

Then he slowly turned. His eyes—still too blue—met yours, and for a second you thought he looked guilty. Like he’d been caught doing something shameful.

“No,” he said, swallowing. “But…thank you.”

You stepped forward anyway.

He froze. Again.

“I’m just getting a glass,” you said, brushing past him, your fingers grazing the inside of his forearm by accident—just a whisper of skin against skin.

He flinched. Actually flinched. Not hard. Not violently. But enough to feel like a blow. You pulled back, brows furrowing.

“I didn’t mean to—”

“It’s fine,” he said quickly, voice hushed and low and cracking like dry wood underfoot. “You ain’t done nothin’ wrong.”

You turned your head, studied him.

“Do you not like to be touched?”

A pause.

He looked down at the floor. His hands opened and closed once.

“I just…ain’t used to it, is all.”

Not used to it. Not anymore. Not in a long, long time.

You felt something tighten in your chest then, strange and aching. A tether drawing taut. You didn’t know what had happened to him. Why the town feared him. Why the sunlight seemed to singe the air around him. Why his voice trembled when you spoke too softly.

But you did know this:

He was alone.

And he had been alone for a very, very long time.

The glass was cloudy. Not dirty—just old, like everything else in this house. When you turned the tap, the pipes groaned in protest before surrendering a stream of lukewarm water. You sipped, then leaned against the counter, your eyes sliding back to him.

Remmick hadn’t moved.

Still by the sink, shoulder just shy of that stripe of sunlight, arms stiff at his sides like he didn’t know how to stand. The water dripped from the mug he held. A single droplet clung to the edge of his knuckle and then slid down, curling over his wrist.

He stared at the floor. At your boots. At anything except you.

“You live here alone?” you asked.

His head tilted slightly, as though the question had startled him. He nodded.

“For how long?”

A beat.

“…Long.”

He didn’t elaborate. Just that one syllable, spoken like a stone dropped into a well. No echo. No follow-up.

You took another sip. “Locals said you don’t like company.”

His lip twitched—almost a smile, but not quite. It was more like…a ghost of a smirk, something he might’ve worn naturally once, long ago, before it fell out of practice.

“I reckon they said worse’n that.”

“They said not to let you touch me.”

That made him flinch for real.

A sharp intake of breath, his spine straightening, knuckles whitening around the tin cup. He didn’t look at you. Didn’t speak. But the shame bled off him like heat, pouring into the space between you until the air turned too thick to breathe.

You waited.

And when he still didn’t say anything, you set your glass down with a quiet clink and asked gently:

“Why would they say that?”

He looked at you then.

Really looked.

Eyes wide. Blue. Too blue. Glassy in the way that porcelain is glassy—shiny and fragile and false. A color that didn’t feel real, not on a living thing. His brow was furrowed like the question pained him.

“…They scared,” he said softly. “Always been. But fear makes folks say things that ain’t...whole.”

“Is it not true?”

His throat bobbed. That thin gold chain moved with the motion, catching what little light the room offered. His jaw tensed, a tick pulsing just beneath the skin. When he finally spoke, it was so quiet you almost missed it.

“I don’t hurt people who don’t deserve it.”

He said it like it was a rule, not a defense. Something sacred. Something self-imposed and unshakable.

“I didn’t think you did,” you murmured.

That made him pause. Head tilted again. Studying you like you were a puzzle with too many pieces.

“Then why’d you come?”

You gave a small shrug. “They said you needed help.”

“And you believed ‘em?”

“I believe you now.”

That silenced him.

He set the tin mug down gently, almost reverently. The sound was soft. Barely there. Like he’d learned to be careful with his strength. Or maybe he was just scared of breaking things.

“I ain’t had a nurse before,” he said. “Didn’t think I needed one.”

“Well,” you said, tone light, “I’m here now.”

Another pause.

He nodded, still not smiling. Just…accepting. Resigned. Like he’d already decided you were temporary.

A flicker of something passed behind his eyes then. Regret. Fear. Hunger. You couldn’t tell. But it made you step closer. And again—he moved back. Just a step. Not far. Not fast. But enough.

Like your nearness singed. You didn’t take it personally. You were starting to understand: it wasn’t you he didn’t trust. It was himself.

“Can I ask your name?” you said, after a beat.

He blinked. Then, slowly, he answered:

“…Remmick.”

You repeated it once, soft. Let it settle. His breath hitched. And just for a second—less than a breath, less than a blink—his eyes flashed red.

Bright. Brief. Burning.

Gone just as fast.

You didn’t say anything. You weren’t even sure you’d seen it. But he turned away like he had something to hide.

“I’ll, uh…be out on the porch. If you need me.” His voice cracked again. “Dinner’s in the oven.”

“Remmick.”

He stilled.

“Thank you.”

His hand touched the doorframe. Just the tips of his fingers. Then he left without looking back, the gold chain glinting once over the curve of his collarbone as he slipped into the shadows again.

You didn’t know what you’d just seen. But you knew you weren’t afraid. Not of him. And not of whatever was buried beneath those woeful eyes.

The dining room was crooked.

The long table—mahogany once, now dulled and water-stained—sat slightly uneven, legs warped from heat and time. One chair at the end had been worn smooth with use. The others were still draped in white sheets, untouched, forgotten. The chandelier above was dust-choked, only one bulb flickering faintly. Shadows wavered across the ceiling like they were alive.

Remmick was already seated when you stepped in, spine stiff, hands folded neatly in his lap. Not touching the silverware. Not even looking at the plate in front of him. A modest meal—roasted potatoes, black-eyed peas, cornbread—steamed in a careful arrangement across two plates, though yours was a little fuller.

He’d set it out like it was a ritual. Like it mattered. His eyes jumped to yours the moment you crossed the threshold. That same stare—wide, dark in the low light, too big for his face—gave him the look of something puppyish, soft in a way that didn’t match the rest of him.

“I hope it’s alright,” he said quickly, words too fast, too eager. “I cooked it this mornin’. Tried to keep it warm without dryin’ it out.”

You slid into the chair across from him. “It smells good.”

His shoulders relaxed a fraction, like a wire had gone slack. “Ain’t had much reason to cook for two.”

You took a bite, slowly. It was simple—salt, butter, heat. No herbs. No flair. But it was made with care. You could taste that.

Across from you, Remmick didn’t eat. He watched you instead.

You didn’t comment on it at first, but when you finally glanced up, fork paused midair, he looked away too quickly. A flicker of red threatened behind his lashes—gone before you could be sure.

“You’re not hungry?” you asked gently.

He hesitated. “Not for that.”

You blinked.

He flinched. “I mean—nothin’ wrong with it. I just—I don’t eat much. Not lately.”

You let it go. For now.

The silence that followed wasn’t hostile, but it wasn’t easy either. It strained under its own weight. Not tension between you, but the kind that comes when someone’s forgotten how to be in a room with another person. He kept shifting in his seat—shoulders tight, hands flexing slightly in his lap, like he had to remind himself to stay still.

You tried again.

“So…you’ve lived here a long time?”

He nodded. “Since before the war.”

“Which one?”

His lips twitched. “Exactly.”

You huffed a soft laugh. “Do you ever leave?”

Another long pause. He looked down at the table, fingers tracing the edge of a scratch in the wood.

“I used to,” he said. “Town was smaller then. Or maybe it just felt that way.”

“You don’t go anymore?”

“I scare folks.” He said it plainly. No self-pity. Just fact. “And I don’t…do well in the sun.”

You watched the way he said it—carefully. Intentionally vague. Like he was testing how much he could say without scaring you off.

“I noticed,” you murmured.

His eyes lifted again. In the dim lighting, they looked almost black, shadows swallowing all the unnatural blue. The wide shape of them gave him a look so innocent it was disarming—a big-eyed, vulnerable softness, like a boy too shy to ask for what he needed.

“I’m not scared of you,” you added.

He swallowed hard. The gold chain at his collarbone shifted.

“You should be,” he said softly. “But I’m glad you’re not.”

The food sat cooling between you.

You noticed he kept glancing at your hands—how they moved, how they curled around your fork, how they pressed briefly to your chest when you swallowed water. He didn’t leer. Didn’t ogle. But he watched with the intensity of someone who’d gone without touch so long, he’d forgotten what warmth looked like.

“Do you miss it?” you asked.

He looked up sharply. “Miss what?”

“Conversation. Company.”

He blinked like you’d hit him.

“Yes,” he said. Just that. No hesitation. Voice cracking around the edge.

Then, quieter:

“I try not to. But yes.”

You sat with that for a beat.

“I could talk more,” you offered, a faint smile tugging at your mouth. “Or less. If you’d rather quiet.”

He shook his head, too fast. “No—no, I like it. I…I like your voice.”

You blinked. Your cheeks went warm.

He blinked too, startled at himself. “Shit—I mean—not like that. Just. It’s nice. I ain’t heard anything like it in…”

He trailed off. His ears had gone pink.

You laughed gently. “You’re a little out of practice, huh?”

“I’m fuckin’ terrible,” he muttered, half to himself. Then, with a glance at you: “Sorry.”

“Don’t be,” you said. “It’s nice. You’re…nice.”

He stared at you like he didn’t know what to do with that word. And then, without warning, a loud creak echoed from somewhere deeper in the house. The pipes moaned. The lights flickered.

You jumped.

Remmick didn’t move. But the red flashed again in his eyes—just for a blink, just enough to raise the hairs on your arms.

“Old house,” he murmured.

“Right.”

But he was staring down the hallway now, like he heard something you couldn’t. His jaw clenched. One hand curled tight against his knee, as if fighting the urge to stand.

“Is it safe?” you asked, your voice dipping instinctively into something wary.

His eyes cut to yours.

And something about the way he looked at you then—those big, dark, wide eyes still soft as a dog’s, still scared to ask too much—made your breath catch.

“With me?” he said.

A beat.

Then, softer:

“Always.”

The house changed at night.

It didn’t creak. It breathed—slow and hollow, like the walls had lungs of their own. The old wood carried footsteps in strange directions. Voices turned inward. Time unspooled.

You lay in bed, still dressed, still wired, the heat slick on the back of your neck. The lamp on your bedside table cast a low, amber glow across the ceiling. Somewhere outside, a whippoorwill called once and went quiet.

The room smelled like lavender soap and old cotton. The fan in the corner ticked every fifth rotation. You hadn’t seen Remmick since dinner.

He hadn’t said goodnight. Not that you blamed him.

He’d looked like he wanted to linger. Like his legs didn’t quite want to carry him away. But something in him—something knotted deep—had yanked him back into the dark, like a leash.

Still, you thought of him as you lay there. The way his eyes kept dropping to your hands. The way his voice cracked when he spoke too kindly. The way he watched you like he hadn’t watched another soul in decades—and didn’t know if he was allowed to.

You didn’t mean to doze. But the silence folded over you like a sheet.

And then—

You heard it.

Low. Fragile. Muffled.

A sound curling up through the floorboards.

You blinked awake, heart ticking faster, every hair on your arms rising before your mind even caught up. You sat up slowly. The fan ticked again.

And again, that sound.

A moan.

Male. Soft. Throaty.

Followed by something rougher. Shaped by a tongue and a mouth. Words.

You slid from the bed, bare feet ghosting over the cool floor. Pressed your palm to the wall. Leaned close.

The voice—Remmick’s voice—was speaking. But not English. Something old. It came in broken fragments. Whispered. Half-strangled. And aching.

“A chuisle…mo chuisle, mo chroí…”

(My pulse…my pulse, my heart…)

The wood under your fingers thrummed.

“Táid mo lámha ag crith…Dia, tá brón orm…”

(My hands are shaking…God, I’m sorry…)

A sound followed—wet. Guttural. Like he’d tried to breathe through a sob and swallowed it.

You stepped back, heart rabbiting, heat pooling low in your belly—not from fear, but from something else.

The need in that voice. The loneliness. The way the words clung to his throat like they hurt coming out.

And then—

A moan. Sharp. Broken open.

“Lig dom é a mhothú… lig dom tú a mhothú…”

(Let me feel it…let me feel you…)

You were rooted to the floor, bare toes curling against the wood as something bloomed low in your abdomen—hot and needy and shameful in its intensity. Your thighs pressed together before you even realized you’d done it.

He sounded desperate. Not sexual—not entirely. But starved. Ragged.

Destroyed.

Like he was begging for something he didn’t think he deserved to have, not even in sleep.

“Tá tú anseo…tá tú fíor…ná fág mé…”

(You’re here…you’re real…don’t leave me…)

The words were choked now. Slurred. Drenched in a broken kind of longing. You didn’t mean to press your palm flat against the wall. Didn’t mean to close your eyes.

Didn’t mean to whisper: “I’m here.”

But you did.

And somehow, the sounds stopped. Not abruptly. Just…slowed. Faded.

As if he'd heard you.

As if, wherever he was in that dream, the presence of you at the wall soothed something raw and ancient inside him.

The air stilled. No more moaning. No more whispers. Only quiet. You stood there for a moment longer, breath shallow, chest tight. Then turned back to the bed.

And as you crawled beneath the covers, something inside you whispered—

He wasn’t dreaming of just anyone. He was dreaming of you.

You didn’t sleep long.

When you woke again, the air was different. Thicker.

Your body was heavy with it, sunk into the mattress, heart drumming in your ears like you were already in motion. The fan had stopped ticking. The lamp had gone out. A soft glow slanted in through the hallway—a light left on downstairs, maybe. Or—

No.

Someone had turned it on.

You sat up slowly. The floorboards creaked outside your door. Once. Twice. A pause. Then a knock. Soft. Barely there.

Your stomach flipped.

“Yeah?” you called, voice still sleep-rough, soft enough that he could ignore it if he needed to.

But he didn’t. The door opened a crack. And there he was.

Remmick.

Still barefoot.

Still dressed the same—pinstriped button-up wrinkled from sleep, sleeves rolled to the elbows, suspenders hanging loose at his sides. His hair was mussed now, falling harder into his face, and his chest rose and fell beneath the thin white wife-beater like he’d climbed stairs too fast. Or hadn’t been breathing right since sundown.

He didn’t cross the threshold. Not at first.

He stood there like a man unsure of his place in the world—a broad shadow outlined in gold from the hallway light, wide-eyed and fidgeting, arms at his sides like he didn’t trust himself to lift them.

“Sorry,” he said, voice raw. “Didn’t mean to wake you.”

“You didn’t.”

He hesitated.

Then: “Can I…?”

He didn’t finish the sentence. But his eyes flicked toward the inside of the room—dark and private and unthreatening—and you understood.

You nodded once. “Yeah.”

He stepped in.

Carefully. Like the floor might bite him.

The door shut behind him with a click that echoed louder than it should have. He stood near the dresser, eyes darting—not in panic, but like he was looking for something to anchor himself to. His fingers worried the hem of his sleeve. His shoulders were hunched, defensive, vulnerable despite the width of them.

His eyes—dark in this light, wide and glassy—looked almost wet. Puppyish. Devastating.

“I heard you,” you said quietly. “Last night.”

He stiffened.

“I didn’t mean to,” you added. “I just…couldn’t sleep.”

His jaw flexed. His throat bobbed. He didn’t look at you.

“You were speaking in another language.”

“Gaelic,” he muttered, almost like he was ashamed of it. “From…before.”

“Before what?”

He didn’t answer. Instead, he stepped closer. His hand twitched at his side.

“I didn’t know I was talkin’,” he said. “I don’t—usually.”

“You sounded upset.”

“I was.”

You waited.

Then, just above a whisper:

“I was dreamin’ of you.”

The room tilted. Your breath caught.

He raised his eyes then—still that soft, drowning dark, still wide like he wasn’t sure if he was allowed to say your name, let alone admit this.

“I know it ain’t right,” he murmured, voice hoarse, almost breaking. “But I’ve been here so long. Been quiet so long. And then you—” His breath hitched. “You come in here like you’re made of light. Like you belong. And I don’t know what to do with that.”

You stood slowly.

He didn’t move. He watched you with that same broken hunger, like he’d already decided you were too good for him, but couldn’t stop himself from needing you anyway.

“You’re shaking,” you said.

He glanced down. His hands were trembling. You stepped closer. He didn’t flinch this time.

But he didn’t touch you either. Just stood there—shoulders tight, breath shallow, like if he touched you, you’d vanish.

“I ain’t touched anyone in so long,” he whispered. “And I keep thinkin’ about what they said. About me. About my hands. That I ruin things.”

You reached up, slowly, brushing your fingertips just above his collarbone—where the thin gold chain clung to his skin.

He gasped like it burned. You didn’t pull away.

“You didn’t ruin this.”

His eyes fluttered shut. His lip trembled. A sound caught in his throat—half a sob, half a moan—as he leaned forward, forehead just barely grazing yours.

“Tell me not to,” he whispered. “Tell me to leave, and I will. But if you don’t—if you don’t say it—I swear to God, I’m gonna fall to my knees.”

The air between you crackled.

And his voice dropped, Irish blooming up from the roots of him like something ancient and helpless:

“Cuir do lámha orm…ná tabhair uaim thú…”

(Put your hands on me…don’t take yourself away from me…)

You didn’t speak at first. Didn’t move either.

Just breathed—slow and even, like you were the calm center of a storm, and he was every desperate gust of wind trying to press against your skin.

Remmick stood there, trembling. Not from fear. From need. It curled off him like steam, thick and desperate, clinging to the air between you. His pupils were wide, swallowing the color of his irises until they looked nearly black, and his lips parted like he wanted to say more, to beg, to confess—but didn’t know how to start.

You reached for him.

He gasped—actually gasped—when your fingers slid up the open placket of his button-up, brushing the edge of his white ribbed wife-beater. You felt the tremor through him, all the way down. His chest was warm and solid, rising and falling like he was trying not to pant.

Your hands smoothed over his shoulders, palms splaying against the thick muscle hidden beneath soft cotton. And then, softly—gently, like it was a kindness—you pushed him.

He let you.

Without resistance, without question, he backed up until the backs of his knees hit the edge of the bed, and then he sank down like he didn’t know how to carry his own weight anymore. He sat there, breath shallow, eyes wide and wet and locked on you like you were the moon and he hadn’t seen the sky in a hundred years.

You stood between his knees. Tilted his chin up with just two fingers under his jaw.

“Hands to yourself,” you ordered, soft yet firm.

His breath hitched. His fingers dug into the comforter on either side of him, white-knuckled and obedient.

You watched the way he fought his own instinct—fought it like it pained him. He wanted to touch you. God, did he want to. It rolled off him in waves. His thighs were tense, knees spread wide, shirt wrinkled where your hands had touched him. He looked wrecked already.

“Y-you sure?” he asked, voice cracking like shaky glass under the burgeoning weight of desperation.

“I didn’t ask for your hands,” you said. “Not yet.”

His throat bobbed. The gold chain swayed at the base of his throat as he nodded—once, sharp, frantic.

“Okay,” he breathed. “Okay, I—yeah, I can do that. I’ll be good.”

You smiled, slow and soft and wicked.

“I know you will.”

He whimpered. Actually whimpered. A soft, strangled sound pulled from the depths of him, one he didn’t seem prepared for.

His hair had fallen over his brow again, mussed and curling faintly with sweat at his temples. You brushed it back, deliberately slow. He didn’t lean into the touch—he melted under it. His lashes fluttered. His lips parted.

“You’ve really gone this long?” you murmured, thumb stroking the sharp line of his trembling cheekbone.

His voice was barely audible.

“Thirteen hundred years.”

You blinked. He looked away, ashamed.

“I feed when I have to,” he said, “but touch? Mouths? Skin? That kinda closeness?” He shook his head, jaw tight. “Not since—fuck. Before the plague hit London.”

You stared at him, stunned.

“You’re starved.”

He looked back at you with those wide, dark, pleading eyes, red bleeding into his pupils like a fresh laceration, like a man who's learned to lick his wounds clean in silence finally cracking open wide and letting you see the most vulnerable parts of him.

“I’m starvin’.”

You nodded, slow and understanding, letting your hand fall away from his face.

“Then sit still, Remmick,” you murmured, hushed, like you were afraid to shatter the silence. “And let me feed you.”

His breath shuddered out of him like you’d punched it from his lungs. His hands curled tighter in the sheets. His voice was hoarse, shaking, with the faintest Irish crack as he whispered:

“A ghrá…táim i do lámha…”

(My love…I’m in your hands…)

You stayed standing between his knees, just looking at him, because even if you didn't know what those words meant, you could feel them carve into your soul like a brand.

And Remmick—God help him—let you. Didn’t dare breathe too deep, didn’t dare move a single muscle. He was shaking with it. With restraint. With want. With that terrible, ancient hunger not just for blood, but for closeness, for skin-on-skin, for the obscene luxury of being touched.

Your fingers reached for him. He twitched.

Not in fear. In anticipation. His lips parted, a fine strand of spit hanging off one corner, catching in the gold glow of the hallway light behind you. It glistened, trailing down toward his chin before pooling at the dip beneath his lower lip—thick, warm, a little foamy, and wholly instinctual. His breath came in short, shallow bursts now, as if his body was preparing for something it didn’t fully understand.

You slid his suspenders off the broad slope of his shoulders first, snapping one against his pec, feeling arousal pool into your cunt like molten hot lava when he whimpers at the pleasant sting of it, letting the thin scraps of fabric fall down beside his hips.

Then you undid the first button of his shirt. Then the next. And the next. Slow. Deliberate. Never breaking eye contact.

Remmick’s eyes were huge in the dark—dark and shiny, wide like a dog waiting to be called forward, like he’d sink his teeth into the floor just for a word from you. Sweat pearled at his temples. His thighs spread slightly wider beneath you as the shirt parted open.

His chest was beautiful. Scarred, but beautiful—pale muscle threaded with faint blue veins, the sort that spoke of long nights and longer hunger. His skin was cool beneath your fingertips, though you could feel the heat roiling beneath it, just under the surface.

But what drew your eye—what made you pause—was the tattoo.

On his left ribcage, inked into him like a brand, was a budded cross—old, faded, the lines a little blurred from age but unmistakable. A Christian cross, yes—but older, rougher, like it had been carved into him by a trembling hand in candlelight.

You stared.

He followed your gaze, and his throat worked, the motion making his chain jump slightly against his collarbones.

“I got that when I still thought it’d save me,” he whispered, voice tight.

You dropped to your knees. He whimpered.

No contact yet—just the sound of your body lowering between his thighs, the shift in the room, the weight of your presence pressing into the cradle of his hips. He tipped his head back against the edge of the bed, more thick drool sliding from the corner of his mouth, breath now shallow, frantic, like he was trying not to choke on his own spit.

You leaned forward. Pressed your mouth to the edge of the cross.

He hissed.

You kissed it. Then licked—tongue flattening over the cool ink, tracing it reverently, slowly. He trembled beneath you like a man being sanctified and defiled all at once.

The irony rolled off your tongue with every stroke.

A man like this—older than gunpowder, older than the books that tried to define him—wearing a cross close to his heart like it still meant salvation.

You dragged your lips lower.

Down his ribs. Over the ridges of muscle. To the soft trail of hair starting just below his navel—a dark, fine line that disappeared beneath the waistband of his jeans.

You licked that too. Just once. Teasing.

Following the path slowly, like you were on your knees at an altar, taking your time with worship. His happy trail twitched under your tongue.

Above you, Remmick made a noise that wasn’t a moan or a sob but something shattered between the two.

More drool slipped from his lips now—foamy, thick, sliding down his chin, catching on the curve of his neck and the edge of that trembling gold chain. He didn’t wipe it. Couldn’t. You’d told him not to touch.

His voice broke apart.

“I c-can’t take it,” he choked. “I swear to God, I’m gonna come just from you lookin’ at me like that—just from that tongue—fuck, darlin’, please.”

You looked up at him.

Still on your knees. Still reverent. And said, with quiet finality, “Good.”

You reached for his belt.

His breath caught—sharply, like the sound a deer makes when it hears the snap of a twig too close behind it. But he didn’t move. Didn’t flinch. Just stared down at you with those wide, wet eyes, black in the low light, pupils blown to the edge. His chest rose and fell like he was sprinting through mud.

The leather was worn, soft from age and use, the buckle cool in your fingers.

You took your time.

Slowly, purposefully, you undid the clasp, the soft clink of metal loud in the hush of the room. He whimpered, his thighs tensing beneath you, and more drool spilled from the corner of his mouth—thick, glistening, sliding down his chin

“Stay still,” you reminded him, voice silk-wrapped steel.

He nodded, a jerky, miserable little movement, and you swore his lower lip quivered. You dragged the zipper down, each tooth catching slightly, the sound sharp and intimate.

And then—finally—you pulled him free.

Your breath hitched.

He was hard. Painfully so. Flushed deep red at the tip, already leaking, the slit glossy and wet. He twitched in your hand, a thick vein pulsing along the underside, and his thighs quivered like he could barely keep himself grounded.

“Jesus,” you whispered.

Remmick gave a breathless, broken laugh, chin tilted back as he struggled not to move. His hands were fists in the sheets now, white-knuckled, his gold chain trembling across his throat with every shallow breath.

“I—fuck, I’m sorry,” he gasped. “I can’t stop—fuck, it’s so much—”

You looked up at him as you gave him the first stroke.

Just one.

Slow.

Base to tip, twisting your palm, watching his mouth fall open wider—thick drool spilling freely now, down his neck, dampening the edge of his shirt. He looked utterly destroyed already.

“Does it feel good?” you asked, your voice soft, cruel with how gently you said it.

He nodded frantically.

“Use your words.”

His head lolled forward. His voice was wrecked. “Feels like heaven,” he groaned. “Oh God, sugar, I cain’t—I cain’t believe—”

You didn’t let him finish.

You leaned forward, licking up the length of him, tongue flat, slow, letting his taste settle warm and heavy on your tongue—salt and skin and something a little coppery, something distinctly him, something old. He sobbed. Actually sobbed, chest hiccuping, thighs jerking just slightly before he caught himself and moaned through clenched teeth.

Your mouth wrapped around the head. He cried out.

No words now. Just a strangled sound ripped from his throat, and more drool frothed at the corners of his lips. He looked dazed—eyes rolling back, lashes fluttering. His hips bucked once—a reflex—and immediately stilled like he was terrified to move again without permission.

You pulled back just enough to speak, saliva stringing between your lips and his flushed cock.

“I told you,” you whispered. “Hands to yourself.”

His voice came out wrecked, breathless.

“Yes, ma’am.”

Then your mouth was back on him.

You took him deeper this time—slow, tight suction, twisting your wrist around what you couldn’t take yet—and the way he howled, you’d have thought he’d been starved in every way a man could be. Which, of course, he had. Thirteen hundred years of this. Denied. Suppressed. Begged away.

His thighs trembled. His belly tensed. And still he didn’t move. Didn’t touch. Didn’t dare.

You sucked harder.

He broke.

“Fuck—fuck, I’m gonna—darlin’, I—I can’t—oh, please, please, I’m so sorry—”

He was crying.

Not just drool now—actual tears, shining in his lashes, streaking down his flushed face as you sucked him through it, as he jerked and shook and whimpered out your name like it was a hymn.

He came with a sob, hips barely stuttering forward as his whole body went taut, his cock pulsing against your tongue, spilling hot down your throat in waves, thick and heavy and so much you almost gagged on it.

He was loud.

Pathetic.

Perfect.

When you finally pulled off, he was slumped forward—a wrecked, shivering mess, his lips bitten red and his chain soaked through with spit and sweat. His chest heaved. His thighs twitched.

You sat back on your heels, wiped your mouth slowly.

“Still with me?” you asked.

He nodded, weakly. “I ain’t ever lettin’ you leave.”

He collapsed.

Not fell—melted. Like every bone in him had turned to syrup and grief, his body slumping forward, catching on the edge of the bed before slipping down to the floor.

Boneless.

His cheek pressed to the old wood, hair clinging to his forehead, the buttons of his half-undone shirt twisted beneath him. He was drenched—sweat slicked across his chest and ribs, his pale skin kissed pink from effort, a shine of drool still slicking his chin, clinging to the corners of his mouth like foam. His gold chain was crooked now, stuck against the sweat-damp hollow of his throat.

You rose slowly to your knees, then leaned forward—not to comfort him, not yet—but to press your lips to that chain.

Right at the dip of his collarbones. He gasped. Like it burned. Like your mouth was fire and he’d been craving the flame.

His eyes fluttered open—glass-wet, dazed, the whites shot red, his lips trembling from overstimulation. He looked wrecked. Used. Holy.

And still. Still, he tried.

One shaking hand rose, dragging along the edge of your thigh—hesitant, aching, reverent. His fingers brushed your hip like he was praying through it.

“Lemme touch you,” he breathed. “Please. Let me—wanna make you feel good—want your taste on my tongue, sugar, please—”

You caught his wrist mid-rise. Firm. Final. His breath hitched. His mouth parted. But he didn’t resist. Didn’t fight. You leaned in close, until your mouth was at his ear, and whispered—

“You don’t get to yet.”

His eyes fluttered. His breath caught.

“You’re gonna learn to wait.”

A tremble rolled through him, from head to toe. His hand fell away, limp at his side. And then he nodded.

Small. Shaky. Utterly obedient.

“Yes, ma’am,” he breathed. “I’ll wait. I’ll wait, I swear.”

You ran your fingers through his hair, gently now, and he whimpered at the touch.

“Look at you,” you murmured.

He did. Glassy-eyed. Pathetic. So fucking into it.

His tongue darted out across his lower lip, catching more of the drool clinging there, and he looked at you like he’d fall on his knees all over again if you so much as told him to.

“Did I do good?” he asked, voice so small, so needy it nearly broke something open in your chest.

You smiled.

And whispered, “You were perfect.”

He didn’t get up. Didn’t even try.

Just curled in beside your legs like a dog, bare chest heaving, forehead pressed to your knee, as if your body alone could tether him to the earth. His arms folded in at his chest, drawn tight like he didn’t trust them not to reach for you again.

You stayed still. Let him have it. Let him exist in the aftermath—his breath still catching, his sweat-soaked hair plastered to his brow, drool drying tacky at the corners of his mouth, his jeans half undone around his hips, completely forgotten. He looked small down there, despite the size of him. Small and wrecked.

He murmured against your thigh—words so soft you almost missed them, lips brushing the fabric of your skirt like a confession:

“Didn’t know it could feel like that…”

You glanced down.

His eyes were closed, lashes wet. His lips parted as he pressed the side of his face closer to your leg, as if nearness was the only thing keeping him from coming apart again.

“Didn’t know I could feel like that.”

You stroked his hair gently. He shivered.

“I ain’t been held like this since…” He swallowed. “Since before.”

You waited. Then, with a sigh that hitched in his throat, he said:

“Before I stopped bein’ a man and started bein’ a thing.”

Your fingers paused at his temple.

But he nuzzled into your knee like he hadn’t said something awful. Like he hadn’t peeled that truth out of himself and bled it onto your lap.

“I remember what it was like,” he whispered. “Before I turned. Before the hunger. Before all that silence got in me and stayed.”

Another pause.

“I used to think about what it’d be like, y’know? Fallin’ apart for someone. Just crackin’ open. Bein’ touched like I was human.”

He sighed again.

“Didn’t think it’d ever happen.”

Your hand returned to his hair, soft strokes over the messy bangs sticking to his forehead.

He let out a low, contented whine.

“Felt you on my tongue before I ever tasted you,” he breathed, voice thick and syrup-slow. “In my dreams. In my fuckin’ bones.”

His fingers brushed the floor. Not reaching. Just hovering.

“Tell me you won’t go,” he whispered.

You didn’t say anything. But you didn’t move. And that was enough.

He breathed deep then, nose brushing your thigh, the gold chain glinting dully in the light. His body slackened further, weight pooling against you like he meant to stay right there forever—a crumpled thing collared in sweat, salt, and shame, held together only by the sound of your breath and the soft drag of your fingers through his hair.

“I’m ruined now,” he said sleepily. “You know that, don’t you?”

You smiled faintly.

“Good.”

He whimpered again. A sound so low and lovely it curled down your spine and planted itself deep in your stomach.

And then he sighed—the sound of someone finally coming home—and nuzzled in deeper at your thigh.

#for the sub!remmick nation #sainted by spit #1300 years of celibacy destroyed by (1) act of service #sinners 2025 #sinners au #sinners remmick #remmick x reader #remmick x you #jack o'connell

3K notes · View notes

navybrat817 · 4 days ago

Text

Back It Up

Pairing: Thunderbolts!Bucky Barnes x Thunderbolts!Female Reader

Summary: Bucky is hot and fucks like a God.

Word Count: Over 1.2k

Warnings: Unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it), oral sex (m. and f. receiving), dirty talk, flirting, slight feels, possessive behavior, BDE, aftercare mention, Bucky Barnes (he's a warning, okay?).

A/N: Based on an anon ask. Happy Moanday. ❤️ Not beta read and written on my phone, so any and all mistakes are my own. Please follow @navybrat817-sideblog for new fics and notifications. Comments, reblogs, feedback are loved and appreciated!

Bucky who is hot and fucks like a God.

Bucky who is confident again, similar to the swagger he had in the 40’s, but a bit more rough around the edges to add to his appeal.

Bucky who knew you were his the second he laid eyes on you and swears the world is a little brighter when you’re nearby, so he gives you a smile instead of his trademark grumpy stare.

Bucky who also gets hard when you’re close to him and has palmed himself under the table because he so desperately wants to be inside you.

Bucky who wants you and only you, wants you on your knees for him, wants to get on his knees for you, wants to split you open on his cock and make you scream his name, but wants to tease you first.

Bucky who will run his fingers through his hair or toussle it when you’re in his line of sight because you once said he looked like a fucking prince. “Every prince needs a princess, right? You wanna be my princess?”

Bucky who, whether he’s in his tactical gear or uniform, sees the way you shamelessly check him out and hides his smirk when he “catches” you looking. “Isn’t polite to stare, sweetheart, but you can look all you want.”

Bucky who will purposely walk around in only a pair of low hanging gray sweatpants when he knows it’s just the two of you, unashamed of his body or scars, especially when your pupils dilate with lust. “You know, I almost went with black, but…” he trailed off, arching his back and thrusting his hips forward so you could see the very clear outline of his cock before he left the room.

Bucky who will keep his eyes on you when he eats, letting you see every drag of his tongue and lick of his lips as he savors the taste of his meal. “Bet your pussy tastes like heaven,” he says so low you swear you imagined it.

Bucky who wrapped a hand around your throat once during sparring to see how you’d respond, and he was pleasantly surprised when he heard you whimper and smelled your arousal. “I have something you can really choke on,” he whispered, letting you go and leaving you hot and bothered on the mat.

Bucky who didn’t think taking a jacket off could be sexy until he heard you whisper, “Fuck me”, to which he responded in a low voice full of promise, “Soon.”

Bucky who likes to think he can dish it as much as he takes it, but nearly busts down your door when he hears you moaning his name and fucking yourself with your fingers. “My dirty girl,” he says fondly, proudly.

Bucky who can’t take it anymore when you’re bent over in front of him, stretching and looking back at him with a smile while his eyes greedily roam your body. “Think you help me stretch, Barnes, or are you all talk?”

Bucky who snapped, tore through your legging and underwear like paper, and put you on all fours. “Oh, I’ll help you stretch,” he promised, breaching your wet heat with a finger and smirking when you tightened around him. “With my tongue and fingers first before you get my cock.”

Bucky who ate you out from behind, his fingers digging into your flesh as you pushed back against his face to feel more of the delicious burn from his salt and pepper scruff. “You really do taste like heaven, sweetheart, but be patient,” he warned, slapping your pussy for good measure. “You’ll get yours and I’ll get mine.”

Bucky who nearly came in his pants when you made a mess all over his face, crying out his name as he kept fucking you with his tongue and fingers and only stopped so he could put you on your back and see your dazed expression. “Good girl screaming my name,” he praised, hearing you whine when he shoved his pants and underwear down. “Do it again when you come on my cock.”

Bucky who let you taste yourself on his tongue before he pushed inside you, both of you moaning at the feeling of being one and him having to stay still for a second at the way you clamp around him like a vice. “Greedy cunt doesn’t want to let me go,” he rasped, and he understood since he didn’t want to leave your body.

Bucky who set a hard, deep pace and alternated between pinning you down and letting you pull his hair and grip his back. “Letting me fuck you bare because you know you’re mine,” he groaned, and he couldn’t wait to paint your walls with his release and really make you his.

Bucky who lightly bit your neck and breasts and touched every inch of you that he could, wanting to leave marks on you, before putting your legs on his shoulders and fucking you like his life depended on it. “Look at me. Keep those pretty eyes on me,” he ordered, wanting to see your face twist in pleasure as you took his cock over and over again.

Bucky who teased your clit and smiled when you keen. “I told you you’ll get yours,” he reminded you when you clenched around him and soaked his cock more. “So scream my name when you come for me.”

Bucky who said your name through his teeth when you screamed his name like a mantra and gushed around him. “Good. Fucking. Girl.” he gritted as he fucked you through it, taking your hand to keep you grounded when he saw the fog in your eyes.

Bucky who couldn’t resist when you begged through your gaze, “Come in me, Bucky.” and roared like an animal with his release, flooding your insides and keeping his hips flush against yours so he didn’t waste a drop.

Bucky who collapsed on top of you to kiss you again and stayed deep inside you as he thought about how he was going to fuck you all over again.

Bucky who knew he had his equal when you smiled against his lips and asked, “Think you can make me choke before you fuck me again?” and was torn between pulling out of you and staying nice and deep where he belonged.

Bucky who grudgingly pulled out because he had to see what you looked like with your lips wrapped around him. “That’s it, sweetheart. Choke on me,” he urged when you cleaned off your mixed release with a happy moan and kept your pretty eyes on him.

Bucky who put you on all fours again because he had to finish inside of your dripping cunt. “We’re just getting started,” he promised.

Bucky who didn’t stop until you were a whimpering, boneless mess and carried you to your bathroom after so he could take care of you. “So beautiful. So good for me,” he whispered, praising you because he’s a gentleman at heart and he will give you the aftercare you deserve.

Bucky who held you like something precious and kissed your forehead. “I’ve got you,” he whispered and smiled when you whispered back, “And I’ve got you.”

Bucky who is insatiable, able to sleep easier because you’re in his arms, and happy.

So... yeah. Happy Moanday. Love and thanks for reading!❤️

Masterlist ⚓ Bucky Barnes Masterlist ⚓ Ko-Fi

2K notes · View notes

asxgard · 2 months ago

Note

Abbot(t) x reader idea where instead of Dana, it’s the reader that Javadi confides in after her awkward Matteo ask-out and after the reader gives her props for going for it and explains that she’s had a secret crush on Abbott for forever, Myrna (who sees and hears all) either 1) pipes up and tells her she’s seen Abbott checking her out or 2) stays quiet and tells Jack about it later. Or both haha. I just feel like Myrna is like 4th in terms of who knows the most about the ED gossip (after Perla, Princess, and Dana) lol.

These Walls Have Eyes | one shot

Dr. Jack Abbot x f!nurse!reader

Requested

Summary: Rumors always start somewhere — and the one about you and a certain attending started somewhere between a whispered confession and Myrna overhearing you.

[ My Masterlist ]

Note: Myrna sees and hears all, I agree with you lol I hope you like it!

Word Count: 1.1k

Most of my works are 18+ due to adult language and content.

Warnings: foul language, age gap (if you squint), Myrna being Myrna, references to Pittfest, pining, hospital setting, medical inaccuracies, alcohol

not beta read

“He’s like a human Utah.” Javadi told you, eyes wide and breathless.

You ushered her down the hall, smirking, “I know a thing or two about a Utah.”

She looked over at you and your cheeks warmed at the thought of Dr. Abbot. You typically worked nights with him, and it took forever to stop flustering whenever you were in his company. You thought you had finally gotten it all under control, but like Javadi, your Utah had a habit of making you feel like you weren’t getting enough air when your eyes met.

“I wish I had some advice, but frankly, mine still makes me feel like that. Even after all this time.” You smiled at her and patted her arm.

“Does he work here?” She asked, before quickly adding, “Or she?”

“He’s the chief attending the night shift,” you told her. “I don’t think you’ve met him yet. Dr. Abbot.”

She stared at you, blinking, “You’ve never said anything?”

You waved it off awkwardly, “Never felt like the right time.”

“Oh.”

“But your Utah?” You glanced over your shoulder to peek at Mateo through the window. “You shouldn’t wait too long like I did.”

“Oh, no, no. I don’t think—”

Your laugh was light, “No rush, kid. I’m just saying you shouldn’t let it pass you by. Life’s too short.”

Javadi looked at you like she wanted to say something, but decided against it, before being pulled away by McKay. You let out a long sigh that made Dana steal a glance at you, raising a brow. You smiled at her to assure her you were fine, but your stomach felt tight.

“You know, that handsome doctor eyes you up any time you ain’t lookin’.”

You jumped, startled. You turned to see Myrna behind you, smiling devilishly.

“What even are you talking about?” You asked, trying to ignore the heat in your cheeks.

She raised her eyebrows and wheeled closer to you, “I’m saying, sweetcheeks, that it’s not one sided.”

You had the urge to roll your eyes, mostly at the nickname, but also at any of it being truthful. Jack never gave any indication that he was emotionally available, let alone interested.

“Alright, Myrna, let’s get you—”

“I’m tellin’ you! Dr. Abbot totally—”

You were grateful that Perlah swooped in to help you, wheeling her away, sending a knowing smirk in your direction. You gave her a playful scowl — if anyone knew anything around the Pitt, it was Princess and Perlah. Though, you supposed you could add Myrna to the list now since she had clearly been able to be a fly on the wall enough to gain all that information.

Mind spinning with possibilities, you tried to busy your hands, throwing yourself back in the work.

—

Jack arrived to the Pitt right after he had heard it over the scanner, never one to wait. After a quick debrief, he set to work.

“Hello, Dr. Abbot.”

He didn’t need to look to know who it was, though he sent her a side glance while he prepped some suture trays. He looked around to find a nurse, hoping they would take Myrna upstairs quickly — though in all the chaos of moving patients upstairs, she clearly had slipped through.

“I overheard something today…” she trailed off, a smirk hinting at her lips. “About a certain nurse having a crush on a certain attending.”

That caught his attention, though he only spared her a look with an eyebrow raised.

“I’m quaking in anticipation.” He said dryly.

Her shoulders shrugged, “Thought you might be interested, you know, you do check her out every chance you get.”

He ignored the way heat invaded his chest, suddenly aware of the nurse in question. You. You who had been plaguing his mind since you started. You who always offered him a smile. You who matched his dry quips and cutting sarcasm with ease. You who offered easy banter over bad break room coffee. You who stood in his silences like it was something interesting.

Myrna grinned at him, “She was talking about you.”

His heart seized, but his training pushed it aside. No time to get soft when a mass casualty was about to burst through the doors.

—

The end of shift came slowly, but blurred together by the carnage and chaos. After working 15 hours, you felt heavy. Your bones ached and you felt painfully dehydrated. In the aftermath, however, your mind caught up with you and you remembered Myrna’s words. They echoed in the back of your head, playing on repeat.

Mateo offered for you to come to share a beer outside before heading home. Your eyes flickered between him and Javadi, and you grinned, accepting.

Javadi gave you a bashful look that quickly grew excited when she spotted someone behind you.

“Remember Utah? Might not be too late.” Javadi said, subtly gesturing behind you with her chin.

You turned and spotted Dr. Abbot. Your heart started racing and you swallowed thickly. When you looked back at Mateo and Javadi, they both were grinning at you like fools. Leave it to the rumor mill to spread your crush like wildfire.

Outside, Donnie passed you a beer and while it did not seem like your best decision, you opened it and took a sip. Laughing with your co-workers made your shoulders feel lighter, but everyone slowly began to depart until it was only you and Jack left.

You took Robby’s seat on the bench with him once he got up to leave. Your heart thrummed in the silence, beginning to overthink Myrna’s words. You could not get yourself to move, however, stuck to the bench, enjoying the company of the man beside you.

“I learned something interesting today.” Jack said into the quiet, fiddling with his beer like he was anxious.

You turned to look at him, appreciating the way the shadows highlighted your favorite features. His cheekbones and the stubble, half his face hidden in darkness, his hazel eyes appearing almost black.

Might not be too late, echoed in your mind.

“Not to come in on your day off?” You offered lightly.

He leaned forward just enough for the light from the streetlamp to illuminate him, and the smile you caught made the air get trapped somewhere in your lungs.

Exhaling a breath, he shook his head and looked over at you. “Something about a work crush.”

“Oh, yeah, she said something to me earlier.” Trying to hide the smile while anxiety invaded, you failed. “Something something an attending has been checking me out.”

“She must have eyes everywhere.”

“Yeah.” You agreed, unsure where to take the conversation. He didn’t deny it.

It was edging close to something dangerous, something where there was no turning back.

But maybe you didn’t want to risk it falling back to the status quo.

“Would you like to get dinner sometime?” You asked after a beat.

He answered immediately, “Yeah, I would.”

Dr. Abbot taglist: @flyinglama @valhallavalkyrie9 @melancholyy-hill @travelingmypassion @yournerdmodziata @dark-twisted-and-mechanical-mind @sarah-the-bird-nerd @artsymaddie @partofthelouniverse @woodxtock @rachel2494

The Pitt taglist: @cannonindeez @spoiledflor @kittenhawkk @nessamc @thatchickwiththecamera @sharkluver @loud-mouph @ksyn-faith @sunfairyy @dragonsondragons @mischiefsemimanaged @pastelbunnelby @jetjuliette @that-one-fangirl69

All content taglist: @nixandtonic

#the pitt #jack abbot #jack abbott #jack abbot x reader #jack abbott x reader #dr jack abbott #asxgard writes #requested #I wanna gnaw on that man’s arms

2K notes · View notes

macabrebatz · 3 months ago

Text

JUST THE TIP (Grommash Hellscream/Reader)

Summary: Grommash is determined to have you as his mate. There’s only one problem: Grom is too big.

Author’s note: Oh, boy. I have been OBSESSED with orcs lately. Especially the orcs in the Warcraft movie. Disclaimer btw: I don’t know a lot about Warcraft beyond the movie. I know some lore beyond that. So I apologize in advance. Also I wrote this in a way that you, my dear reader, don’t need to know anything about Warcraft either. Hopefully it can also be enjoyed as just a orc x human fic. And this is my 4th time writing smut, 2nd time writing it in oneshot format so I’m still very new to this lol. Also I don’t know orcish and the internet gave me very mixed translations, so I pieced it together the best I could.

Warning/tags: 18+ MDNI, fem! Reader, Grom might be a little OOC but I don’t care, teratophillia/monster fucking, orc x human, oral sex (f! receiving), size differences (Grommash is bigger than you no matter your size, these orcs are big, okay?), fingering, overstimulation, squirting, just the tip but not actually, unprotected p in v, missionary position, mating press, slight breeding kink if you squint, Grom is secretly a sweetheart, change my mind, love confessions, self indulgent filth, not beta read, yeah I know having sex with an orc this big would be borderline impossible but I don’t care, I swear I made straight A’s in all of my anatomy classes

Also just a for some fun references check out this post and this post about the hand size of the orcs in this movie. I find their size absolutely fascinating and I had to make a fic exploring that.

Word Count: 3.3k

Being the mate of an orc is an interesting experience. It was already uncommon for a horde member to pick a human as a mate. And it was still frowned upon by many orcs. Grommash didn’t care though. Nobody could tell him that he couldn’t have you. From the moment he first saw you he felt himself being pulled towards you.

For the most part, picking you as his mate had been smooth sailing. He had asked you to go on a hunt alone with him. Orcs hunted all the time but asking someone to hunt alone with them tended to be an indication that they were choosing a mate. You didn’t know this when you had agreed to go. But it became obvious when halfway through the hunting trip Grom had pressed you against a tree, his large frame encapsulating you. Soon the hunting trip had turned into a heated make-out session.

Everything was going according to plan. He had gotten you back to his tent and sat you on the edge of his bed. There was only one problem in his plan to make you his mate: Grommash was too big.

There was simply no way that all of him could fit inside of you. You were absolutely sure of it.

There was one undeniable fact about orcs and that was that they were massive. They were bigger than all humans. It didn’t matter your size. They outweighed and towered over every human they came across. And Grommash was no exception. He was a warrior and the Chieftain of the Warsong clan after all, not to mention one of the biggest orcs in the clan.

His biceps were rounder than your head. His hands were bigger than your face. His fingers were incredibly large compared to yours.

You honestly weren’t sure what you were expecting but when you removed his pelt you were at a loss for words.

There was no way.

His cock was heavy and hard, hanging down in front of your face as you sat on the edge of the bed. It was green like the rest of his skin, the head was flushed a purple color.

You lifted it up a bit with your hand, feeling the weight of it. It was long and thick. You couldn’t even wrap your hand around it, your fingertips nowhere close to even meeting your thumb. You were too stunned to speak and your brain was scrambling to figure out the logistics of this massive thing going inside of you.

Grommash seemed to read your mind. He brought his thumb up to your face and rubbed your cheek. He smirked as he looked down at you.

“You don’t have to worry about it just yet,” he said.

As much as Grom wanted to plunge his cock all the way inside of you, he was content with pleasuring you in other ways for now.

His large hand moved down, resting on your shoulder. His thumb grazed your throat as he gently pushed you onto your back. You propped yourself up on your elbows, watching him as he knelt in front of you.

His hand found its way to the hem of your pants, hesitating for a moment to look up at you. After giving him a swift nod of approval his fingers latched underneath the hem. He mumbled something about “humans always wearing too much clothes” as he slid off your pants and underwear.

Grommash hummed to himself as he placed his hands on your knees, spreading your legs as far apart as he could.

“Look at that,” he said.

He was staring at your glistening cunt in awe. You could hear a growl rumble in his chest as he brought his large fingers up to you, gently rubbing across your folds with his thumb. He grazed against your clit causing a gasp to escape your lips.

“So wet for me already,” he said, rubbing slow circles against your clit.

He paused for a moment causing you to whine. He shushed you as he spread apart the lips of your cunt with his large fingers. His index finger dipped down, lingering against your entrance but not entering. He looked as if he was deep in thought.

Maybe, just maybe.

Grommash leaned down further until his face was level with your pussy. He wrapped his hands around your legs, pulling you closer to the edge of the bed. He nuzzled his head in between your legs, tusks pressing into the skin between your thighs, as he licked experimentally up your folds.

You moaned, rolling your hips ever so slightly. Grommash chuckled before licking again, this time dipping his tongue into you. There was another rumble from his chest, the taste of you on his tongue unlocking something feral inside of him.

The grip on your thighs got tighter as he lapped at your cunt, licking and plunging into you in a desperate attempt to taste more of you.

Your hand snaked down, resting on his head as you moaned his name. Your fingers entwined in his raven hair, gripping just a bit. He growled in response, sending vibrations through your body. You shuddered a bit at the sensation.

He dragged his tongue against you, occasionally wrapping his large lips around your clit, sucking at the bud before dipping back down, fucking his tongue into your hole.

“Mmm…Grom, it feels so…good,” you moaned.

Without warning you felt Grom’s thick index finger begin to push inside of you. A guttural moan left your mouth as your back arched, grinding yourself against his face mindlessly. His finger stretched your walls as he entered you. There was some pain but your wetness let him slide in easier than either of you would have expected. It felt so perfect.

His tongue licked upwards before focusing on your clit, sucking it into his mouth once more. Your hips bucked against him causing him to groan. He slid his finger out before pushing it back in. He curled it inside of you, sliding it against your spongy walls. This was pleasure you simply had never experienced until now.

Before you knew it, he was pushing a second finger in, stretching you out more. Your mouth fell agape as you struggled to make any sound. You had never felt so full before. There was more pain than before but he didn’t give you much time to think about it as he plunged both fingers inside of you, thrusting his hand at a faster speed than before.

“Gods, Grom,” you moaned as gripped his hair a bit tighter.

The tent was soon filled with lewd, wet sounds as Grom relentlessly pumped his fingers into you. With every thrust of his hand, your cunt squelched, clenching around his digits.

“Grom, I’m gonna…”

It felt like your breath had been knocked out of you. You squeezed your eyes shut as your orgasm overtook you. Your legs involuntarily clamped down around Grom as he continued to curl his fingers into you, massaging and prodding at that spongy spot inside of you. His tusks pressed harder into your legs as he continued to devour you. You were sure you’d have bruises there by tomorrow but you didn’t care.

Your entire body shook as you rode your waves of pleasure, falling apart under Grom’s touch. You squirmed, your entire body felt too sensitive. Grom continued lapping at your clit, swirling his tongue around it.

“Grom, please,” you whined.

He pulled away momentarily, giving your clit a break. His fingers slowed but continued to slide in and out of you.

“Please what?” he questioned.

He leaned forward, placing his free hand beside your head. You tried to speak but found yourself at a loss for words, too entranced by the texture of his fingers inside you.

“Use your words, my dearest,” he cooed.

You tried to speak but you just couldn’t form the words. All you could do was moan as warmth pooled at your core. Your mouth hung open as Grommash’s hand began to speed up again. He watched you intently, studying your face as it contorted with ecstasy. Something inside of you was building and he knew it, bringing his thumb up to your clit as he continued to work his fingers inside you.

It felt different from the orgasm before. It felt just as pleasurable if not more, but it felt so different, so foreign to your body that it almost worried you. You weren’t fully sure what was happening to you.

“Wait, Grom, wait,” you pleaded.

But it was too late. Another orgasm hit you causing your cunt to clench around his fingers. It felt like something snapped inside of you as his fingers curled, hitting that spongy spot once more. Your hips bucked into him as you gasped, your head falling back onto the furs below you, eyes squeezing shut. Your body trembled, tensing up as you rode out your climax.

“Mmm, look at the mess you’re making,” Grom said, groaning.

Your eyes fluttered open, looking at him in confusion. Your eyes drifted down watching yourself in amazement and mild horror as you squirted around his fingers. The clear liquid spurted out onto his large hands and the bed underneath you with every thrust of his fingers.

You moan at the sight, the euphoria of the new sensation overtaking you. Grom’s hand slowed and then pulled out of you slowly. You whined at the sudden feeling of emptiness, your entrance clenching and fluttering around nothing.

Grommash brought his fingers up to his mouth, licking them.

“Who knew humans could taste so good?” he said.

“I didn’t know I could do that,” you said quietly.

The orc leaned down, pressing his body into yours and placing a kiss on your forehead.

“Well, now you know,” he replied.

You hummed, bringing your hand up to his chest, grazing one of the piercings on his nipple.

He then kissed you on your lips. The cold metal ring on his tusk pressed against your cheek as he did so.

His hand pulled at your tunic, ripping it off completely underneath him. You were now completely bare.

His large hand kneaded at your breast, occasionally pinching at the nipple. You moaned against his lips, letting his tongue slip into your mouth.

As he pressed into you more, you could feel his erection between your legs, occasionally sliding against your sensitive skin. He ground his hips against yours, cock slipping against you, causing himself to groan as he feverishly kissed you.

You knew what he wanted but you weren’t confident that he was going to get it. It’s not that you didn’t want him to fuck you, you were just worried still about him being inside of you.

As you pulled away from his lips you met his gaze, looking into his eyes. They were glazed over, lust-filled, and full of admiration. He wanted you. He needed so much more of you.

He ground his hips against you again.

“Need to be inside of you. Need to make you a proper mate,” he said in a low voice.

His hips bucked, causing you to moan as his cock slid across your folds, desire building up inside of you.

“I know. But I don’t think it’ll fit, Grom,” you said, quietly.

“Nonsense,” he grumbled as he got off the top of you.

He took his cock into his hand. It was already glistening with precum as he gave it a few lazy strokes.

“If you can take my fingers, you can take this,” he stated.

Just the sight of him jerking off was enough to make you spread your legs. You were basically salivating at the sight of him. You wanted him as badly as he wanted you, although the fear of being ripped apart still lingered.

“Take it slow, okay? Don’t put all of it in, Grom. I really don’t think I can take all of it,” you said.

He spread your legs further apart before sliding his cock against your swollen clit, causing yet another moan to come out of you.

“Whatever you say, my dearest,” he said.

You took a deep breath as Grom began to push the head of his cock into you. You hissed as it stretched the tight band of flesh around your walls. You were practically dripping from your last orgasm but your wetness only helped so much.

Grommash let out a low groan as he pushed his member into you at an agonizing pace. Pain was surging through you, bringing tears to your eyes. He was only a few inches in before you placed a hand on his chest, silently stopping him.

“Are you okay?” he questioned, a hint of concern in his voice.

“I’m okay. I think that’s as far as you can go for now,” you said.

He hummed in response.

“Let me know when you’re ready,” he said, rubbing circles on your thigh with his thumb.

You sighed, leaning your head back for a moment. Eventually, the pain began to subside. You brought your hand up to him, sliding it down his chest before giving him a nod to continue.

He pulled out the few inches that were inside you before thrusting them back in. It took everything in him to not push every inch in. He wanted to so badly. He wanted to fill you up so badly but he couldn’t stand the thought of hurting you.

You whimpered as his hips snapped forward, pushing part of his cock into you. The stretch was otherworldly. You knew if he hadn’t fucked you with his fingers earlier there was no way you would’ve been able to take the tip of him. It may have not been much but it felt divine.

“Oh, Grom,” you moaned as he fucked into you.

You could hear your pussy squelching around him as you became more wet by the second.

Your hands found their way to his large arms, holding on to stabilize yourself. Your body had a mind of its own as you rolled your hips forward. Grommash growled, halting his movements.

“Grom, why’d you stop?” you whined.

“Look,” he said with a grunt.

You propped yourself up on your elbows and looked down between the two of you. When you had rolled your hips moments ago, you had taken another inch of him without even realizing it. Too caught up in your pleasure to notice.

Grom rocked his hips into you, almost like he was silently asking you a question with his movements. He wanted to go further and you knew it. You moaned as he slowly began thrusting his hips again.

You were getting so wet. Surely you could take a bit more, right?

“I know you can take it. Let me show you just how good it can feel,” he said.

His shallow thrusts were already threatening to send you over the edge and you couldn’t deny it any longer, you wanted more of him.

You bucked your hips against him causing him to groan.

“Do you want all of it?” he asked.

“Yes…please. I need you,” you said in between broken moans.

“That’s all I needed to hear.”

Grommash hooked his hands under your knees, forcing your legs up as far as they’d go, pressing them against your chest. He replaced his hands with yours, making you hold your legs up. He then leaned forward, climbing on top of you. One of his hands was placed beside your head while the other lined up his cock to your entrance, slowly pushing in. He used his body weight to help sink into you, pushing in further than before, taking his time as he did so.

A choked moan left your mouth as your eyes welled up with tears. It was such a strange sensation. It hurt, a burning feeling seared into your core as Grom stretched you out. But the pain was also laced with pleasure.

Grommash’s hand left his cock, bringing it up and resting it by your head. He was a little over halfway in, sinking into you as he covered over your body. He hadn’t even begun thrusting yet and you already felt like you were becoming unglued.

“There you go. Taking it so well.”

He slid in deeper, another inch. Then another. And another. You whimpered, eyes rolling in the back of your head.

“My sweet human,” he cooed.

He wasn’t all the way in but his hips started moving, thrusting into you slowly, working the last of his way into you.

“You like that, huh? Like being full of my cock,” he said, picking up the pace.

You couldn’t speak. You just nodded your head and moaned.

Grommash pulled out all the way to the head of his cock before slamming back inside of you. You yelped as the sound of wet skin smacking together filled the tent. You could feel low rumbles vibrating from Grom’s chest as he growled, getting louder with every thrust. You were slowly becoming a babbling mess as waves of ecstasy began to overtake you. The pain had subsided and all you could think about was Grommash and how good he felt.

Grom moved one of his hands, bringing it down between the two of you. He circled your clit with his thumb. It felt as if sparks were igniting. Every raw nerve was crackling with pleasure.

You were panting underneath him, growing closer and closer to the edge. You could feel his cock twitching inside of you. His movements were becoming more erratic and you knew he was close to. An all too familiar feeling was forming and your body began to shake.

“Oh, fuck. Grom, I’m gonna…”

“Cum for me, my dearest,” he said.

And that was all you needed. You let out a wail as your vision clouded. Your body spasmed as your cunt tightened around him, somehow managing to suck him in more as if your body wasn’t ready to let go. He kept fucking into you, chasing his own release until his hips stuttered, bucking into you harder than ever. He let out a roar and you were sure the whole clan could hear both of you as the two of you rode out the pleasure, not that any of the orcs would’ve cared.

You could feel his cum, hot and leaking out of you as he slowly pulled his cock out. You closed your eyes as your legs fell from your chest, splaying out in front of you. You were still in a daze as Grommash sat on his knees for a moment, admiring you like you were an art piece. You were officially his mate and he was overjoyed.

You felt the bed shift as he got up. He was only gone for a moment and returned with a washcloth, cleaning you off gently.

You felt yourself drifting off. You were so warm and so very exhausted.

“Falling asleep on me?” Grommash joked as he laid down beside you.

You opened your eyes, looking up at the orc.

“Maybe,” you chuckled.

He wrapped his arms around you, pulling you into his side. You kissed his chest, moving up to his neck, and then his jaw, pecking the inked skin. He held onto you tight as if he was afraid you’d be snatched away from him. You heard him mumble something in orcish that you couldn’t understand.

“What was that?” you questioned.

“Na dova dra,” he repeated, this time hearing him more clearly.

“And what does that mean?” you asked.

He brought your hand up to his lips, placing a kiss against it.

“I love you,” he translated.

Your heart fluttered and you smiled. Admissions of love were another uncommon thing amongst the horde, especially towards humans. But it was true. Grom loved you very much.

You brought your hand up to his face, guiding him to yours. You kissed his lips gently before pulling away.

“I love you too, Grommash.”

2K notes · View notes

beloveds-embrace · 5 months ago

Text

I miss designationless reader so here’s a throwaway thought that has indeed been talked about before:

John wasn’t expecting it.

You’d been curled up against him on the couch, his arm wrapped around your shoulders, his fingers absentmindedly rubbing soothing circles along your back. It was nothing out of the ordinary- just another evening where he took care of you. He was warm, steady, protective. It was second nature.

And then, with a sleepy sigh, you murmured. “You’re such a good Alpha, John.”

His body locked up. His chest rumbled with a deep, involuntary purr, the praise settling over him like a heavy, addictive drug. His arms tightened around you, pulling you impossibly closer as if he could absorb the words into his very being.

“Yeah?” His voice was rough, deeper than usual, tinged with something dark and so very pleased. “That right, love?”

You nodded drowsily, your own eyes closed and unaware of the way his pupils had dilated.

His jaw clenched. He swallowed hard, forcing himself to take a slow breath, to keep his instincts in check. But fuck, hearing that from you- from his scentless darling who didn’t even understand what it meant- was dangerous.

He nuzzled into your hair, inhaling the faintest traces of warmth and home and the nest that clung to your skin. His lips brushed against your temple, voice thick and quiet when he spoke quietly. “That’s right, sweetheart. I’m your Alpha. Always.”

It didn’t end at just John, of course. You had no idea what you were doing to Ghost, either.

He had you pinned against the training mats, his forearm braced beside your head, his weight hovering just enough to keep you trapped without crushing you. Your chest rose and fell in quick little breaths, your limbs trembling from exhaustion after he’d spent the last two hours running you through drills.

He was just about to push himself up, about to offer you a hand and call it a day-

But then you exhaled, all soft and warm beneath him now, and huffed. “You’re such a good Alpha, Simon. And a good sparring partner.”

He froze.

For a full five seconds, he didn’t move, didn’t breathe. A deep, wrecked sound rumbled from his chest, his pupils blown wide. His fingers twitched against the mat, and it took everything in him not to sink down, not to press himself into you and take what his instincts so desperately wanted.

His head dipped, nose brushing against your jaw, and his voice came out hoarse. “Say that again.”

You blinked up at him, lips parted in confusion. “Huh?”

His breath hitched. Fuck. You didn’t even realize.

His body was vibrating, his muscles locked in place as he forced himself to lift away from you, to put space between you before he did something stupid. He barely managed a rough, “Nothing,” before pulling you to your feet and all but shoving you out of the gym.

He needed to calm the fuck down.

And then for Soap, it happened in the middle of a mission.

You were perched on a rooftop with him, lying low as he set up the overwatch position. The others were moving in, and he watched their backs.

His focus was sharp, fingers steady as he adjusted his scope, tracking movement below. He was good at this- at spotting danger before it could reach his pack, at keeping them safe. It was instinct.

And then your voice, quiet, cut through the tense silence. Would his reaction be like Simon and John’s, you wondered?

“You’re such a good Beta, Johnny.”

His breath caught. His hands tightened around the rifle. Heat crawled up the back of his neck, spreading to the tips of his ears, and he had to blink rapidly to keep himself from losing focus.

A slow, giddy grin crept across his face. “Aye, lass? Y’think so?”

You hummed. “Mhm. You always watch out for everyone. It’s nice.”

His chest ached. His heart pounded so hard he was sure the others could hear it through comms. His fingers flexed against the rifle as a shiver ran down his spine.

“Fuck’s sake.” He muttered under his breath, shaking his head with a helpless laugh.

He and his pack were never letting you go.

Lastly- Gaz.

It was late, and the two of you were alone. The others had already gone to bed, but you and Gaz had stayed up, quietly chatting as he helped you patch up a few scrapes from training.

He was careful, his touch gentle as he smoothed ointment over your skin and wrapped the bandages with practiced ease. His brow furrowed in concentration, lips slightly parted as he focused.

You watched him for a moment, something warm blooming in your chest. Maybe…

“You’re such a good Omega, Kyle. Thank you for taking care of me.”

He stilled, much like Ghost had done.

His fingers faltered against your arm, breath hitching sharply. His eyes snapped up to yours, wide and dark, and for a moment, he just stared at you, as if trying to decipher whether you meant to say that.

And then, very slowly, a shaky exhale left his lips. His head dipped, his nose brushing against the side of your throat, and a low, satisfied purr rumbled from deep within his chest.

“God,” he groaned, thick and hoarse. “You can’t just say things like that, dove.”

You blinked, hiding your grin. “Why not?”

His grip on your wrist tightened, just a little. He took a slow breath, scenting you out of pure instinct, even though you had no scent to take in. “Because,” he murmured, pressing a lingering kiss to your temple, “it makes me wanna keep you all to myself. Come on, up- we are going to the nest.”

Omegaverse masterlist

3K notes · View notes

shotmrmiller · 11 months ago

Text

Big man, Big mouth

Pairing: Simon 'Ghost' Riley x F!reader (because demeaning girl usage) WC: 4.9k it's just gross smut and simon gets kinda mean sometimes nothing crazy :) ty to the brain to my pinky @xoxunhinged and precious beta @waves-against-a-cliff catching my errs

The smile you’d had on your face all morning is subsequently wiped once you’re told that you won’t, in fact, be spearheading a team meeting with air conditioning and a cup full of your favorite medium roast, but instead, you’re being sent somewhere where practical experience trumps theoretical, textbook knowledge. And alone, at that.

Guess your travel mug is about to make its big debut.

The construction site is alive with purpose— the buzzing of drills, raucous banter, and the low hum of music from a stereo. You run a hand down the back of your skirt that is more tourniquet than office attire you were forced into wearing, regretting not drawing the line at the heels pinching your toes. "Professional setting, professional appearance," your boss had said. Nothing here demands you to stand in ironed clothes with dust settling on your eyelashes and the taste of grit on your tongue.

You feel out of place, a white-collar worker surrounded by hard hats and steel-toe boots. Perhaps taking this job for a promotion was hasty on your part. But it’s too late now and the sun above you is wilting the starched collar of your blouse.

Best get this over and done with. (The bottle of barefoot wine at home will be your reward for your suffering.)

Walking to the home still in a semi-skeletal phase had been a bit uncomfortable, anxiety gnawing at your nerves and the polished shoes at the skin of your heel. But what made your shoulders tense and spine stiffen was the crew. You'd expected disgruntled workers, sure. A bit of grumbling here and there. No one likes to have someone with more authority and less experience trample all over your work, telling you what's what.

Not them eyeing you like you're a fish in a shark tank. A little minnow pulled out of her natural habitat and into the mix with dominant predators. The paper on your clipboard crinkles audibly as one of them— the leader, you gather— stops you before you can get any closer than he feels necessary. He plods over, hard hat tucked into his arm, wiping his sweaty brow with his sunbaked forearm, a few wood curls nestled into his beard.

"Ya lost?" he grunts.

There's a guy with a comb for hair and limpid blue eyes staring right at you from the back as he leans on a half-built wall with a smarmy grin on his thin lips.

"No! No, I, um—" you stammer, "I'm here as a temporary replacement for, um—"

He cuts you off with a dismissive wave, fingers thick as steel beams. "Right. Yeah, yeah." Bloody rude. "The inspector." His head tilts and spits on the cement, eyes giving you a once over, lingering on the bare skin of your calves. "John," he says then jerks his head behind him, to the shady inside of the home. "Let's get ya out this sun 'fore you melt like sugar on the driveway."

You keep your lips pressed in a line, swallowing down the retort sitting on your tongue with a hint of frustration, and follow him on swift feet. It is unforgivingly hot and at least there's a roof overhead. Most of the walls were still just wooden beams, the foundation concrete covered in dust. Rough-bristle brooms lean in corners, the stereo now sitting silently in the center of what’s to be the living room next to a man with a massive frame and a sweat-soaked wifebeater who didn't bother turning around as you made a beeline for the only fan feebly cutting through the muggy heat inside.

John from behind you grabs your attention. "So? What's the issue this time? We jus' had tha' muppet pass through a week ago." You turn around, the breeze now somewhat cooling the back of your neck.

"Just need to personally check what's left—" you clear your throat, giving the clipboard a waggle, "on this. Nothing too grand." The blonde one with shorn hair hasn't looked up once from the blue cooler between his legs.

John scratches his head. "Right." There's a drag of heavy boots behind you. "Temporary, eh?" His eyes are like cerulean rivets, pinning you in place.

Gruff Scottish cuts in, tone dripping with amusement. "Will ye look a' tha'," he mutters, accent thick and deliberate, "bosses up top sent a bonnie wee lass to keep an eye on things. Make sure ye pay good attention, aye?" The brute comes to stand in front of you, flexing one arm, bicep like a knotted tree trunk. "Would hate ye missin' the show."

Show ‘em your teeth, little fish. That promotion is already in your hands, don't let it slip through your fingers.

"Listen, you—" you snap back, cheeks burning hot but then his eyebrows raise to his hairline, the corner of his lip curling in challenge.

"It's Soap, hen."

“...Right.”

What the hell kind of name is Soap?

A third voice— crisp English just like John's— cuts through the air from the second floor. "Wipe the slobber off ya chin 'nd leave 'er alone, Soap! You still hav'ta sweep up 'ere!" A man with bronze skin and a cap adorned with the Union Jack in the center pokes his head out from over the wooden railing. His smile looks stiff.

"Miss." His eyes flash to Soap. "Move it. You can get your cock—" wow, mouth like a sailor, that one, "wet while on company's time." His gaze falls on you for a moment longer before disappearing back into the upper level.

Soap grumbles what sounds like a "fuckin' 'ell Kyle" but heads for the stairs anyway, steps creaking under his weight. "Ah'll be 'round if ye need me," he says with a wink.

Unlikely.

John absently shakes his head and turns to the grizzled, mountain of a man still hunched over that cursed cooler of his. "Simon." He suddenly moves then, rising smoothly to his feet for someone his size. He's a wall of muscle, a very clear force of nature, and he's now staring at your—

your shoes?

"Alrigh'," he gruffly says, "We'll get outta your way. The faster you can look for, whatever it is you're lookin' for, the faster you can get out o' my beard." He places his hard hat back on and gives Simon a nod. "To work, break time's over."

Simon walks past you without so much as a glance, his thick arm brushing roughly against your shoulder with enough strength to make you take a step back but then he speaks. "Don't trip on nothin', girl. I'd hate f'r our pretty mascot t'get injured on the," he emphasizes the last word, tone heavy with mockery, "job."

Your tongue is pressed firmly behind your clenched teeth as you straighten your skirt. Get this shit over with.

Their attitudes toward you had left some to be desired, but they had done their job seamlessly. Not a crack in place nor a bolt out of it meaning that ticking off the rest of the boxes on your clipboard had been a cinch, making the promotion even easier. By the time you were ready to go home— the thought of leaving behind the tangy scent of sweat and iron adding a pep to your painful step— the sun had already dipped, casting long shadows over the construction site.

Until John's unwelcome chivalrous gesture: sending one of his to accompany you to your car. "t's late out," he says, leaving no room for lip. Fine, whatever. The faster you get out of here the better. Saliva pools in your mouth at the thought of having a chilled glass of wine with chinese takeout for dinner.

Except the one waiting for you in the garage with a lit smoke between his chapped lips is Simon. He flicks it to the ground, smothering out the embers with the heel of his boot. "Move. Ain't got all day."

The last strand of your patience snaps and your mouth twists into a snarl. "Then leave off! I don't need a fucking chaperone. Believe it or not, I do know how to look both ways before crossing the street."

You'd only taken three irate, swift-footed steps away from him, clipboard trembling in your grip when the back of your shoe dug into raw skin; a sharp, sudden agony flaring out in a hot, thick wave and you stumble. The world spins for a second, colors blurring together until—

The relief is immediate. The hot needles on your raw nerves dulled down to a throb, vision blurring from the brief bite of intense pain. You breathe in a deep lungful of air, tasting salt and sawdust while you flex your feet, hissing when the blistered skin stretches. At least the damage to your toes is minimal.

But not to your pride. Tripping over your own feet, because the driveway while unfinished is still flat, now means you're being hauled over his shoulder, which is broad enough to be surprisingly comfortable, in the opposite direction of where your car is with your heels in hand. The fabric of his tank feels stiff under your sweaty palms.

"Is this kind of behavior normal for you? Or am I just lucky?" your voice is tinged with a mix of irritation and embarrassment. His arm tightens uncomfortably around the back of your bare thighs even though the office skirt you managed to squeeze into is knee-length.

"Only when I spot clumsy-footed birds like you. Can't 'ave ya splat on the concrete like a crime scene outline." A slow creeping flame spreads from your neck to the apple of your cheeks when you notice the guys staring at you from a window upstairs, Soap giving you a toothy smile. Even Kyle seems amused. Mortifying. Someone strike you down now. Actually, no. Then who'd feed your cat once you’re gone?

"'nd John would chew me out f'r lettin' ya break these," his long fingers circle your ankle, "in 'alf." You try to muster a response, but the words sit behind your teeth, your chagrin having tangled your tongue into knots.

Then he stops and the creaking of hinges reaches your ears. "Wait." Your eyes land on a black cargo bed, caked with dried mud. "Are you just going to sit me in your car?" He sets you down in the back seat anyway, tossing your shoes inside.

"Truck. I can drop ya on the patch of grass if ya like." Simon leaves you there, going to the driver's side rummaging through the middle compartment. His work truck is exactly what you'd expect from a man like him. The seats are covered in a thin layer of dust, you imagine he gives no one a ride, a well-worn visibility vest strewn about, an extra pair of work boots stained with splatters of white paint—the size difference of your shoes compared to his has you swallowing a lump the size of your fist down.

Simon pulls out a mid-sized red box and places it on the floor mat then props your leg up on his. His grip is firm but gentle as he inspects your open wounds and then sucks on his teeth. "A bit stupid, wearin' ankle breakers when out on a job." He prods around the inflamed skin, the pain making you tense.

"Don't worry about me and mi—" you hiss when he digs his thumb into the arch of your foot, "mine. Maybe I wanted to look nice." Fuck those shoes.

"'m sure ya did, though the skirt's all ya need." The warmth of his breath spreads through your toes and up your calf, raising gooseflesh.

You can't hold back a snort. "And now you're going to tell me that you prefer women in skirts and dresses?"

Simon switches legs, careful to not aggravate the blisters further. "I prefer my women with no clothes. But both of those make it f'r easier access. Like yours. Can see your knickers from 'ere." That has your heart skipping a beat, eyes widening with disbelief. Instinctively, you sit upright, back straightening with a pop.

"They're red."

You chuff out a breath. He's lying. You'd put on the only available pair you had at the time since you'd forgotten to dry your laundry the night prior. A simple, cotton grey. "You—! Fucking hell, I almost kicked you in the teeth." Simon's looking at you now, eyes dark and intense.

"Wouldn't be the first time someone's tried," he says with a smirk, voice low. "White, then."

The first aid kit still lies on the floor mat. "Stop talking." Simon ignores you, instead grabbing your other leg and pulling you closer toward the edge of the seat. Toward him.

"Green," he rumbles, his hands cupping the bottom of your feet, thumb and pointer coming to gently tug on your toes before moving his way up. You feel like a young, dewy-eyed farm girl having her first tumble in the hay and he's only now stroking the protruding bone of your ankle. The motion is slow, deliberate, a tender caress that sends a shiver up your spine. Has it truly been that long since you've had your body shape imprinted into the mattress?

"How about," you swallow thickly, "you patch me up proper and I'll be on my way?" If anyone else had heard, they'd say you're trying to convince yourself that being here isn't what you really want. But the little garble in your voice gives you away.

Simon hums, a sound that vibrates in your chest, sinks into the marrow of your bones. "Little bird wants t’go home 'nd 'ave only a throw 'nd a cat t'warm 'er bed?" You feel a different kind of ache this time, pulsing sharp and deep in your core. "Eh? Y'wanna curl up on the couch with one o’ those sex books while playin’ with your pretty cunt?"

The idea of having to use the blue bullet sitting inside the nightstand drawer sounds unappealing. And it’s probably out of battery too. Damn.

You sink your teeth into your bottom lip and shake your head. He doesn’t accept that as your answer.

"Wha's tha'? You will speak when spoken to, pet. Do you," he emphasizes the last word as he begins to open your legs by the knees, "wanna go home with an empty pussy or let me fill it 'til you're leaking cum out ya ears?"

Can't say no to him serenading you like that. You clench around nothing, hesitance crumbling like sand. "B-but what about your job? Aren't you still working?"

Simon grabs you then, dinner plate-sized hands wrapping around the softer part of your waist. "'M on a break. I'd say I deserve it after all my 'ard work." He lifts you effortlessly, the hem of your skirt rolling as you widen your legs further.

He rolls his hips once, feeling the bulge in his jeans brush against your sex, feather-light, and you bite on the thickest part of your tongue to keep from moaning like a cat in heat. "And what about us being in the open?" you ask though the question is redundant. Besides the crew's work vehicles, there's not another car in sight. If anyone else had been working nearby, they've long since left.

He seems to share your sentiment. "If tha's all? 'm tryin' t'see if I got it righ'."

No, that'll just about do it. "Okay. Alright." God knows you need this. Even if it comes from a stranger you'll probably never see again. Simon doesn't wait any longer, pushing up the rest of your skirt to pool above your thighs.

He hisses long and low through his teeth. "Tight little thing, innit?" Yeah, well. You were going to tell him that while putting on your skirt that morning had been an absolute nightmare, it wasn't that small on you until the tips of his fingers glided along your clothed slit. Oh. He's not talking about that.

"I guess grey's my new favorite colour. Especially this—" he thumbs the darkened wet spot on the fabric, "shade." When he adds more pressure, you can't help but let a gasp out as you buck your hips in want of more. "Easy. 'aven't even started with you." Simon opens the front of your blouse with a single hand, coming undone easily. He goes for the clip of your bra that's serendipitously placed on the front.

"Gotta let the girls breathe," he says. Whatever his reasoning doesn't matter because all there is, is relief. No more underwire digging into your skin, no more suffocating restraint. You only wore the blasted thing because all of your sports bras would've been visible through the blouse.

Simon rolls a hardened bud with one hand while unbuttoning the front of his jeans with the other. "Eatin' this," he gives the mound of your pussy a mean tap, "gonna 'ave t'wait. I'll get ya off though, don't worry tha' little head o' yours."

You wonder if he says that to everybody he fucks in the back of his truck. "What? Why?"

His length sits hot and heavy over your cunt. And it's big enough to kill. Death by cock. That'll be on your epitaph. "'m a big geezer," he mutters, fingers toying with the side of your panties, "lyin' down so you can sit your cunt on my face isn't gonna work righ' now."

Definitely says that to everybody. "Doesn't matter. I'll take care o'ya 'nother way." Simon pulls the dampened gusset to the side and lowers his head to— "Pretty like I thought it was." A fat glob of spit lands on the puffy lips of your pussy and he smears it around with his cock, tip sliding right along your clit. He uses his thumb to press himself down harder, more friction, more sensation, each slow roll of his hips pricking neglected nerves awake, alive, and it feels good. Surprisingly good.

The way the scar on his lip whitens as he bites it tells you it's just as good for him too. "Thought about it much, did you?" He goes lower this time, ruddy tip catching on your entrance momentarily before returning up.

"Since you walked inside a place you 'ave no business bein' in. Birds like you shouldn't be minglin' in the trenches with us grunts." The tips of your ears are hot as he stares down at you. "Should be sittin' nice 'nd pretty in a cubicle with air conditionin' 'nd an oversized mug o' watered-down coffee."

Simon cups the swell of your arse, canting your hips to glide himself better. Every bump and ridge on the underside of his cock is rubbing slowly on you and the thought of licking a slick stripe on the vein only tightens the white-hot coil below your navel.

"Or better yet, sittin' at home doin' wha'ever else while waitin' f'r a man like me to come back from work with a ribeye 'nd redskin potatoes in the oven." He lets your panties fall back into place; the sodden front almost transparent as he rubs against your swollen clit at the same time. God, he's fucking. your. panties! And you're bloody letting him.

What a way to break this year-long dry spell.

He bends your legs so that your feet are now being held flat on the thick of his chest with his hands as he picks up the pace. The suspension springs on the truck begin to groan. "I like mine medium rare."

Your back's come off the seat, spine bowed. You're close, so fucking close, you've got slick coating the inside of your thighs, dripping down to your arse, probably staining his polyester material underneath. This is torture and your pussy feels tender, raw, yet he's barely touching the focal point of your desire. If he doesn't make you come in the next minute, you're breaking that thick neck of his.

It's like he read your mind because he uses his cock to tap on your clit firmly, hard enough to hear a wet thwack and he does it once, thrice and—

And then your body gives, an intense climax that steals the breath in your very lungs, has you your blunt nails biting into the muscle of his forearms, his groan drowned out by the shrill ringing in your ears. Your face feels hot, probably is hot to the touch and there's a sting on the middle of your bottom lip and can taste iron on your tongue. Even the tips of your fingers tingle.

Through your half-lidded gaze, you see Simon holding onto the top of the truck while his breath comes in ragged gasps. Did he come? You curiously touch the expanse of your stomach. Not sticky.

"No. I didn't come. You," he takes in a deep, steadying breath then reaches to squeeze the sides of your face, cheeks plumping under the pressure. "You almost 'ad me, though. I don't remember the last time I 'ad to think tha' 'ard of London t'not finish. But I'm not done with you."

Simon hooks his thumbs into the waistband of your panties and takes them off with urgency only to stuff them in his back pocket. "Better with no clothes on, remember." You can feel his twitching cock leak onto your heated skin.

"If ya need, use this." A black bundle of fabric lands on your chest, what is— It's a mask? If he means to hide your identity from his coworkers, you're not sure this skull mask is going to work. He drags you to him roughly until your arse is hanging off the seat. And then there's a hot, dull pressure pushing against your entrance that's followed by a searing sting, and it, it's so much, it's too m-

"Tight fucking-, Ya need t-, fuck, to relax," he grunts, fingers dimpling your thighs. Simon's thrusts are jerky, short, as he wrenches your walls apart. Even with your creamy cum and his spit it's still a struggle. "'Alf way there," and a rattled breath escapes you. You're being split right down the middle and there's still some left?

For the next few moments only your squeaks and mewls can be heard as he makes room for him, your hand flat on his lower stomach— feeling the coarse, thick patch of hair on it— as if you're trying to keep him away, out, something but then he snarls and snaps his hips. You've heard of a ring of fire some women experience at some point in their life and you think this is yours. The thin skin of your entrance burns, most likely stretched to its limit, like a rubber band about to snap.

"Easy," he drawls out, "The worst's over. Took me like you're made f'r me. G'mme ya 'and." He takes your clammy hand and has you touch where the two of you meet. His eyes are glued to your fingers that are split into a v, pads feeling your cunt soaked in viscous slick.

The groan he lets out at the sight makes the world around you spin. "Stay jus' like tha'." Sure, not like you’ve got anywhere to go. Not with his hands tight around you like metal cuffs. Simon holds nothing back, not even in the very first minute. Doesn't warm you up to it, don't let you try to get used to him turning you inside out. His thrusts are long, firm, hungry— bottoming out every single time until he sits snugly at the plug of your womb. Grinds up when he meets resistance, eyeing your features in case there's discomfort.

The only ache you've got is the one he's fucking into you. (And you also might be partly lying on his tape measurer.)

But then he hitches your legs up, hands around the back of your thighs as they're pushed toward your chest and that pulls a whine out of you that you're sure John and the crew heard. "There she is, bird's got a healthy set o' lungs on 'er." He keeps the same, unforgiving angle and doubles down, using the bulk of his weight to pin you in place, forced to do nothing but take and take and take.

Until Simon's strikes the side of your arse with an open palm. "D'ya hear 'em?" Wha? What? Hear who?

And then you hear it. Him. The handsome one with the hat from upstairs. "Ghost?" he sounds right across the street and Simon hasn't stopped rocking the truck as he fucks you right through it. "Wha's tha' Kyle?" His voice is steady even though there are beads of sweat rolling down the side of his temple.

"I said good job on all your 'ard work 'nd we'll see ya tomorrow. You 'ave a good night too, Miss." There's a crude whistle followed by a pained grunt and a quick mumbled apology. Maybe if you don't respond they'll just get in their car and go home.

But then John calls out to you too.

"Simon must’ve missed you, sweetheart. “Wow. He barks out a laugh. " 'ave yourself a good night, Miss.” Then, sternly says, “Tomorrow at 6, Simon.”

Simon, though, has no intention of letting you take the easy way out. He smacks your arse again, right in the same— already tender— spot from just moments before. "Answer 'em, pet. Or 'ave I fucked all the manners outta ya?" He accentuates the last three words with thrusts so sharp that if he hadn't been holding you in place, you would've been sent sprawling back.

Whatever words you're supposed to say are snagged in your throat like hooks, only whimpers and high-pitched gasps falling past your trembling lips. He drags his thumb over your bottom one, the calloused pad of it tough. "Go on. Be good 'nd tell 'em to 'ave a good night too. And no names. Only one comin’ outta you should be mine."

When you open your mouth, he weaves a hand down to your clit, jerking it in fast little circles that have you forgetting where you even are. "Mf- g-good," he gives you just a second of respite to spit on it. "Good night-," his fingers are almost torture, and god, you're going to come in front of all of them. You warble out the words hastily, feeling your impending orgasm come at you with the speed of a freight train.

"Tha's a good bird, singin' when I tell ya to." There's no stopping this, not with all of his focus on the little bundle of nerves and every drag of his cock making your spine arch as if he were winding it. "Squeeze my cock, tha's it."

Your legs shake violently, toes curled, and you can feel a cramp begin in your calf but none of it matters, not when you're seeing bright lights behind your scrunched eyelids, not when you feel fingers in your mouth to stifle the scream that's viciously wrenched from your throat nor when Simon growls out a "Fuckin' 'ell."

"I told ya, if ya needed somethin' t'bite on, use tha'," he jerks his head toward the mask that's tight in your fist. Your soul is still floating adrift in the wind and he's already trying to make conversation. And he did not say to bite on it.

"I'm not puttin' this unwashed thing in my mouth." You languidly watch him inspect his hand, looking at the deep purple teeth imprints on his fingers. Whoops.

"But you'll 'ave me after sweatin' under the bloody sun for 'ours." His hand slides behind your nape, lifting your head a bit as he lowers his chest to meet your sweat-slick one. Your hands come to claw at the shifting muscles of his back when he begins anew, this time his pace is relentless, sharp, predatory. He's a shark that has scented blood and is now on the hunt.

The prickling bristles of his facial hair scratch against your temple. "This," the hand around your neck tightens, your rapid pulse now roaring in your ears, "is the best pussy I've ever had." His thrusts are jarring, make your teeth clack together hard enough to hurt, and after a dozen of them, he comes with a cruel bite to the junction of your shoulder, snarl animalistic.

Hopefully, the guys drove off a while ago otherwise you're re-dressing and driving home with that mask Simon tossed your way.

Your blouse is unfortunately beyond saving. Your skirt isn’t faring any better if that massive tear in the front has anything to say about it and your shoulder will require at least half a bottle of concealer plus a couple of bandaids, which the first aid kit is completely empty of. Not even the first aid guide is inside.

You sluggishly begin to button up one of Simon's spare flannel shirts when he asks you if you're hungry.

"No." Not really. Hard to feel much when most of your nerves from the ribs down are shot.

"Get in the front, I'd like t'eat my dinner soon." He's staring right at the apex of your legs, your cunt still throbbing from the abuse."'m 'ungry." There’s no tow car sign on the street, actually, there’s not even a simple stop sign here.

It better not get towed. You’re not paying a dime if it does.

(Are your feet still hurting or can he fuck those too? No? Next time, then.)

#call of duty #simon ghost riley #simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley x reader #cod mw2 #simon ghost riley x you #simon ghost riley smut #simon riley smut #simon ghost riley x f!reader #cod smut

3K notes · View notes

daechwitatamic · 5 months ago

Text

Cinnamon || KMG

banner by @sailorrhansol

Written for the Lonely Hearts Cafe Collab!

Cinnamon mingyu x fem!reader (nicknamed Sunny), reader x male oc for a while fluff smut angst best friends to lovers, roommates to lovers, idiots to lovers all apply NSFW - minors DNI

Summary: You finally decide to try and move on after years of waiting for Mingyu to return your feelings. But when you start bringing your new boyfriend around more often, things with Mingyu get... difficult.

WC: 19k

Warnings: language, recreational drinking and overdrinking, a brief mention of throwing up from a hangover, angst and hurt feelings, not miscommunication but definitely refusal to communicate, kissing (some with mg and some with a male oc), arguments, reader and mingyu are both imperfect people who make mistakes and do things wrong... theyre not bad or toxic people but their choices can be hurtful... theyre humans who mess up have to just do their best to do better going forward, quick and prosey smut scene with piv penetration

A/N: thank you to @sailorsoons and @eoieopda for beta-inggggg iluuuuu

December

“Good morning, Sunshine.”

You grumble in response, eyes still mostly closed, as you make your way by muscle memory to your apartment’s barely-functioning coffee machine. Only once you’ve poured a mug, stirred in everything you need to make it palatable, and taken your first sip, do you speak actual words.

“Morning. You’re up early.”

Jeonghan, one of your three roommates, nods solemnly. “I have a nine o’clock meeting today, but I need to get some files together first, so I’m trying to be there by eight,” he tells you. You glance at the clock on the microwave - it’s already 7:20.

“You might want to get moving,” you warn him.

He makes a face that says, I know, but - and cocks his head towards the bathroom the four of you share. The door is closed and the light inside is on, which means it must be occupied. It’s not usually a problem, even with four of you - your schedules are just different enough that it works out.

You frown. “Wonwoo isn’t gone yet?” He’s usually the first one out of the house on weekdays since he’s got the longest commute.

Jeonghan shakes his head, but then the light clicks off and the door opens. A girl you’ve never seen before steps out cautiously, then pauses when she sees the kitchen isn’t empty.

“Oh,” she breathes. “Hi. Good morning. I’ll just -”

She gives you each a polite nod and slips quickly back through the nearest door - Mingyu’s bedroom.

You face Jeonghan again and roll your eyes. He gives you a bit of a grimace and gets up, hurrying into the now-empty bathroom.

You take his seat at the table, sip slowly at your coffee. Having three guys as roommates means this happens with relative regularity, though usually the guys keep their conquests to weekends and holidays. Mingyu must have really liked this girl to bring her home on a weeknight. You glance back at his closed door; you can faintly hear their voices, but not what they’re saying. She was pretty.

You tuck away whatever feelings you might have about this, just like you always do, wipe your heart as clean as a classroom chalkboard at the beginning of a new day. Jeonghan vacates the bathroom, clearly in a hurry, and you take his place, turning the shower on and praying that there’ll be enough hot water left to get you through. (There’s not.)

Later, as you sit on the train amidst a sea of other morning commuters, you check your phone.

Roomies 💕

[8:07am] (jeong)Han Solo: i would like to issue a formal complaint

[8:07 am] wonuuu: i left plenty of coffee bro

[8:07am] (jeong)Han Solo: not that

[8:09am] Cinnamingyu: if this is a noise complaint… i’m sorry but also no i’m not

[8:09am] You: you’re disgusting

[8:09am] Cinnamingyu: you love me

[8:10am] You: 🙄

[8:10am] (jeong)Han Solo: so does the girl whose presence in our one (1) bathroom made me late this morning

[8:10am] (jeong)Han Solo: if i get fired you’re covering my part of the rent

[8:11am] Cinnamingyu: have fun defending that in small claims court

[8:11am] You: i am happy to be a witness on your behalf

[8:11am] Cinnamingyu: et tu brutus?

[8:11am] You: my shower was lukewarm at best

[8:12am] You: you will be hearing from my counsel

[8:12am] You: thanks in advance wonwoo

[8:14am] wonuuu: for the millionth time… I cannot be your counsel. I’m not qualified yet.

[8:14am] You: yet ☝️

[8:17am] Cinnamingyu: let’s not ignore the real problem here… we need another bathroom

[8:21am] (jeong)Han Solo: ok great, tell me when you win the lottery so we can move out

Chuckling, you slide your phone back into your coat pocket as the train pulls into your stop. You hurry through the train station, tucking your chin into your coat collar as you speed through the icy December morning. It’s one of those dry cold days, where the air around you feels frozen, almost hurts to breathe. Everything is grey - sky above you, buildings around you, ground below you. Fast steps take you the three blocks to your office building, where you sigh in relief as the heated air hits your face, chasing away the chill.

You check your phone again as you hang your coat on your chair in your cubicle. As usual, Mingyu has texted you privately, away from the group chat.

[8:31am] Cinnamingyu: sorry about the hot water :(

[8:38am] You: you should be. i shivered through my whole conditioning routine.

[8:38am] Cinnamingyu: poor sunny baby :( :( :( will you ever forgive me?

You roll your eyes, but you’re fighting a smile. You hate that Mingyu can just charm you right out of a mood, and you hate it even more than he knows it and weaponizes it. He’s the one who gave you the nickname Sunny (or Sunshine depending on how cranky you were at the given moment) back when you were a college freshman. Your other roommates picked it up, but Mingyu was the only one who ever turned Sunshine or Sunny into Sunny Baby.

It’s absolutely horrendous, unfathomable, deeply unfair that it works, that it makes you melt into goo when he uses it. Still, you try to hold strong.

[8:38am] You: don’t you Sunny Baby me Kim Mingyu, you have crimes to answer for!!!

[8:39am] Cinnamingyu: ill cook for you tonight as penance. and then maybe a movie?

You frown. You wish you could take him up on the offer. Mingyu’s a great cook. One of the many things you love about him.

[8:39am] You: rain check. i won’t be home for dinner

[8:39am] Cinnamingyu: what’s this? did you manage to bag a man????

[8:39am] You: i hate you so much

[8:39am] You: yes you absolute scrambled egg, i have a date

Mingyu sends you a gif of an old man suggestively wiggling his eyebrows, and you laugh out loud. Then you stash your phone behind your keyboard and get to work. But when you check it again a few hours later, after your first meeting of the day lets out, he’s texted you again.

[8:40am] Cinnamingyu: is it the same guy as last week? date number TWO?? 😮

[10:51am] You: yeeeeees 🤭

[10:51am] Cinnamingyu: wow, big moves for you. a second date! do we need to have The Talk?

[10:51am] You: blocked and reported

This is an ancient song and dance for you and Mingyu. When you’ve been friends as long as you have, some things just become routine. Like you, gracefully ignoring the handful of girls that you never see a second time. Like him, acting like it’s monumental when you actually give someone a chance.

He’s used to you giving no one a chance, ever. He knows it doesn’t happen much.

But you had a good first date with Daeyoung last week. A really good first date. You’d been texting a lot since then, too. He was funny - witty. And cute. So you’d thought to yourself… what the hell. Why not? Why not go out a second time? What else were you going to do tonight?

(Stay home and eat the food Mingyu cooks for you. Watch a movie together on the couch.)

And, sure, you do want to do those things. But going out with Daeyoung tonight won’t change a thing between you and Mingyu. He’ll grill you about it when you get home, maybe tease you a little, and you’ll do food and a movie another night.

Daeyoung takes you bowling. You weren’t sure how you’d feel about it, not having been in a bowling alley since you were a kid, and remembering them as vaguely sticky places. But it ends up being kind of cute, maybe even nostalgic. Daeyoung buys a pitcher of beer and sets it on your - yes - sticky table, and walks with you as you select a pink ball that is definitely meant for children.

“You know that’s only six pounds, right?” he asks you, smiling playfully.

“Bold of you to think I could lift a heavier one,” you deadpan, and he laughs. You like his laugh - it’s easy, light, like he’s wholly uncomplicated. You could use some uncomplicated in your life.

You're terrible at bowling - you score a 42 on your first game, the ball finding the gutter more times than it stays on the lane. Even so, you manage to have fun. Daeyoung doesn’t make you feel weird about it - in fact, he barely pays attention to the actual bowling. Instead he talks to you about your day, asks about your family, doesn't seem like he's freaked out that you live with three guy friends. He doesn’t even ask the very common, “so, has anything ever happened there?” for which you’re grateful.

He’s got three sisters, you learn, and grew up with cats but still wants a dog someday. He graduated two years before you, has never traveled outside the country.

You offer back your own resume of sorts - an older sister and a younger brother, no pets growing up and allergic to most mammals (perhaps humans included, as has been pointed out by Mingyu on many occasions, usually in the same conversation that he’s calling you Sunshine and pinching your cheeks like your attitude is cute). Graduated with Honors and haven’t traveled much either, though you’d love to when you have some money saved up.

Your phone lights up on the table every so often, and you check it while Daeyoung takes his turn on the lane. A few are Jeonghan and one of your co-workers, and one is your little brother asking how to get blood out of laundry which is super alarming - but the rest are from Mingyu.

[7:19pm] Cinnamingyu: just know that you are missing one of my best creations

[7:19pm] Cinnamingyu: but dont worry i will save you some ☺️ because i’m the best roommate ever

[7:31pm] You: thank youuuuu! I might not have any tonight but you know i’ll eat the leftovers!

[7:31pm] Cinnamingyu: hows the date?

[7:36pm] You: i am very bad at bowling actually!!!

[7:36pm] Cinnamingyu: aim for the pins

[7:43pm] You: have i mentioned that i hate you?

[7:43pm] Cinnamingyu: guess i’ll throw these leftovers out then

[8:12pm] Cinnamingyu: what time do you think youll be home?

[8:15pm] Cinnamingyu: sorry i didnt mean that like WHEN WILL YOU BE HOME YOUNG LADY

[8:15pm] Cinnamingyu: i was asking bc i was deciding if i want to start a movie or wait for you i wasnt trying to

[8:15pm] Cinnamingyu: you know

[8:15pm] Cinnamingyu: anyway. aim for the pins. wear protection. etc. see you later lol

[8:38pm] You: young lady 🙄 go away mingyu!!!

[8:38pm] Cinnamingyu: you dont mean that

[8:38pm] You: i don’t 😘

[8:47pm] You: if you wanna save a movie for me… i should be home by 11

Daeyoung drives you home after the date, and you note that his car is clean, but not serial killer clean. A green flag.

When he asks if he can see you again soon, as he's pulling the car up to your building, you tell him yes without hesitating. It’ll be your first third date in maybe ever, and you make a little note in your brain that you should probably talk to him about this, make sure he can be on the same page - that this is fun and you’ll keep going out as long as it’s a good time, but you aren’t really looking for serious.

When he pauses, leaning in a little closer, you feel yourself smile, and you let him. It’s a nice kiss.

He’s a nice guy.

There’s no reason you couldn’t follow through with this. There’s no giant problem with him, no personality quirk or inherent difference that makes him ineligible.

But.

You push the thought away. “Thanks for tonight,” you tell him. “I had a good time.”

“You’d have a better time if you listened to my advice and used a heavier ball,” he says seriously, but there’s a twinkle in his eyes that tells you he’s teasing. “You can’t expect to knock down pins when they weigh more than what you’re throwing at them.”

“Sounds fake,” you joke, and hop out of the car. Before you shut the door, you pause. “See you next weekend?”

His smile unfurls, pleased. “Yeah,” he says. “I’ll text you.”

You practically skip back into the apartment. You pause at the closet by the front door, pulling off your boots and hanging up your puffy winter coat. You can hear the tv on in the living room and water running in the kitchen.

You step into the kitchen, heading for the fridge. Mingyu stands at the sink, his back to you, up to his elbow in suds. You bump him with your hips as you pass by, and he kicks at you and misses. You open the fridge and grab a can of seltzer. Mingyu smiles at you from the sink, and just like that, Daeyoung evaporates from your mind.

He calls you Sunny, but he’s the sun. Has been that way as long as you’ve known him - since undergrad.

You’d met in your freshman year - he was puppy-dog cute, back then, not the chiseled sculpture of a man who takes up half your kitchen now. You’d been in the Arts and he’d been in the Sciences - something mathy - but you’d bonded in one of those godawful general requirement classes, and somehow the friendship had taken hold.

Mingyu holding your hand - metaphorically and literally - through your two required math classes and two required science labs was the only reason you’d even managed to graduate. Of course, you’d also written every single formal paper he had through the whole four years, so it evened out.

You complement each other that way, in every area. He’s outgoing and friendly, you’re cranky enough to be given the nickname Sunny in pure irony. Mingyu likes puzzles and problems he can work out, you like to turn the brain off for any and all hobbies. Mingyu is sunshine and big smiles, you are made of salt and sarcasm.

But you love each other - have been best friends since almost the moment you met. There is nothing in your life you’d be willing to lose less than him.

You wander up to him and lean against his arm, mostly to be funny because he continues to wash dishes even as it jostles you around, and it becomes a little game of him trying to shake you off and you refusing to be shaken.

“How was your night?” he asks finally, reaching to turn off the water. You automatically pass him a dish towel to dry his hands. He takes it, drying, and then reaches around you to hang it back up near the oven.

“Not as good as yours,” you snicker, noticing a purple blotch near his collar.

He flushes dark, slapping a hand over the spot. “Yah,” he complains.

You laugh. “She was cute!”

“She’d be cuter if she spent less time in our bathroom!” Jeonghan’s disembodied voice floats from the living room.

“Alright, we get it!” Mingyu calls back hotly. “You’ve only been complaining about that for fifteen hours!”

Cackling, you follow him out into the living room. Jeonghan is sprawled sideways on the two-seater, a show you don’t recognize playing across the tv screen. Down the hallway, Wonwoo’s door is open about a foot, casting the hallway in flickering blue light that tells you he’s gaming and you probably won’t see him for the rest of the night.

“So,” Jeonghan says dryly, without peeling his eyes from the tv, “I noticed your boyfriend’s car idling outside for quite a while before you came in. Were we necking?”

“Necking?” you splutter. Beside you, Mingyu is biting on his lips, trying not to laugh at your expense. “What year is this, 1950? And he’s not my boyfriend. You know that.”

You can’t help the defensive edge that creeps into your voice. From where he’s plopped on the couch, Mingyu reaches up for your hand, tugging. You let him pull you into the space next to him and he rubs a soothing hand across your shoulders before taking his hand away. It’s a silent, quick moment - easy to miss if you aren’t looking. But you are looking, always, and you wonder if he even knows he does this - reads your moods, rushes to fix you.

Unbothered by your ruffled feathers, Jeonghan asks lightly, “So, are you seeing him again, or…?”

The bastard hasn’t even looked away from the television screen.

“You’re such an ass sometimes,” you grumble at him.

Now he looks over at you, smiling beatifically, innocently. “There’s my Sunshine.”

“Fuck off.”

“Well?” Mingyu asks from next to you, eyebrows raised. “Are you?”

“Yeah,” you say, trying to sound casual. You can tell the jackals are in a mood tonight.

Jeonghan’s face splits into a delighted grin. “A third date? My goodness.”

“We all know what happens on a third date,” Mingyu says sagely, and you punch him in the thigh, extra hard since you can only reach him and not Jeonghan too.

Wonwoo’s voice comes from down the hallway. “Leave Sunny alone, you guys.”

“Yeah,” you grumble. “Leave Sunny alone.”

Mingyu stretches over your lap to reach for the remote. It brings his torso almost flush against yours and you feel your face heat.

“I was watching that,” Jeonghan complains before Mingyu even presses anything.

“Sunny and I are watching a movie,” Mingyu says flatly. “Go watch on your laptop if you care so much.”

Jeonghan reaches towards your couch lazily and slaps at the air like he can’t be assed to work any harder to hit his roommate. “You’re cranky today,” he observes, the arm not trying (sort of) to slap Mingyu’s leg folded behind his head. “Why might that be?”

Mingyu doesn’t answer him, just settles back next to you, his arm against yours, and starts scrolling through movie options.

He still hasn’t picked one when Wonwoo appears in the living room’s doorway, leaning against the wooden frame, his LED headset looped around his neck and his eyes on his phone.

“What are we watching?” he asks absently.

“Nothing, apparently,” Jeonghan quips.

Beside you, Mingyu growls a little.

Unphased - this is so normal for them, it would be more alarming if they weren’t pissing each other off - you look up and Wonwoo and say, “I didn’t think you’d emerge tonight.”

“I’m heading right back in,” he admits. “Hydration break. Anyway - question. What’s everyone’s plans for the holidays?”

Mingyu stops scrolling, pausing to think.

“I’ll be home,” Jeonghan says, meaning his hometown.

“Me, too,” Mingyu adds. “I’m leaving on Sunday. Next Sunday, I mean.”

Wonwoo lets out a little sigh. “Okay. My folks were asking when I was coming. Sunny, you’re going home, too?”

“Uh, no, actually,” you admit. “I was staying here.”

You feel rather than see your friends share a glance.

“I can stay, then,” Wonwoo says, a bit tightly - you can tell that wasn’t the plan. “So you aren’t alone.”

“No,” you protest. “I’m perfectly fine being here by myself, you know that.”

“Sunny Baby is an indoor cat,” Mingyu notes, and you bump him with your elbow.

“It’s fine,” you insist. “Plus, I think Daeyoung will be around, so I won’t be alone the whole time anyway.”

Mingyu’s eyes bore into the side of your face, but you don’t look at him; if it’s pity he’s leveling at you, you don’t want it.

“If you’re sure,” Wonwoo says, and when you assure him you do, he vanishes into the kitchen and then back into his room. Mingyu clicks on a movie and you settle in, eventually getting sleepy and shifting sideways, your head resting comfortably on his unfairly sculpted shoulder. He shifts to let you get more comfortable, and the night passes as simply and pleasantly as hundreds before.

When the movie ends, you pick up the bottles and cans from the coffee table while Mingyu does a quick lap of the apartment, turning off lights and making sure doors are locked. You meet outside the bathroom - occupied by Jeonghan - both waiting your turn to brush your teeth and whatever else before bed.

“Sunny Baby,” Mingyu says softly, something tentative in his voice, and you look up at him, heart suddenly thumping. He’s looking at you earnestly in the dim light from the bedrooms down the hall, something you’re not sure you can name on his face. It’s almost pleading, but that doesn’t make sense. “Are you sure you don’t want to come home with me for the holidays? My family would love to have you - they’re obsessed with you, you know that.”

Your heart calms. “It’s really okay,” you promise. “But thanks for checking.”

The bathroom door opens and Jeonghan slips by, leaving a wave of toothpaste-mint in his wake.

“You go ahead,” Mingyu says.

“You were in line first,” you argue.

He rolls his eyes but knows how stubborn you are, so he disappears into the bathroom. You lean your butt against the kitchen table and check your phone for the first time in a while.

Daeyoung had texted shortly after he drove away - probably as soon as he got home.

[11:24pm] Daeyoung: I had a really good time tonight. Looking forward to next week :]

[12:51am] You: me too ☺️

The bathroom door opens and you turn off your phone screen with a click, bidding Mingyu goodnight as you slide into the bathroom’s light.

–

January

New Year’s Eve

Roomies 💕

[11:13pm] (jeong)Han Solo: sunny where’d you end up tonight?

[11:13pm] You: i’m with the girliesss!!! where are you guys

[11:13pm] Cinnamingyu: sunnnyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyy baby baby baby

[11:13pm] You: yyyeeesssss??

[11:14pm] (jeong)Han Solo: we’re downtown. mingyu cant come to the phone right now but i think he wants you to come hang out with us

[11:14pm] You: lmao nooooo he didnt even make it to midnight??? thats sad, kim mingyu

[11:16pm] Wonuuu: u ever think about that phrase “can’t come to the phone”… from an era in which you had to walk to the family’s landline phone in the kitchen or whatever… none of us were even alive for that

[11:16pm] You: wow apparently you guys are having a much better time than me

[11:16pm] (jeong)Han Solo: only wonwoo lol ok be safe and have fun!! see you at home

–

[11:14pm] Cinnamingyu: come out!!

[11:14pm] You: i am out! Lol

[11:15am] Cinnamingyu: you know what i mean

[11:16am] You: im sorry :( but we’re across town and by the time we got there we’d miss the countdown

[11:16am] Cinnamingyu: ok 🙁

[11:16am] You: don’t pout!!! i’ll see you at home tomorrow and we can hang out all day

[11:16am] Cinnamingyu: not the same!

[11:17am] You: ok lets take a shot together!!

[11:17am] Cinnamingyu: ???

[11:17am] You: go order one and tell me when you’re ready!!

[11:18am] Cinnamingyu: lmao on it 🫡

[11:28am] Cinnamingyu: ok im ready

[11:28am] You: ok when you get this count to three and take your shot!

[11:29am] You: geonbae or cheers or salute or whatever

[11:29am] Cinnamingyu: or whatever 🙄

[11:29am] You: 😘

New Year’s Day

Roomies 💕

[12:00am] You: HAPPY NEW YEAR LOVES OF MY LIFE LET THIS BE THE BESTEWT YEAR FOR US EVER EVER EVR!!!!!

[12:00am] Wonuuu: happy new year sunny 🙂

[12:00am] (jeong)Han Solo: happy new yearrr 😽

[4:09am] You: home safe ♥️

[10:33am] Wonuuu: i’ll be home tomorrow sunny

[12:42pm] (jeong)Han Solo: i’ll be back tonight but probably not until after dinner

[12:42pm] You: ok! i’ll be here

[3:17pm] (jeong)Han Solo: is mingyu alive???

[3:17pm] You: lol yeah he’s home. he’s just… not in the best shape asfjkasfhaio

[12:00am] Cinnamingyu: happy new year sunny baby 🩷

[12:01am] You: happy new year best friend!!!!!!! ily ily ily!!!!

[12:32am] Cinnamingyu: you kno you could still meet us out nw

[11:23am] Cinnamingyu: can u open the front door… my head hurts too bad to make the keys work

You stagger to the apartment’s front door, eyes squinting against the harsh daylight streaming into the living room and kitchen area. When you unlock and pull open the door, Mingyu almost collapses on top of you.

“Get up,” you groan, shuffling backwards. “You’re too heavy, I can’t hold you!”

“Shhhh,” he whispers, but rights himself to standing.

You stand there for a minute, both of you just grappling with the horrible reality of being awake and upright and, god, very hungover.

“I need to lay down,” Mingyu says finally, very clearly, like he’s had a sudden burst of self-preservation.

“Come on,” you wave at him vaguely and make your way back to bed. You collapse right into the spot you’d vacated when he texted, pulling the blankets up to your ears and closing your eyes, waiting for the bed to dip beside you.

It doesn’t.

You open your eyes again. “Mingyu?”

He appears wordlessly in your doorway, then makes his way over to his side of the bed. The empty side of your bed. Not his. You have to stop thinking that way.

You’re puzzled, but then he leans over and presses a cold water bottle into your hand. Despite his whining, he was still trying to take care of you.

“Did you take any pain killer?” you mumble.

“Probably more than was actually advisable,” he admits, twisting his own water open and drinking noisily. You don’t see a problem with this - Mingyu is gigantic, and you can imagine his dosing needs would reflect it.

“Okay,” you say with a little sigh. “We’ll sleep for a while and then maybe we can try to eat.”

“God, don’t talk about food,” he moans, taking one of your extra pillows and covering his face.

You chuckle lightly, and then roll to hide your face somewhere near his bicep, breathing in his familiar cinnamon scent and matching your breaths to his until you slip back under. The millionth time you’ve fallen asleep next to your best friend, and you’re already eagerly looking ahead to a million and one.

You’re awakened by the sound of someone retching in the bathroom, clear on the other side of the apartment. You scrabble for and glance at your phone - hours have passed. The light in your bedroom has slipped closer to golden as mid-afternoon begins to wane. You sit up tentatively; this time there’s no wave of dizziness as a punishment for being vertical, though your head still pounds.

You drink some of the water Mingyu brought you, answer a text from Jeonghan, then decide to go make sure Mingyu’s alive.

“You need anything?” you call through the door. You can hear the sink run, and the door opens.

“A lobotomy,” he deadpans. He looks miserable, frown pronounced and eyes puffy.

“Get back in bed,” you tell him gently, and he ambles off towards your room. You detour into the kitchen and start a pot of coffee. It might not save him, but you could use some caffeine.

While it brews, you poke your head into your bedroom. Mingyu is back in your bed, curled up pitifully, that pouting frown still prevalent on his face.

“What time did you take something?” you ask him.

“Like ten thirty,” he mumbles into your pillow.

You glance at the clock. “You can have more,” you tell him, and head back across the apartment to pilfer through the medicine cabinet.

With the pill bottle in hand, you stop in the kitchen long enough to pour yourself a cup of coffee. Carefully balancing so as not to spill, you bring it into the bedroom, placing it carefully on your nightstand and then nudging Mingyu’s shoulder.

He whines a response.

“I have drugs for you,” you tell him, and he holds up an open palm without lifting his face.

You drop the medicine into his hand and get comfy back in your spot, even though you think you’re done sleeping for now. Beside you, Mingyu takes the pills and settles back into sleep. He’s snoring before you can even choose a show to watch on your phone.

You look over at him fondly, disaster that he is. Then you settle in deeper, content to let his warmth radiate over to you, content to be by his side.

–

[12:02am] Daeyoung: happy new year! wishing you luck and happiness ☺️

[4:23pm] You: thank you!!! to you as well!!

–

February

Valentine’s Day is an emotional minefield. You don’t know if you want to lean into the bitter and single thing, or if you want to go all Gal-entines and pamper your friends, or if you want to just keep your head down and treat the day like any other fuck-ass Tuesday in winter.

The universe surprises you with a secret fourth option. Or, rather, Daeyoung does.

You’ve lost track counting your dates with him at this point - you are simply dating. Neither of you has pushed for a what is this conversation, and you’re relieved. You like Daeyoung, you like the time you spend together, and you’d be sad if things ended. But at the same time, you don’t feel things getting deeper, and if he pushed you to make this serious, to put parameters on it, you’re not sure how you’d feel.

Something inside you keeps it light - enough so that you don’t even think of doing anything for him to celebrate the holiday.

Apparently, you’re an asshole.

Sometime after ten, your office’s secretary calls you, asking you to come up to reception for a minute. You’re suspicious, but you don’t do the mental math about what day it is until you turn the corner and see the small vase of roses - three of them, arranged with some baby’s breath and a few other fillers you can’t name - sitting on the reception counter.

“These got delivered for you,” she tells you, and it’s clear on her face that she’s dying for you to spill. “Are they from that guy? The tall one who looks like a movie star?”

This would annoy you if you weren’t so used to it. Everyone asks you if you’re with Mingyu - they never understand why you’re not when you two are attached at the hip.

It had happened once - just a kiss at a frat party, in the middle of the dance floor. You’d both been drinking, of course, and pressed close together to dance, his chest against your back and his hands on your hips and then you’d turned and tipped your chin up and his sparkling eyes had gone molten before he’d kissed you and your whole world had been swept away -

And you’d been interrupted, had been literally pulled away to deal with some drama happening in the kitchen, and somehow… you’d never talked about it. It never happened again.

Sometimes, you wonder if you only dreamed it. It wouldn’t surprise you.

But, no. Your imagination is good, but it’s not good enough to come up with the minute details of how his pecs had felt under your hands, how his fingers had felt pressed into the small of your back, how he had almost sighed into your mouth when it opened for him, how he had tasted a bit like cinnamon, courtesy of the fireball shots the frat was giving out like candy.

Anyway. Life goes on, right?

“No,” you tell the secretary quickly, because you know the roses aren’t from Mingyu. Even if he’d done something today, as your friend, he knows you aren’t much of a roses girl. “We’re just friends.” You will the words to leave your mouth without leaving ashes in their wake.

You reach for the small card tied around the thinnest part of the vase to see who did send them.

Thought you deserved something pretty today. Don’t freak out. :] - Daeyoung

The secretary is still watching you, harmlessly curious.

“It’s just a guy I’ve been seeing,” you say. “It’s not serious.”

“Wow,” she says, eyeing the simple arrangement. “Looks like he thinks it’s a little serious - or that it could be.”

“That’s probably true,” you muse out loud, taking the arrangement back to your own cubicle and setting it on your desk. You snap a photo and text it to Daeyoung with a thank you and a row of sobbing emojis. Then you stand behind your chair, eyes on the red petals, your hand pressed to your mouth, processing.

You didn’t expect to feel like this. A fluttering, a rush of excitement. Even though you aren’t into roses, specifically, the thought is very nice. And no one has thought of you, not like this, in a very long time.

When you get home, the apartment is dark and empty. You wonder if any of the guys have dates tonight, or if they’re working late, or with family. You set the roses on the kitchen table, hang up your coat, and then shoot the grouptext a quick “where is everyone?”. Then you head into your room, eager to take a quick shower and change into something comfy.

You freeze when you flick on your bedroom light.

The clutter on your small desk has been pushed to the side, and a clear vase holds a thick bouquet of sunflowers - your favorite.

You hear yourself gasp, the sound echoing through your head on a loop as you stare at the bright, yellow blooms. You step forward on shaky legs, reaching for the tiny card that’s slipped under the vase.

Sunny flowers for Sunny Baby. Love you. - M

The tears come with such unexpected force that you almost laugh through the third sob. You can barely see through the sudden stream of tears, can hear yourself struggling to inhale. You hurry to shut your bedroom door, locking it for good measure, and then those shaking legs of yours give up, and you sink to your knees and weep into your hands, trying to muffle the sounds, just in case anyone comes home.

You cry so hard it makes your abs hurt, makes the muscles in your face feel stretched, nearly makes you gag. You haven’t cried like this since undergrad.

Because he loves you, but he doesn’t love you, and even though you’ve been pretending for so long it’s as unconscious as breathing, it doesn’t shatter you any less.

Because he’s perfect, and he’s yours, but somehow you still don’t have him, and in the meantime no one else will ever be enough - just for not being him.

Because being thought of earlier by Daeyoung was nice, but it is so much better to be known, like this. Mingyu knows you don’t like roses. Mingyu knows your favorites. Mingyu knows you.

And it’s a waste. It’s all for fucking nothing.

When the tears start to settle and you can breathe a little better, you push yourself back to your feet. You listen at your bedroom door and don’t hear anyone, so you hurry across the apartment and into the bathroom, where you blow your nose and splash your face with cold water.

When you come out again, Jeonghan is in the kitchen.

“Hey,” he says, his back to you. When he turns, he freezes, his face dropping. You must be puffy and red, still.

“Hey,” you reply meekly.

“Oh, Sunny,” he says mournfully, stepping closer. “I told him he shouldn’t, but he asked why not, he’s your friend, and I couldn’t say -”

You let out a sarcastic laugh. “Yeah,” you mutter. “It’s fine. It’ll be fine.”

He watches you carefully, probably trying to gauge if you’re lying. Then he spots the roses and lights up.

“Well, well,” he says, a sly smile showing up on his face. “Those are nice.”

“Yeah,” you say again, the only word in your arsenal. “They are. I, um, I think I’m gonna shower. Do you need the bathroom first?”

Under the spray of hot water, you cry a little more, like an aftershock hit you. It’s quiet this time, and you try to shoulder through it as you condition your hair, ready to put this whole episode behind you once you step out into the chilly bathroom air again.

When you emerge, Jeonghan is on the couch. By the sounds coming from down the hallway, Wonwoo has just gotten home and is dumping the contents of his life onto his bedroom floor. Jeonghan opens his mouth to say something, but you lift a fluffy-bathrobe-clad arm and silently shush him.

“It’s fine,” you say again, firmly.

Jeonghan had been your friend first, back in undergrad. You’d brought him into the friend group the same way Mingyu had brought Wonwoo. The four of you had worked cohesively as a friend-and-roommate unit for a long time, but sometimes those old alliances seemed to matter more than others. Jeonghan would never cross the line without your permission, would never tell your secrets if you weren’t willing to tell them yourself. Wonwoo, on the other hand, was much more likely to open his mouth - especially if he thought he was helping.

The front door bursts open, and Mingyu enters the apartment in a cacophony of noise and dropped items, oranges spilling from the bag in his arms and rolling across the floor. You move to pick a few up as he puts the bag of groceries down and pulls his boots off.

“Sunny!” he says, all excitement, eyes shining. “Did you like my gift?”

You can’t even look at Jeonghan, turning your back to him completely as you hold out the oranges you’d collected. Mingyu takes them, but watches you eagerly, waiting for your answer.

“Yeah,” you say honestly. “I loved it.”

His smile triples.

You were wrong when you said Mingyu was the sun. Mingyu is an avalanche. Rushing, rolling, thundering over and through you until there’s nothing left but a glinting field of ice and silence. Nothing else matters - nothing else exists - in his wake.

“You better watch out, Mingyu,” Jeonghan says from the couch, and your blood runs as cold as that field of ice, because you know he’s about to start some shit. “Sunny got flowers from her lover today. That guy’s coming for your woman.”

You’re opening your mouth to reprimand him - tell him to shut up, or something - but Mingyu beats you to it.

“Sunny’s not mine,” he says simply.

All that ice evaporates in an instant like it was never there.

“My lover,” you echo with a frown, when you can speak again. “Don’t say it like that, you weirdo.”

“Well, isn’t he?” Jeonghan asks innocently.

You head for your bedroom with a roll of your eyes. “Goodnight, Jeonghan.”

“That means yes,” he sing-songs, and you slam your door shut.

Wonwoo’s voice floats through the door. “Who pissed off Sunshine?”

Mingyu’s grumble responds, “Who do you think?”

–

You and Mingyu lay side by side in the grass, a late spring night unspooling with cricket song and a smattering of flickering stars above you. His arm touches yours and you can feel his chest shift as he breathes deeply.

You feel content - you feel infinite - you feel like one of those blinking stars. You feel like you could lay here next to him in silence and be happy until your light goes out, just like theirs.

“Mingyu,” you say, turning to look at him. The grass tickles your cheek.

He turns to look at you, too. It’s dark, here behind the university’s main hub, most of the lights on the far side of the building. Still, there’s enough light to see his eyes, steady on you, his gaze serious.

“Sunny Baby,” he responds, voice low, like he’s telling you a secret. “I love you.”

You startle awake, heart pounding, and you’re immediately furious.

“Fuck,” you hiss, punching your mattress once.

The pathetic truth is you dream about that night in undergrad all the time - you and Mingyu on one of the last nights before summer break, leaving a party together and laying in the grass behind the advising department building watching the constellations rotate above you.

The pathetic truth is the dream never follows the script, always turning the scene sideways, making it something different than what it was.

The pathetic truth is that Mingyu had been blacked out, more fucked up than you’d ever seen him, and you’d laid in the grass because you physically couldn’t keep him upright any further than that and you’d had to text Wonwoo to come help you.

You hadn’t said anything to Mingyu - at least not something meaningful. You might have said please don’t puke on me, or god, you weigh a ton, or how many jaeger bombs did you do?

He had said he loved you - had slurred it, eyes closed.

You had laughed, even though it had sent a dagger through your chest. “Okay, Romeo,” you’d teased, and checked your phone to see if Wonwoo was on his way to help.

“I do,” he’d insisted, one hand patting the grass next to him like he was trying to find you. “Sunny, I love you.”

You didn’t know how he meant it - still don’t know, to this day, because you don’t think he even remembered saying it and you’d been too afraid to bring it up.

What were you supposed to say? Hey, when you were blacked out last night, you said you love me… do you mean like… platonically… or…?

God. The idea of it is just as humiliating now, years later, as it had been in the weeks that followed that night. And though he’s said it regularly since then - like on this fucking card with the sunflowers - he never said it like that, and you never pushed it.

Now, awake and furious and sad at three in the morning, you grab your phone and climb out of bed.

You know you shouldn’t. You know it’s only making this worse for you. But you make your way on light steps through the dark and silent apartment to Mingyu’s door and push it open.

Is it mithridatism, this thing you do? Microdosing on the poison so that a full dose won’t kill you? No, that isn’t right. A full dose of Mingyu wouldn’t kill you. It’s an absence of Mingyu that you need protected from.

You climb into his bed and poke at his calves with your toes until he grunts as he wakes. Then, as he gathers his senses, he rolls to look at you over his shoulder.

“Bad dream?” he asks, voice kind of breathy with sleep.

“Mhm.”

He rolls the rest of the way, lifts his arm so you can scoot a little closer. You breathe easier immediately. It makes no sense that the thing that hurts you is also the only thing that makes you feel better.

“Won’t your lover object to you getting in bed with me?” he asks, and you can hear the edge in his voice as clear as day.

You let out a single, wry ha. He’s got a point, but Daeyoung isn’t your boyfriend, you aren’t exclusive, and what he doesn’t know can’t hurt him.

“Nah,” you say easily. “I’m not his.”

March

March can’t make up its mind if it’s winter or spring. Warm days lull you into a false sense of security, and then a blistering cold rushes in just to call you a fool.

You’re the last one to get to the bar on Friday night after work, and you have to stand awkwardly next to the booth the guys have staked out and unwrap yourself - hat, scarf, gloves, puffer coat, big heavy sweater - before you can actually slide into the empty spot next to Mingyu.

“Hi bestie,” he says, immediately draping his arm behind your shoulders, resting on the back of the wooden bench. “How was your day?”

“Fuck Marcus in Accounting,” you answer.

“Fuck Marcus in Accounting,” your roommates all answer solemnly, because this is a common gripe.

“Fireball and ginger ale it is, then,” Mingyu says, and climbs over you to head to the bar, his own empty beer glass in hand. When he slides the cocktail glass in front of you and scoots back to his original spot, you fill the guys in on Marcus’s Bullshit of the Day.

“And then,” you finish the story, “I was like yeah, I know you did, Marcus, because she blind-copied me on her reply and you should have seen the color his face turned so I think it’s fair to say I won this round.”

“I’m surprised they aren’t all scared of you,” Wonwoo remarks.

“Marcus is,” you say, glowering at your now-empty cocktail glass. “That’s why he’s such a dick. He hates that he’s intimidated.”

Mingyu’s arm has slid down from the back of the bench and rests lightly across your shoulder by this point, and he gives you a playful squeeze into his side as he laughs.

He starts telling a story next, and you listen as you slip your phone out and check your texts. Daeyoung had texted you a while ago, and you shoot him a quick answer that you’re out with your roommates for Friday drinks, and then dial back into the conversation.

When Mingyu’s glass is empty again, you rise, taking the empties up to the bar and signalling for another of each. While you wait, elbows on the bar, you check your phone again. Daeyoung had texted back, asking where you guys were drinking.

You hesitate. The idea of incorporating Daeyoung into the group makes you nervous. Behind you, you can hear Mingyu yapping a thousand miles a minute, and Jeonghan’s distinctive heh heh heh in answer. It’s not that you don’t think the guys will be nice… it just feels like a big move.

It might be nice to have him there, though - someone on your side when Jeonghan and Mingyu gang up on you and Wonwoo is too in his own world to be effective back-up, someone to hold your hand and get your drinks, someone to be in your own private little bubble with when the conversation ebbs and flows away from topics you can engage with.

You send him back “just a little place by the apartment!” which is technically true, and then grab the refreshed drinks for you and Mingyu.

The guys are getting up, making noise about a just-vacated darts board, so you swivel and turn to follow them, a cold drink in each hand.

“Sunny Baby,” Mingyu tells you, half an hour later, bending down low so he can talk close to your ear over the loud music, “you have to put more muscle into it. You have to throw it like you want to pierce it.”

“I don’t think it’s that serious, actually!” you tell him cheerfully, and down the rest of your drink, pushing the empty glass into his giant hand. His turn.

He shoots you a grin so sharp and devilish that it makes your whole body fight a shudder, and then he disappears off to the bar.

You heckle Jeonghan through his turn (unsuccessfully - he’s way better at this than you) and then glance at the bar to see if the bartenders have gotten to Mingyu yet in the crowd. He’s facing you, his arms crossed, that same devilish smile on his face. He leans sideways on the bar, where your drink and his own beer sit sweating, forgotten.

The girl he’s smiling at has her back to you, which is a miracle, because if she’d been able to see your face fall, she probably would have back-pedaled out of the conversation immediately - it would be impossible for her not to see that she was walking into a flashing neon sign screaming this situation is a mess!!!!

When she laughs, throwing her head back, and reaches a hand out to touch his forearm, you feel the whole bar swoop sideways around you. You’re fumbling for your phone, even as you hear Mingyu’s answering laugh cut through all the loud music and conversations filling the space, even as you watch through your periphery as he gives her a return nudge to the shoulder, playful, that smile only growing.

You’re going to be sick.

You shoot Daeyoung a text - sorry, I should have told you which bar. I’m leaving now though. Do you want to come get me? We could chill for a little? - and then you push your way through the bar, not even bothering to tell Jeonghan and Wonwoo goodbye. You make an extra effort to skirt the opposite wall as the bar, hoping you get out without Mingyu spotting you.

There’s no way you could fake it right now. Zero chance. If he came after you, it would all be out in the open.

Daeyoung answers you almost immediately - no worries! sure, send me your location. you want to hang at my place?

Outside, the cold air assaults you. You immediately hesitate, wishing you’d grabbed your coat. You’ll get pneumonia waiting for Daeyoung without it.

You’re saved the trouble of going back in - the door opens and someone comes out after you. But it isn’t Mingyu - it’s Jeonghan, giving you the heaviest side-eye you’ve ever seen from him, your coat in his hands.

“Thank you,” you breathe when he’s close enough, taking the coat and sliding it over your arms. “It’s freezing.”

“Sunny,” he says, and something in his voice makes you pause. “I think we should talk.”

You cover your face with one hand, embarrassed and spent and tired. “About what?” you ask flatly, just to buy yourself a second. You know the answer. Of course you do.

He levels you with a look. “This can’t continue,” he says firmly. “For you, or for him, or for me and Wonwoo.”

You scoff. “What do you two have to do with it?”

You’ve never seen him this serious, and it scares you a little. “Do you think it’s easy for me to watch you get hurt?”

You lower your gaze to the ground and don’t answer this; it feels rhetorical.

“But you’re right - it’s not about us. It’s about you. Something has to give,” he says gently. “Either face it and get your answer, or let it go.”

“It’s not that simple,” you argue.

“Yes, it is that simple,” he retorts. “It’s just scary. But that’s not the same thing.”

“I can’t tell him,” you say, because it’s true. You can’t. You can’t. “What if it messed up everything for all of us?”

What if you lost him completely? What if he moved out? What if he stopped talking to you?

Jeonghan doesn’t reply to this at first, he just watches you carefully, then tucks a long strand of dark hair behind his ear.

“You can,” he says finally, still gentle. “But… if you won’t… then you have to let him go.”

Your stomach drops at the words, even though this is a truth you’ve been aware of for ages, have been doing your best to avoid.

“I don’t know how to do that,” you whisper. And it’s true - loving Mingyu feels as instinctual as your heartbeat, intrinsically part of who you are. How can you separate it out, shut it down?

“Stop sharing a bed with him,” Jeonghan suggests, and it’s so simple and straight-forward and correct that you can’t think of a single argument. “Quit texting him but ignoring everyone else. Stop cuddling with him on the couch after work. Quit-”

“Alright, I get it,” you snap, the defensiveness rising up again like muddy waters.

“I’m not sure you do,” he says, and the gentleness is gone from his tone; you’ve moved into the Tough Love section of the lecture, apparently. “You can’t keep playing house with him, pretending you’re together, and then falling apart every time he makes it clear that it isn’t real. You’ll never feel better like this. It will never change, Sunny. You’ll be like this, forever. Is that what you want?”

Your throat is tight and sharp, and you blink quickly, eyes on the ground again.

“I’m sorry,” he says, and he says it like he aches. Maybe he means it. “You could talk to him, you could at least see what he says -”

“No,” you interrupt. “No. I can’t do that.”

He shrugs, big and exaggerated. “Then move on. There are other people in the world who’d be happy to love you the right way. You can’t give any of them a proper chance if you’re holding it against them that they aren’t Mingyu.”

Like the one you ignored all night, who is still on his way to pick your ass up right now…

You push your hands against your eyes like you can block out the truth of what he’s saying, but you don’t say anything.

Jeonghan reaches out and rubs your shoulder. “I’m gonna go back in,” he says, gentle again. “It’s freezing out here. Just… think about it.”

“I’m thinking,” you say dryly.

He nods, then disappears back into the bar, the wave of sound crashing and fading as the door opens and closes.

You stay outside and wait for Daeyoung’s car, your hands going numb from the cold. You run the whole thing over and over in your head, replay Jeonghan’s words, daydream a hundred conversations with Mingyu each with different endings.

You think maybe you should take Jeonghan’s advice - put some physical distance between you and Mingyu, just as a starting point.

You hate the idea of it. But you know he’s right.

When Daeyoung pulls up, you slide into the passenger seat and tell him thank you, leaning over to kiss his cheek. He smiles at you, all sweet, and then whisks you away. Halfway to his place, he glances over at you.

“You’re quiet tonight,” he observes. “Everything okay?”

“Yeah,” you lie, and then instantly feel bad for it. “Just… argued with my roommate. I’m kind of cranky.”

He reaches out and squeezes your knee once, reassuringly. “Well, you’re welcome to stay with me,” he says, and when you whip around to look at him, he laughs. “I wasn’t being presumptuous. I just meant if you needed some space from them, you’re welcome. That’s all.”

“Yeah, okay,” you repeat, settling back against the seat. “We’ll see.”

You keep your eyes on the window for the rest of the drive.

You wonder if Mingyu brought that girl home, and then you shove that thought away, because you’re letting him go, starting tonight, and those thoughts aren’t going to serve you anymore.

And then you wonder the same thing again five minutes later.

–

April

Winter softens, the temperature sturdies itself, and the season forms solidly into rain-logged spring.

“Sunny Baby,” Mingyu sings. Even on the greyest, soggiest days you turn to him like a plant turns to sun. “I’m bored.”

“That sounds like a personal problem,” you quip.

He drapes himself over you in retaliation, long arms and legs hanging heavy towards the floor as his torso smothers your face, drowning in you in his cinnamon-tinged scent.

You protest wordlessly and shove at him, and he laughs, his abs working near your chest with the motion.

“Entertain me,” he whines.

Things have been different - weird different, sometimes even bad different - for a few weeks now, all because of Jeonghan. You choose to blame him, anyway.

What he said to you plays in your head on loop all day every day, and suddenly you don’t know how to act right with Mingyu, causing you to overcorrect and swerve wildly. Sometimes you’re spending the entire day with him, touching and talking and leaning into it - then you think about it too hard and you spend the next two days icing him out.

It’s confusing for both of you. You can tell he notices, can tell he’s baffled by the change. More than once you’ve caught him looking at you like you’re a problem to solve - that face he makes when something isn’t working, or he’s got an equation of some sort to work out. But he doesn’t say anything, doesn’t make you feel bad about it, doesn’t confront you, just takes what you’ll give him with a smile.

You haven’t gone to his room in the middle of the night since your talk with Jeonghan, either. It feels like quitting something. The withdrawal eats at your nerves, the cravings taking over until you can’t focus on anything else. More than one night since then you’ve laid awake, staring at your ceiling, heart pounding as you argue with yourself - just go, you’ll sleep and you’ll feel better waging war against Jeonghan’s you can’t keep pretending you’re together and then falling apart when he makes it clear that it isn’t real.

Each time, you’d ended up staying in your own bed. Jeonghan is right. You knew it when he said it, and you know it now. You have to let go if you’re ever going to be happy. You can’t keep living in the shadows of Mingyu’s life, waiting for him to come give you just a slice of himself and pretending to be sated by it.

“I can’t entertain you, you pain in my ass,” you say, as he allows you to roll his heavy body off of yours and onto the other side of your bed. “I have a date with Daeyoung in like an hour. I need to go shampoo.”

“Booooo,” he complains. Then he props himself up on one elbow and gives you that familiar look again - the math problem look. Not calculating, exactly, but definitely evaluating. “You’ve been seeing him for a while,” he remarks, and you can hear the effort to keep his tone casual, which makes you wonder what he’s hiding.

“Like four months,” you say, not sure if this is agreeing with him or not.

He nods, then rolls to face your ceiling, arms behind his head. It does disgusting things to his biceps, and you look away, sitting up and reaching for your phone to check the time.

“How’s that going?” he asks, still all casual.

“Good,” you say airily, still not looking at him.

“Sunny,” he says, a bit more seriously, and it’s enough to make you glance his way. He’s facing you, arms still behind his head, but watching. “Why won’t you talk to me about it?”

Ice flows through your veins so quickly that you have the urge to blow on your fingers to warm them. Talk to me about it. You take a calming breath, remind yourself that he’s asking about Daeyoung, not about your feelings in general.

“I don’t know,” you say with a shrug. “Just feels weird.”

“It didn’t used to,” he says, and you know exactly what he means. You’d always talked to him about anything - including boys and crushes.

He doesn’t ask so what’s different now, but you know the answer anyway. You’re afraid you’ll say anything, and Mingyu - who knows you better than anyone else - will hear everything you aren’t trying to say. How you feel about him, how you’ve been trying to create distance and boundaries, how it’s been unsuccessful because you have no sense of consistency, how you can’t seem to accept that you don’t get to have him, how Daeyoung is so nice and fun and cute but still can’t silence the urge behind your ribs that screams for Mingyu.

“Yeah,” you sigh, acknowledging that he’s right - that you used to tell him everything. “I don’t know, Mingyu. It’s good. I like him. Like… I don’t necessarily think he’s The One or anything, but I’d be upset if we broke up?”

Mingyu nods, something complicated on his face. “Well,” he says finally, “That’s good. I’m glad it’s going well. You deserve it.”

There’s something flat in his voice, and you stand because you can’t just sit there next to him right now.

“Thanks,” you say, because you don’t know what else to say. “Well… I’m gonna go shower so I’m not late.” You grab the few things you need from your room and pause in your doorway. He’s pulled out his phone, his thumb swiping slowly and his eyes on the screen, and you carry on across the hallway, leaving him behind.

The way you need to. The way you’re trying to.

Daeyoung takes you to dinner, making you laugh so hard you have to wipe under your eyes, and listening intently when you bitch about work (and, yes, Marcus in Accounting).

After, as you walk along the river, looking out at the lights, Daeyoung reaches for your hand, and you link fingers.

This is what you need - to lean into it with someone, to really try with someone. Maybe that will ease this process of shifting Mingyu to the background. Maybe you just need to try.

Like he can read your mind, Daeyoung slows, turning to look at you. He says your name hesitantly, and you match his slowed pace, waiting.

“We’ve been doing this for a while,” he says, kind of hesitantly, “and I kind of wanted to see if we’re on the same page.”

When you just look at him, he forges ahead, the words rushing out of him now. “I really like you, and I really like this… and I was wondering how you’d feel about… maybe being more official?”

You feel yourself flush, a smile tugging at your lips. “Are you… asking me to be your girlfriend?”

He smiles back, relief washing over his face. “Yeah,” he says, much more confident now. “Yes, I am.”

You lick your lips, suddenly unsure. “Daeyoung,” you say, and you watch his face fall. You hurry to amend - “No, I’m not saying no! It’s just… I don’t know… I feel like we’ve kept things pretty… light. And I just worry that if we get more serious and you see more of me… you might…”

You trail off. He watches you intently, and then finishes for you, “Change my mind?”

You nod meekly. What if you can’t do it - what if you can’t push Mingyu out of your head and heart, what if you can’t start fresh with someone? Daeyoung has been wonderful to you. He doesn’t deserve to get hurt. He doesn’t deserve to be second choice, doesn’t deserve to be a consolation prize.

You can’t say yes if that’s what this will be. You need to be sure you’re all in, you need to be sure you want him and not just the fresh start he represents.

“I don’t want to hurt you,” you say instead, quietly.

He considers this, watching you carefully. “Why do you think you will?”

It’s a fair question. “I’m… trying to get over someone,” you force yourself to say. He deserves to know what he’s walking into.

You watch his face for any change in expression. His expression does ripple a little, and then he licks his lips and asks, “And how’s that going?”

You scuff the toe of one shoe absently along the pavement. “Goes better when you’re around,” you admit. “But I don’t want to be… like… using you, I guess? It feels… unfair.”

He nods. “I appreciate that,” he says, looking away from you, at the river. He’s quiet for a while and then asks, “Are you into this? With me?”

“Yes,” you say emphatically, because despite the Mingyu of it all, it’s true. “I just don’t want you to end up with regrets.”

He smiles kind of ruefully. “Thanks for being honest,” he says, brushing the back of your hand with his thumb.

“What are you thinking?” you ask in a whisper. You really hope you aren’t breaking up right now, but you wouldn’t blame him if he called it off.

He lets out a long breath, very slowly, measured. “I’m thinking that no one can make promises at the beginning of a relationship.”

Your stomach jolts, terrified, at the word. He continues, oblivious.

“But,” he says, “you just take it a day at a time. That’s all I’m asking for - just a day. And then maybe another. We can go from there.”

You consider this, that tiny smile returning. He waits for your answer.

“Okay,” you say finally. “Yeah. If you’re sure you want that, then… yes.”

“Yes?” he repeats, like he needs to be sure. He’s already grinning, despite the turn the conversation had taken on the way here.

You laugh, feeling suddenly shy. “Yeah. Yes.”

He kisses you next to the singing river, and later you take a selfie together beside a food cart. You post it to social media with a blue heart emoji for the caption.

You swallow hard and swipe roughly to remove the notification when Mingyu likes the picture minutes later.

–

May

“Kim Mingyu!” you bellow, scooping up an armload of shirts and socks from the living room floor. “Get your gross, sweaty clothes off of our shared couch! The hamper is like three feet away!”

“Yah,” he complains, coming to take the offending pile from you. “You never cared before!”

“Well now her boyfriend is coming over,” Jeonghan says, somehow making the word sound sleezy. “She wants it to be pretty in here.”

“I hate you both,” you say. “I only like Wonwoo. He’s my only friend. Wonwoo, you’re my only friend.”

Wonwoo gives you a very deadpan finger heart from his spot on the couch.

Unfortunately, Jeonghan is kind of right.

You’ve mostly spent time out with Daeyoung or at his place - mostly because he lives alone and you live with a cast of clowns. But he has come over a handful of times. Sometimes he’s only there long enough to stand awkwardly by the front door while you finish putting on jewelry and shoes before whisking you away; other times he’s stayed to eat take-away and watch a movie as the aforementioned clowns filter in and out, leaving snappy comments like use protection in their wake.

Tonight’s the first time that the plan is for everyone to hang out. To say you’re nervous is an understatement, as evidenced by the uncharacteristic way you pace the house, adjusting items Daeyoung has already seen out of place as if it makes any difference.

“Sunny Baby,” Mingyu finally says, coming up and putting his hands on your shoulders, trying to still you. You pull back from his touch as gently as you can, trying to make that space with some subtly. “Why are you freaking out? He’s been here before.”

“Yeah, you’re right, why would I be nervous?” you ask sarcastically. “Why would I be nervous to have my boyfriend come over for games and movies with three notoriously very nice people who never make trouble?”

“Rude,” Wonwoo remarks from the couch.

“Not you, Wonwoo, you’re my only friend,” you tell him without even turning your head. You hear Jeonghan snort.

“You said three,” Mingyu points out seriously, stepping back from you like he silently got the memo about space. “That includes Wonwoo.”

“Fine, I retract my statement. Two people who make trouble, and then one person who knows how to be normal sometimes.”

A knock on the door interrupts you before anyone can push your buttons any further.

“Be nice,” you tell them sternly as you head to open the door. “Be normal. For the love of god, at least try.”

“She has no faith in us,” Jeonghan says sadly behind you.

“We probably shouldn’t try Monopoly tonight,” Mingyu remarks, and you hate that he’s right.

You all almost broke up over Monopoly, once. You never played again.

“Yeah, put that one away,” you agree, as you pull the door open.

Daeyoung greets you with a smile and a small bouquet of flowers - nothing too fancy, just a little something. You pay for them with a smile and a kiss, lifting onto your tiptoes to reach his lips.

“Awwww, so cute,” Jeonghan coos from across the apartment.

“Jeonghan,” you say sharply. “What did we talk about?”

Daeyoung feigns a pout. “You don’t think we’re cute?”

You slap at his arm playfully and step back to let him in. You head to the kitchen to find a vase for the flowers, listening as the men all exchange heys and how’ve you beens.

You all settle for a variation of Rummy, sitting around the kitchen table with a smattering of snacks and drinks, chatting easily as you play.

At the end of the second hand, you ask, “Wait, what does that put me at?”

“Sixty-two,” Daeyoung says, just as Mingyu says, “Sixty-three.”

You look at them both blankly. You and numbers don’t vibe.

Jeonghan looks at the little note on his phone where he was tallying scores. “Sixty-three,” he confirms.

“Whoops,” Daeyoung says apologetically. “I wasn’t trying to short you on points, sweetheart.”

All three of your roommates stiffen, and you feel your face heat. “No worries,” you say quickly, reaching to cut the deck for the next hand. “Whose turn is it?”

Be normal, be normal, be normal, you mentally beg the clowns.

“I think it’s mine, sweetie-pie,” Jeonghan deadpans. You kick him ferociously under the table, not even trying to be subtle, and he swears.

“Knock it off,” you growl.

“You’re upsetting pookie, hyung,” Mingyu says somberly.

“I hate all of you,” you whine. And then, on instinct, “Not you, Wonwoo.”

Daeyoung looks around the table, amused. “Is this always how it is around here?”

“Basically,” Wonwoo admits. “Just usually with a lot more -” He stops short, coughing, and reaches for his drink. You all wait, your heart thrumming nervously. You’re sure he’d been about to drop a crack about you and Mingyu’s physical affection. “A lot more yelling,” he finishes. “This is everyone on their best behavior, because Sunny threatened us.”

Daeyoung laughs, and you pray that the moment went unnoticed. You can tell Mingyu is a bit still on your other side, and if it was a month ago you would have reached over to him already, soothed a hand down his arm or pressed your cheek to his shoulder until he untensed. You rest your hands in your lap, instead, eyes on your cards.

After Rummy, which Jeonghan wins by a landslide, you all head to the couches for a movie. Your roommates and you have always had unspoken “spots”, but Daeyoung’s presence throws the balance off entirely. Normally you’d be next to Mingyu but he takes Jeonghan’s spot, leaving the other guys to buffer as they try to figure out a new arrangement.

“Here,” Daeyoung says, tugging on your wrist until you settle on his lap, legs hanging just off the side of his own, “we can make room.”

Jeonghan tosses you a small blanket and a wink and settles in on the far side of your couch, giving the two of you lots of room. Wonwoo flicks off the overhead lights and settles next to Mingyu, the two of them awkwardly squished on the two-seater. But, blessedly, no one complains as the opening score emanates from the sound bar.

As the movie begins, you relax, leaning sideways against Daeyoung’s chest, his arms looped around you. You stomp down on the intrusive thought that wants to compare how comfortable this is to how comfortable you’d been with Mingyu for past movie nights, internally hissing at your own brain for the unwelcome thought.

“You good?” he murmurs, voice low, only for you, one hand rubbing the small of your back lightly.

“Mhm,” you assure him, reaching up to kiss the edge of his jaw, the only bit of him that you can reach comfortably. He smiles down at you, endeared, and then turns his attention to the television again. You can feel someone’s eyes on you, but you refuse to look, refuse to give attention to whoever is trying to heckle you right now. They can’t just let you live, huh?

Halfway through the movie, Mingyu stands, moving out of the way of the screen quickly and heading to the kitchen. You don’t lift your head from Daeyoung’s check, just watching him go through the corners of your eyes.

“Anyone need a drink?” he calls from the kitchen. “Hyung? Sunny Baby?”

Daeyoung physically recoils, his head snapping back so he can look at you, wide-eyed. You look back at him the same way, feeling like you’ve been caught at something.

“It’s just habit,” you say, quietly, and Jeonghan turns away, shifting awkwardly next to you two. “Old nickname from a million years ago.”

Daeyoung nods, but his face is still a bit stricken.

“Hello?” Mingyu calls from the kitchen. “Beer? Anyone?”

“No, thanks!” you call back, trying to force your voice to come out cheerful.

When he returns, flopping unceremoniously into his spot next to Wonwoo, Daeyoung’s arms tighten around you.

You close your eyes, frustrated. You hope you can salvage this. You’d been afraid from the jump that the Mingyu factor - even with the changes you’ve been purposely making, all that space - would damage what you have with Daeyoung, as effective as a drop of ink in a bucket of water.

When the movie ends, Wonwoo gives a polite goodbye and vanishes into his lair and you lead Daeyoung back towards the front door. Behind you, you can hear the tell-tale clicks of bottles as Jeonghan and Mingyu start picking up the food and drinks.

“I’m sorry,” you say, as soon as you have some semblance of privacy in the entryway. “I knew hanging out here was going to be a mess.”

Daeyoung manages a smile. “It wasn’t a mess,” he says. “I just didn’t realize how close you all were.”

He’s being too nice. You feel terrible.

“I think we might get less close very soon if they can’t get their shit together,” you grumble, which makes him laugh, some of the tension alleviating.

“Well,” Daeyoung says, suddenly turning conspiratory, “while your place was very fun… what would you say to some fun at my place now?”

You giggle. “I wouldn’t hate that plan,” you say coyly, smiling up at him. “Quieter, there. Fewer clowns.”

He laughs again, even as he reaches to tilt your jaw up, shuffling you backwards against the entryway wall as his lips find yours.

As the kiss warms you, your hands finding the front of his shirt and bunching it into your fists, heat beginning to trickle out of hiding in your belly, you hear footsteps and an abrupt, “Oh - shit - sorry - my bad -”

“Your place,” you say against Daeyoung’s lips as Mingyu retreats back to the kitchen. You can practically feel through the wall how red his ears are.

Daeyoung lets you out of his embrace and you hurry to your room to toss a few things together - toothbrush, phone charger, clothes - and come to get your jacket.

“Bye, idiots!” you call through the apartment. Then, “Not you, Wonwoo!” and you close the door behind you with a giggle, following Daeyoung down the stairs.

On the other side of the wall, safely hidden in the kitchen, Mingyu stands staring blankly at the pantry, one hand over his mouth, still as a statue. What is this feeling churning in his gut? He feels sick, and he can’t put a name to it but he hates how it crawls through his system.

Jeonghan appears next to him, placing two more dirty cups in the sink. He lets out a single, wry laugh when he sees Mingyu standing there.

“Yeah, dude,” he says easily as he leaves again. “Sucks, doesn’t it?”

–

June

You and Mingyu lay side by side in the grass, a late spring night unfurling with distant thunder and a smattering of fireflies lazily drifting through the trees beyond the garden. His arm brushes yours and you can hear his breathing as he exhales slowly.

You feel happy - you feel infinite - you feel like one of those distant cracks of ferocious thunder. You feel like you could lay here next to him in silence and be happy until your joy has to burst from you, just like the clouds on the horizon.

“Mingyu,” you say, turning to look at him. The grass tickles your cheek.

“Sunny Baby,” he responds, voice low, like he’s telling you a secret. “I love you.”

You wake up with faint tear-tracks on your cheeks, and you growl out a frustrated breath.

“I need a lobotomy,” you grumble, wiping at your cheeks and trying to get comfortable again, hoping to go back to sleep - with less ridiculous dreams.

It doesn’t happen. You flop from side to side over the course of half an hour, and then give up. You reach for your nightstand to see if you have any water, but there’s nothing but your phone and the lamp. With a sigh, you push yourself out from under the blankets and pad into the kitchen.

You’re letting a glass fill with tap water when you hear one of the other doors down the hallway open. You turn, peering through the moonlit living room, to see who else is up. The clock above the stove says it’s four in the morning.

“Sunny Baby,” Mingyu says, his voice rough with sleep. His hair is sticking up in the back. Your stomach lurches with the sick desire to smooth it down. “Why are you up?”

“Had a bad dream,” you lie. It was a good dream. Nothing bad about it until you wake up and feel guilty because of Daeyoung, and angry because your brain and heart are holding you fucking hostage. “Couldn’t get back to sleep.” That part’s true.

“Poor Sunny Baby,” he croons, coming closer, the darkness making his form seem even bigger. “Come on - we’ll get comfy.” Just like we used to, he doesn’t say.

Your heart slams against your chest. “Oh,” you say softly. Because, yeah, a few months ago you wouldn’t have even needed him to invite you - you would have been there already, snuggling into the space next to his ribs, breathing him in until sleep returns to you. “Mingyu, I can’t.”

The blanket of darkness makes him bold. He scoffs, not even trying to hide it. “Why not? Because of that guy?” Like he doesn’t know Daeyoung’s name, like the last five months never happened. That guy.

“Because I want to respect my relationship?” you correct gently. “Yes, that’s why. It wouldn’t be right, and you know it.”

You stand in silence for a moment, barely able to see each other across the darkened space, at an impasse. Then, he scoffs again, lighter this time.

“Fine,” he says, moving past you towards the bathroom - probably the reason he was up in the first place. “Suit yourself.”

When he passes back through the living room on his way back to bed, you’re curled up on the couch under one of the blankets, the tv on with the sound turned low. He doesn’t even look at you as he turns down the hall and shuts his bedroom door behind him. You hear the lock click. You press your hands to your face and will yourself to breathe deep. Crying over him while asleep is one thing. Doing it while awake feels like a betrayal.

Just one more you can add to your list.

–

“Hey!” you yell across the noisy room. Mingyu turns from where he’s standing near your bedroom door, talking to a few guys who you’ve seen around here but whose names you forget. Seok… something. The other one might be a Chan, you’re not sure. Mingyu lifts an eyebrow, waiting for whatever request you’re going to shout at him.

“Can you get the door for me?” you call, trying to be louder than the music and chatter. Your apartment is bursting with people as Mingyu’s annual summer bash is well underway. You’re at the pong table - your kitchen table, shoved halfway into the living room - a slightly sticky plastic ball in hand. “Daeyoung is here, I can feel my phone going off.”

Mingyu gives you a wordless salute and shuffles off towards the front door, and you close one eye, lean forward as far as the others will let you without calling a foul, and line up your shot.

You sink it just seconds before you feel someone’s hands on your hips. You straighten up and turn to greet Daeyoung with a kiss, firm and confident courtesy of many drinks. The party’s been going for a few hours already, and you and the guys pregamed before the guests started showing up.

“Hi!” you chirp when you part. “Glad you made it!”

“This is a lot of people,” he says back, looking around your living room and kitchen a bit incredulously. “You said you guys do this every year?”

You nod seriously. “We bribe our neighbors. I mean, they’re all invited of course, but we also try to do something nice to make up for the one night of noise. Last year I baked cookies. This year we just went straight to cash.”

He laughs, and you lead him through the throng of people into the kitchen for a drink.

“I’m glad you came,” you say again, as he stands before the open fridge, scanning beer bottle labels for something palatable. He sends you a smile over his shoulder, then picks a bottle and turns. You place the opener into his waiting hand.

“You look good tonight,” he tells you, all glinty, looking at you sideways. You pretend to preen.

“Sunny always looks good,” Jeonghan asserts, breezing in behind you holding a bowl full of chips.

“Are you sharing those?” you demand. “You can’t gatekeep the good ones, Jeonghan. We’ve talked about this.”

“Gatekeep, girlboss, whatever the third one is!” he replies, zipping back out of the kitchen as quickly as he’d come.

Out in the living room, you hear the familiar sound of the karaoke machine booting up. There’s a telltale scraping - the pong table being shoved against the far wall to make more room for jumping around while aiming for that perfect score.

When you and Daeyoung make it into the living room again, Mingyu and one of the friends whose names you forgot are singing together. Mingyu’s all irony, eyes closed in mock passion as he clutches his mic with both hands, but his friend is actually good, voice sailing over the higher notes without error.

“Wow,” you say. “That guy can actually sing.”

One of your friends, a girl you lovingly call Ethel because of the style of grandma glasses she favors, stops in front of you, pushing little plastic shot glasses into your hands.

“Are you the boyfriend?” she asks Daeyoung, somewhat breathlessly. “I’ve been dying to actually meet you. She’s been keeping you a secret.”

“I have not!” you reply hotly, as Daeyoung laughs, introducing himself.

“It’s nice to meet her other friends,” he says, and she rolls her eyes.

“I know, it’s hard to separate her from these guys,” she says. “They deserve a sitcom.”

“I’m standing right here,” you protest.

Jeonghan appears behind you, too close. “We have a little problem in the kitchen,” he whispers.

You excuse yourself, leaving Daeyoung with Ethel - who will hopefully say nothing too incriminating about you and Mingyu’s blurry-lined friendship.

In the kitchen, Wonwoo is kneeling on the floor, his upper body hidden in the cupboard under the sink. When he shuffles back out, the front of his shirt is wet. You can see a bit of water starting to pool on the boards below the cleaning supplies.

“Uh oh,” you say.

Mingyu appears to your left, solid and warm against your arm. Then he crouches, peering under the sink.

“Can I have someone’s phone?” he asks, and you pass him yours. He turns on the flashlight and shines it at the pipes. You watch his face do that thing - that calculating look, the problem-solving look.

“It’s this one,” he says, pointing to something you can’t see under there. “Where’s our toolbox?”

“Great question,” Wonwoo says, mouth twisting as he tries to remember. “Laundry room?”

“I think so,” you say. “I think it’s on the shelf in there.”

Mingyu scoots out from under the sink and disappears into the little nook you all graciously call a laundry room, since it does have a functional door, then reappears with two tools in hand. You don’t know what they are - you’ve never needed to.

You and Jeonghan and Wonwoo stand around him, worried, like you’re waiting for a doctor to emerge through hospital doors to report on the status of a loved one. When Mingyu backs out of the cabinet again, it’s with an air of smugness.

“All set,” he says, one side of his mouth quirking proudly.

“Our hero,” Jeonghan deadpans.

“This is why we keep you around,” you tell him.

“Get the man a shot,” Jeonghan says, swiveling to the collection of bottles on the counter.

Daeyoung finds you on the kitchen floor, using a rag to wipe up any bits of water. Wonwoo and Mingyu both disappeared to change into dry shirts, you think.

“Everything okay?” he asks.

“Yeah,” you tell him, wiping one last spot and leaning up on your knees to look around for any areas you might have missed. The last thing you need is for someone to slip in here. “The sink broke. It’s okay now, Mingyu fixed it.”

“Well, thank god for Mingyu,” he says, and you look up at him, not sure if you’re imagining the edge in his voice. Are you? Did you project that?

“Well,” you say, “kind of! Because four of us live here, and only one person could solve the problem.”

He laughs reluctantly. “I can fix a sink,” he says, a bit of a pout in his voice.

You stand, returning the rag to the counter. “I’ll make sure to ask you first next time,” you say, leaning up to brush your lips teasingly across his. “I just thought the rent-payer should handle the problem before the guests.”

“I guess that’s fair,” he allows, smiling bigger.

A while later, you find yourself in Wonwoo’s room, leaning against the wall watching somewhat absently as he and one of his friends play a POV shooter game, their brows furrowed in concentration and fingers flying on the controls.

Daeyoung had been with you only moments ago, reporting into your ear on the game’s happening like a sports commentator to make you laugh, but he’d gone to get you each a new drink. Mingyu appears in his absence, and you can tell immediately that he’s sloppy.

“Sunny Baby,” he sings, draping an arm over your shoulders.

You can’t help but smile, even as you try to shift out from under his arm. “Yes?” you sing back teasingly. “Can I help you?”

“Mhm,” he hums. “You can stay just like this.” He wraps his other arm around you, and you laugh, pushing very gently at his chest.

“Mingyu,” you protest, laughing. “Get off me.”

“I will in one second,” he says, smiling cheekily. “You haven’t let me hug you in a hundred years, I have to take advantage now that your defenses are weakened by cheap vodka.”

“Mingyu!” you laugh again.

And then you see Daeyoung in the doorway behind him, face unreadable.

“Mingyu,” you say again, deadly serious now. “Let go.”

Daeyoung slowly reaches to put the two beers on Wonwoo’s dresser and turns, wordlessly retreating down the hallway.

“Damn it, Mingyu,” you hiss, extracting yourself and hurrying to follow him. Daeyoung makes it clear outside and down the front steps before you catch him.

“Daeyoung, wait!” you call, and he finally slows, turning to face you. You jog to catch up, a bit breathless. You’ve had way too much to drink for this kind of confrontation, but you try to get your shit together enough to defend yourself. Or apologize. Or both.

He doesn’t say anything, just raises his eyebrows and waits.

“Don’t -” you start, and then switch tracks quickly. “That was nothing. He’s like that when he’s had too much to drink. He’s just being silly.”

Daeyoung laughs once, sharp and sarcastic. “Don’t lie to me,” he says flatly.

“I’m not!” you protest. “It’s true.”

He shakes his head, swipes his thumb across his phone screen and taps around.

“Don’t leave,” you beg. “I’m sorry. I was trying to tell him to let go.”

He twists his mouth, refusing to look at you. At the far end of the street, you can see approaching headlights. He’s ordered a ride home.

“When you said you were trying to get over someone I didn't pry,” he says flatly, “but I guess I should have. You could’ve had the decency to tell me that you live with him.”

The slam of the car door feels final, the sound passing over you like shrapnel.

The blink of red taillights has just vanished around the corner when strong arms wrap around you. Mingyu must have followed, must have been watching from the door, must have seen it happen.

You’ve been trying to make space, you’ve been trying to stay away, but you’re buzzed and you’re sad and you’re weak. So, you turn in his arms, burying your face in his shirt and letting yourself cry.

He holds you through it, doesn’t say anything to you, just holds on tight until you can breathe again.

“I don’t want you to see this,” you sniffle finally, and he lets his arms drop, stepping back so he can look at you. “This shouldn’t be you.”

“That’s fair,” he murmurs, sounding much more sober than he had inside. “But I’m the one who’s here. Tell me you want me to go, and I will.”

Your heart cracks.

“I don’t want you to go,” you whisper.

“Okay,” he says, wrapping you up again, leaning his chin on the top of your head and swaying you a little bit. “Then I won’t.”

Eventually, you both lay in the grass. You don’t want to go inside, and Mingyu says he doesn’t want to leave you alone in the front yard. Instead, you lay side by side, far enough away that you’d have to stretch to touch. It feels like that night in undergrad, but also completely opposite. In your memories of that night, you felt warm and good like your place in the universe was guaranteed, your cog in the great machine fitting perfectly and spinning without difficulty. Tonight, you feel off, cold and angry, like your piece has been displaced and can’t fit anywhere anymore.

“I’m sorry,” Mingyu says, breaking the silence. “I didn’t mean to make problems for you guys.”

“I know you didn’t,” you allow.

“It was just us being us,” he says, a bit defensively.

“Yeah,” you say slowly. “I think that was the problem.”

He has nothing to say to that.

Daeyoung calls you, much later, when you’re back inside and tucked in your bed.

“Were you sleeping?” he asks.

“Of course not,” you say. “I’m lying awake agonizing over you storming out on me.”

He laughs quietly, and you feel hope bloom behind your ribs. Is this salvageable?

“I might have overreacted,” he admits. “It’s easy to be intimidated by that guy.”

That guy again. What is it with these two?

“You shouldn’t be,” you tell him. “He’s an idiot.”

Daeyoung laughs again. “So am I,” he says.

“You don’t need to worry about him,” you say. “I’ve been really trying to adjust the boundaries of our friendship, and it’s a big change from how we used to be. Usually we do better… Like I said earlier, he was drunk. He just forgot himself, went back to how things used to be.”

Daeyoung is quiet for a second. “I should have let you explain yourself before I left,” he says evenly.

“I’m sorry I put you in that position in the first place,” you counter. “I didn’t mean to. I’m in this with you, Daeyoung. I promise.”

“I know,” he admits. “I know you are.”

You smile into the phone. “Our first fight.”

He laughs again. “Hopefully not one of many.”

“Eh,” you say. “It’s normal. Anyway, I’m glad you called. I would have been a mess waiting to hear from you. Might have embarrassed myself blowing your phone up.”

“Maybe I should have let you embarrass yourself,” he teases.

“It’s like that, huh?” you joke.

“Yes,” he sniffs. “Until I feel better.”

When you finally hang up, you creep through the apartment to pee before trying to sleep. You notice Mingyu’s light is on, though his door is shut. You pause, looking at that sliver of light, and then continue on back to your own bed.

–

July

“Move over!” you giggle, using your hips to scoot Daeyoung out of your way, a wooden spoon in your hand. The simmering stew on the stovetop smells delectable, and you give it a stir, make sure nothing is stuck to the bottom of the pot.

“Ask nicely!” he retorts, but he’s smiling.

Mingyu watches the scene covertly from the couch, trying to keep his face neutral, trying to keep his face tilted towards the tv so he doesn’t get caught watching. Or worse, caught sulking.

You and Daeyoung eat and wash up most of what you used to cook, offer the leftovers to anyone around to hear you (so, just Mingyu), and then leave, giggles and flirting dissipating and leaving Mingyu in a quiet that he absolutely can’t stand.

When you return the next day, trying to look nonchalant with your overnight bag clutched in your hands, Mingyu is at the kitchen table, eating some of the leftovers and watching videos on his phone.

“Hey,” he greets you, pausing the video.

You give your overnight bag a light toss; it lands with a thump over near the couch. “Hey yourself,” you say, heading into the kitchen for a drink. “The food’s good, right?”

“Yeah,” he admits. “Your man can cook, huh?”

“Hey!” you object. “I did most of the work!”

“Hmm,” he says, rising and coming into the kitchen to rinse his plate.

You cross your arms, eyes narrowing. “Hmmm what?”

He shrugs teasingly. “We’ve lived together a long time, Sunny. I have a hard time believing you’re the chef in that relationship. You never helped me cook anything.”

Your eyes narrow even more. “You never asked me to,” you retort, suddenly defensive. “There’s a lot of things I do with Daeyoung because you never asked me to.”

Silence falls on the kitchen like a rockslide.

Mingyu takes one very careful step backwards. “Because I never asked you to?” he echoes, his voice shaking just slightly.

Your pulse races, and you fight a wave of nausea. A Freudian slip if there ever was one.

“That you never asked me to,” you amend firmly.

Mingyu hesitates. Then, “I don’t think that’s what you meant.”

That defensiveness moves inside you like a thing alive, your temper flaring in an effort to protect you.

“Don’t tell me how I feel,” you snap, suddenly pissed.

Mingyu doesn’t rise to the bait, doesn’t match your temper at all. Calm and steady, he says, “So then you tell me. How do you feel, Sunny?”

That rockslide hits you. You can’t breathe, too bruised by the onslaught. All the years of secrets and feelings and broken rules and truths that you knew but pretended not to spill around you, impossible to escape.

“You don’t get to ask me that,” you hiss at him. “Not now. That’s not fair.”

His calm cracks, just slightly, his tone going hard. “What are you talking about?”

“Why now, Mingyu?” you demand. “Why now, when I have someone? Why not any of the years before now, when I was only yours?”

You’re breathing hard, having spat the words like they’re venom, and you wait him out. He blusters, splutters, has nothing to say to this.

Your temper pulls you like a wave, a momentum you can’t fight.

“You don’t know the answer?” you ask sarcastically. “That’s fine - I can tell you: because you had me. You had me, and you didn’t need to share me, and you could still do whatever - or whoever! - you wanted and I’d still fucking be here afterward.”

You know exactly the moment you start crying through the words, because Mingyu’s body jolts, like he instinctively moved to touch you but remembered to stay back.

“And now?” you continue, because you’re on a roll, everything you’ve held in for years finally bursting from you with the fury of a cracked dam. “Now that’s changed. So, what is it? You want your toy back now that someone else is playing with it?”

“Of course not-”

“Fuck you, Mingyu! You sat me on the shelf for too long. I don’t deserve that.”

“Sunny, no,” he tries again. “It isn’t like that. I lo-”

“Yes, it is!” you shout. You’ve never shouted at him in your life, and it actually shuts him up. Tears are still streaming down your face, but you ignore them. “It is, and until you see that, I can’t expect you to change it or fix it.”

You start to storm past him, but you whirl on him, a finger pointed in his direction. “And don’t you dare try to tell me you love me!” you add furiously. “No you don’t. Not the right way, not like this.”

And then you slam out of the apartment, barely remembering to grab your keys off the hook as you go.

–

[5:22pm] You: if i send you a list of what i need, can you please put a bag together for me and leave it in the hall

[5:22pm] (jeong)Han Solo: :( sunny

[5:22pm] You: hannie please??? i can’t go inside. i really can’t.

[5:23pm] (jeong)Han Solo: he’s a fucking wreck

[5:23pm] You: i don’t care

[5:24pm] You: i mean of course i fucking care that’s the whole problem

[5:24pm] You: please? my things?

–

August

August 3

[10:02am] Mingyu: sunny please talk to me

[12:17pm] Mingyu: please let me apologize to you

[12:17pm] Mingyu: i dont want to do it over text but you wont answer my calls and no one seems to know where you are

[12:22pm] Mingyu: you were right. about all of it.

[12:22pm] Mingyu: and you were right that you dont deserve it

[12:22pm] Mingyu: please call me back or come home so i can say this to your face

[5:38pm] Mingyu: there’s one part you were wrong about

[5:38pm] Mingyu: i do love you. the right way. maybe it took losing you to someone to get my ass moving but i loved you way before he was in the picture

[5:38pm] Mingyu: dont ever question that again

[11:04pm] Mingyu: god, sunny, answer your phone!

August 4

[7:43am] Mingyu: you’re killing me

[7:43am] Mingyu: are you happy sunshine???? KILLING ME!!!

[1:36pm] Mingyu: come home

[1:36pm] Mingyu: please

[8:02pm] Mingyu: we HAVE to talk about this, sunny

[11:51pm] Mingyu: i’m not going to give up

[10:23am] (jeong)Han Solo: are you staying with daeyoung for a while?

[10:23am] You: no. my mom’s.

[10:23am] (jeong)Han Solo: ok. im glad you’re with someone who can care for you.

[10:23am] (jeong)Han Solo: we miss you :(

August 5

[8:00am] Mingyu: fine, i’ll say everything over text like an asshole

[8:00am] Mingyu: just know you made me do this!

[8:04am] Mingyu: i fell in love with you in undergrad when you had to take that statistics class that you almost failed. when you saw your midterm score was passing you told me i love you for the first time and i swear to god i almost proposed to you right there. And it never went away. It was never less.

[8:08am] Mingyu: i love you because you wield your attitude like both sword and shield. I love you because you can barely count but you make me feel so stupid sometimes with how clever you are. I love you because you’re beautiful and funny and empathetic and you make me want to be better than i am. I want to be more competent for you, to be able to take care of you and provide for you when you need it. I love you because when i’m sick you take care of me and you let me take care of you when you’re down too. I love you because when i’m with you i feel like someone’s GOT me, someone understands me and has my back.

[8:09am] Mingyu: i cant believe youre making me say this all in TEXT i hate this!

[8:10am] Mingyu: i have more. I have a hundred more reasons.

[8:10am] Mingyu: come home so i can tell you

[11:58pm] Mingyu: goodnight sunny baby. Please come home soon.

You show up to Daeyoung’s unannounced. His face is grim when he opens the door; you haven’t answered his calls or texts in a few days, either. He probably knows what this is.

“Hi,” he says, stepping backwards to make room for you in his doorway. “This is a surprise.”

“I’m sorry I vanished,” you tell him. “Something happened. I’ve been at my mom’s.”

He eyes you warily, like he’s not sure if this is a I got in a car accident kind of something, or a I cheated on you kind of something, and he doesn’t want to react for the wrong one. “Okay…” he says slowly.

“Daeyoung,” you say, after taking a breath to steel yourself, “I care about you, and I like you, and I have real feelings for you.”

“I sense a but,” he says dryly.

You smile sadly. “But I dont think this is fair to you. I shouldn’t be with someone - anyone - until I’m over him or he’s out of my life… and I can’t seem to make either of those things happen.” You don’t need to say which him. You both know. “I wanted to. I wanted to do it right and I thought I was… but I was wrong.”

He shrugs, face blank. “Okay.”

“Daeyoung.”

“What do you want me to say?” he asks, frustration seeping into his tone. “I can't argue with any of that. I can’t change it for you. I can’t be better than him, I can't become him. You’re right, you shouldn’t be with someone else if what you really want is that guy.”

That guy. Again.

“You’re right,” you whisper, looking at your feet.

He lets out a breath. “So, it’s done then?”

You nod miserably. “Yeah. I’m sorry, Daeyoung. I hope someday you can believe that this isn’t how I wanted it to go. You deserve better.”

He doesn’t answer, doesn’t let you go out with any optimism. You and your misery trudge back to your mother’s, fall asleep in your childhood bed.

August 6

[8:00am] Mingyu: good morning ☀️

[8:00am] Mingyu: i have more things to say today

[8:00am] Mingyu: i will give you two 2️⃣ minutes to respond or you get it all thru text AGAIN

[8:00am] Mingyu: and you know how i feel about that.

[8:03am] Mingyu: fine.

[8:03am] Mingyu: you’ve always been so fucking stubborn sunny. just let me apologize to you!

[8:05am] Mingyu: i’m sorry i kept you on hold

[8:05am] Mingyu: you’re right. that’s what was happening. but i didn’t MEAN it like that.

[8:05am] Mingyu: idk if you believe me bc i can’t see your face 🙄

[8:06am] Mingyu: but its true. I just… liked how things were. Youre right… i counted on you always being there waiting for me.

[8:06am] Mingyu: i thought it was okay though… i thought if you wanted it to change you had the power to change it

[8:07am] Mingyu: like, you could have said something to me.

[8:07am] Mingyu: and i dont mean that like its your fault or anything, it was just how i rationalized it to myself. Like if you werent complaining then it must be fine?

[8:09am] Mingyu: i’m an idiot

[8:14am] Mingyu: but i’m an idiot who loves you, and misses you, and wants to do better

[11:59pm] Mingyu: please come home

[12:32pm] You: i broke up with him.

[12:32pm] (jeong)Han Solo: !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

[12:32pm] (jeong)Han Solo: are you okay???

[12:32pm] (jeong)Han Solo: come home so we can take care of you!!

[12:58pm] You: i cant face him. not yet. im not ready

August 7

[8:00am] Mingyu: good morning sunny ☀️

[8:00am] Mingyu: i’m sorry i took you for granted. even if we walk out of this only trying to repair the friendship, i swear i’ll never let it happen again.

[11:58pm] Mingyu: goodnight sunshine. I love you.

August 8

[8:00am] Mingyu: good morning sunny ☀️

[8:00am] Mingyu: dont work too hard today

[8:00am] Mingyu: dont take any shit from marcus in accounting

[12:12pm] Mingyu: having lunch. call me if you want? it doesnt have to be heavy. Just hello.

[12:39pm] Mingyu: i need you back sunny. in whatever capacity youll let me have.

[11:57pm] Mingyu: hope you had a good day. Goodnight, i love you.

August 9

[8:00am] Mingyu: good morning sunny

[11:58pm] Mingyu: please. Please come home.

–

When you return home, a week after you left, it’s nearly dawn, the light from outside the living room just turning blue enough that you can see the outlines of the couches as you close the door as quietly as you can.

You step lightly, avoiding the spots you know will creak and groan when you step over them. You peer down the hallway to see that the guys’ doors are all shut, no lights on - not even the blues of Wonwoo’s computer monitor.

You open your door and look around; your room looks exactly how you left it, down to the glass of water on the nightstand, now nearly empty. Except… the blankets on the bed are wrong. You set your bag down gently next to your dresser and creep closer, squinting through the dimly lit room.

A dark head of hair peeks out from under your comforter.

You can’t help it - you smile to yourself. For all the things Mingyu is - intelligent, funny, athletic, competent - he’s also a big baby. And he’s sleeping in your bed, because he misses you, and it comforts him.

It makes you want to forgive him for every wrong, press your lips to his sleepy forehead, listen to him lisp out Sunny Baby.

He hurt you, it’s true. But you believe it that he was lying to himself, pretending things were fine. Weren’t you doing the exact same thing? You can’t hope Daeyoung will forgive you for your mistakes if you aren’t willing to do the same, too.

You close your bedroom door and approach your bed. Mingyu stirs, making cricket legs under the blanket and stretching one arm towards the empty side. Towards you, though he doesn’t know it yet.

Then he freezes. His voice comes out paper thin. “Sunny?” he asks, pushing himself to sitting.

“This is not your bed,” you tell him, and he launches himself across the mattress, scrambling to reach you.

You allow him to wrap his gangly arms around your middle, pulling you to him as apologies pour over his lips so fast that he’s nearly babbling.

“Okay, okay,” you laugh, pushing at his shoulders. You back away and he follows like he’s tethered to you, clambering from the bed and standing before you.

For a moment, you just stare at each other through the thick blue of encroaching dawn.

And then he says your name.

Not Sunny. Not Sunny Baby. Your real name.

“I am so sorry - for everything,” he says, the ache in his voice clear and open. Then he drops his voice to a pained whisper. “Please. Tell me I can fix it.”

You press your lips together, looking at him. He looks awful - like he hasn’t slept much, or been eating well. You feel a little bad that you stayed away for so long, but you’d needed the time by yourself. You’d needed the clarity of being alone to figure out what you want.

“I think we can,” you whisper back, since the rest of the apartment is still sleeping. We, because this was on both of you.

He crushes you in a hug, surrounding you in the smell of cinnamon, his cheek pressed to your head. “I’m sorry,” he breathes into your hair. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, please let me try and do better.”

“I broke up with Daeyoung,” you respond, and he snaps his mouth shut, stepping backwards to stare at you.

“Why?” he asks finally, hoarse, like he can barely get the word out.

You look up at him. “Because it wasn’t right to be with him. It wasn’t right to be with him when I’ve been in love with someone else the whole time.”

He closes his eyes, his whole body seeming to sag.

“I forgive you,” you say quietly, “and I do believe that things will be better now. If we talk about it - if we’re working together to make it better.”

“Yes,” he says quickly, desperately. “I will - I’ll do whatever I need to -”

“Both of us,” you say again, emphatically. “You were right, this wasn’t just your fault. I let this go on for… years. I counted marks against you but I never once spoke up.”

“No,” he protests, shaking his head. “It was my fault, Sunny, I took it for granted and I should have been loving you, spoiling you -”

You laugh. “I mean, maybe,” you say. “But if I’d talked to you… maybe you would have been.”

“I want to now,” he says. “Can I? Will you let me?”

You smile up at him, and he grins back, taking your smile as an answer.

You reach up and touch his eye-tooth gently with a fingertip. “Your stupid fang is so fucking cute,” you whisper. “It is truly unfair how cute it is.”

He pretends to scowl at you. “We’re having a serious moment, here, Sunshine.”

You smile again, gentler this time. “I love you,” you tell him. “If you want to prove you can do this right… then I’m all in.”

He whispers your name again, then looks at you.

His eyes are molten again, the way they were the night you’d had your only kiss. It’s almost hypnotizing, the strength of his gaze on you, pulling you in wordlessly until your body is flush with his. You look up at him, breathless.

“I’ll start proving it now,” he murmurs, so low you barely catch it, and then his mouth snags on yours, forceful, his hands cupping your jaw gently, a juxtaposition.

He touches you so tenderly, his fingers feather-light against the skin they uncover as you undress each other in hushed silence. It feels holy, somehow.

He licks spices and heat into your mouth, trails calloused fingers down your bare arms, pulls your hips into his as his teeth trace down your jaw, makes sure you feel his want for you.

You slide your hands from his waist up his stomach and over his pecs, revelling in how he hisses and leans into the touch.

“Wanted to do this for years,” he grumbles, like he’s complaining, before lowering his lips to your chest, sucking on supple skin to see how you like it, then doing it harder when you dig your fingers into his shoulders, gasping at the sensation.

“Should’ve,” you scold, even as your eyes close and your head tilts back. “Could’ve been.”

But you aren’t thinking about your wasted time when he kneads both hands in the meat of your ass, or when you slide a flat palm up the length of him, delighting in the weight and heat you find straining against his Calvins. You’re thinking about how his hands are searing, about how you want to taste him but maybe not yet, not this first time. You’re thinking about his fingers sliding between your legs and the belly-deep rumble he makes when he feels how ready you are for him.

And when you finally come together, his mouth pressed to yours as he lays you back on the bed you’ve shared countless times, you’re only thinking about him and his beautiful smile and molten eyes and infectious laugh and empathetic heart. When he’s pushed as far into you as your bodies will allow, his hips tight against you and a whine slipping between his lips, you’re overcome with emotion. As you adjust to him, his eyes trace your face, and he reads what’s there with perfect clarity.

“Love you, Sunny Baby,” he whispers into the crook of your neck.

You swallow against the thick rise of feelings and run your fingers through his hair. “Move for me,” you beg. And when he does, it’s just as perfect as the rest of him.

You press your forehead to his when you come, his thumb rough on your clit and his mouth gasping broken breaths against your lips, pulsing around him in waves so dizzying you think they trigger even more. His hair sticks to his forehead as he presses deep inside you, and he shelters you between mountainous arms as he finally lets go.

Mingyu is sunrise, leaking orange and pink and yellow and white and chasing away a world of purples and blues. He’s so bright you have to squint, a promise of a fresh start, an end to the darkness of night.

He’s perfect. He’s perfect, and you love him, and finally you can have him.

You lay in his arms, heartbeat slowing bit by bit, and feel wholly at peace - like everything finally settled into place, everything landed exactly as it was meant to. Your cog in the universe, spinning correctly at last, grooves fitted perfectly to Kim Mingyu’s.

The peace lasts…. until you check your phone.

[8:26am] (jeong)Han Solo: when you two are DONE…. we went out for breakfast if you want to join 🙄

—

November

“Baby,” Mingyu says, but it’s stern. “Quit fixing the pillows.”

“It has to be perfect in here!” you whine.

Mingyu wraps his arms around you like a cage, squeezing until you’re laughing too hard and drop the throw pillow from your hand.

“They lived with us for years,” he says, entirely too rationally. “You can’t fool them.”

He releases his hold on you so you can turn and pout at him. You’re about to protest - argue that it’s Jeonghan and Wonwoo’s first time visiting you and Mingyu’s new place, that this is momentous, a special occasion - but you’re cut off by an obnoxiously outlandish knock on the front door.

“I’ve got it,” Mingyu tells you. “You just try to relax.”

You will, in just a second. But first, you lean over to the candle you have burning on the coffee table and adjust it just slightly to center the label, which reads Fall Harvest and Cinnamon.

thank you so much for reading!!!!

2K notes · View notes

likesomeoneinlovee · 4 months ago

Text

𝐒𝐥𝐢𝐩𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐲 𝐖𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐖𝐞𝐭

Pairing: Joel Miller x F!reader

Summary: Joel jerks off to the knowledge of you taking a bath after waking up with a hard on.

Warnings: Male masturbation, pervy ass Joel, you are unaware that the horny old man is jerking off! Joel calls himself daddy, [ Under water ] Unprotected PIV, No foreplay no nothin just straight up fuckin’. Dirty talk. No beta, ya girl dont got TIME!

A/N: This has been rotting in my drafts so I just thought I’d wrap it up and post it while im sleeping over my grandmas 😒 ALSO IK I JUST POSTED DAMN.

Wc: 2,070

Joel didn’t remember falling asleep like this.

How the thin sheet he had wrapped himself in now formed a tent over his thighs.

Oh, fuck.

Morning– or, I guess for him it was afternoon wood. Off from work the idea of a nap sounded mouthwatering for once, the way his back sunk into the mattress no matter how firm it actually was. Feathery softness of the pillow behind his head. He hadn’t even bothered to much as wash his hands let alone take a shower.

Now aware, sentient his mind came to that familiar feeling of the need to plunge his cock into his fist. Shaft sticking straight up with his tip pushed against the cotton of his briefs. Leaking.

“Goddamn– fuck.”

It wasn’t ideal.

Neither was the dewiness of the sweat that had seeped uncomfortably into his skin. A musk that steamed off of him.

He threw his legs over the side of his mattress, running worked fingers through his greying curls. Fuckin’ inconvenient. His palm slapped down onto the back of his phone that slept face-down on his end table. Picking it up to check the time.

2:44 PM

Before he left for work it was almost as if he could still hear your sweet voice telling him you were going out with your friend ‘til three. Sixteen minutes until you were back home. Sixteen minutes to jump into the shower and fuck himself. Unfortunately in the literal sense.

He popped up from his bed with a long rumbling moan that followed.

Jesus Christ. He was fucking hard.

It was a heavy footed march towards the bathroom– out his door. Down the hallway. To the door on the right.

The door was closed while he remembered leaving it open. Not that it mattered. Honestly he was so fuckin’ screwed right now he didn’t know his left from his right let alone when or if he actually closed the bathroom door.

He was just about to turn the knob when he heard something.

The grinding squeak of the faucet.

Water pouring out into the tub. Slapping against the pearly porcelain.

Just his fucking luck.

It would figure you’d be home now outta all times. It was out of the ordinary for you to actually come and leave the time you said you would. Joel got lucky sometimes. The days you actually did so.

Today, unlucky. More than usual.

All the while you were meandering around the bathroom. Looking through every cupboard and drawer for things a fifty-seven year old man would never EVER store in his bathroom let alone go out of his way to buy.

But then one pull of the cabinet underneath the sink you saw it, the holy grail of this old man’s bathroom. One singular, milky white bath bomb.

Oh my god. In a home like his it was as if you were a miner who had struck diamond. A rarity, absolute gem.

You picked up the round chalky bulb within your palm, bringing it over to your bath. Using your pointer as a thermometer to check the water. Hot, steaming. Perfect. Stripping yourself from your clothes as you stepped into the tub one leg at a time. Soon enough it was your full body swimming within. Dropping the bath bomb in, biting your lip down to contain the ecstatic smile on your face as it fizzed.

Blissed.

Joel heard all of this.

Shocks wracking to his cock just at the simple sound of the clanks of your belt as it dropped to the tiles of the bathroom.

The water of the tub swishing back and forth as you sunk in. He could only imagine the sight. How much harder he’d be if he got to saw you slippery and wet, your naked body glistening with the hot water of the tub, face flushed from the warmth.

Fuck he’d give anything.

For weeks it was you in his dreams. The girl makin’ his cock stick up every time he woke up. At first the thoughts would make his stomach sink, chest tightening at the thought. He was sick.

He was still sick. Although, he didn’t have the energy to be ashamed.

He moved closer to the door as his breath hit the chipping, white painted wood. His hand moved down to squeeze his dick pulsing in his boxers. Gripping it, fuckin’ hating it for the ruthlessness. The cruelty.

“Oh, baby.”

Whispering to no one as he pulled himself out of his boxers. His tip drippin’ with precum. Eyes screwed shut. Joel Miller was a sore fucker to in his head to tell you how he felt. Although he could easily bounce his fist up and down his stiff cock as you washed your pretty body that he spent his free time watchin’. Craving. Only separated by the door between.

“Fuck. Makin’ daddy’s cock so damn hard you don’t even know.��

Moving lips pressed against the cold door.

“You don’t even know, babygirl.”

No, you didn’t. And if this man wasn’t such a pussy those unspoken fuck-feelings that you damn well both felt for each other wouldn’t have to be so unspoken.

He could tell you. He could tell you how you were gettin’ him harder than any disgustingly vulgar porno could get him. Than any pill he could swallow dry to get his dick workin’ again. The thought of you his own personal Viagra without needing to consume anything.

The mind was a powerful thing.

His fist pumped. Sloppy with himself as he had no need to go at a pace that made sense, that had that rhythm. He didn’t need to give himself that. Twitching as his bulbous head sputtered out slick that trickled down the length.

His throat was tight as his hips jerked. Fuck fuck fuck. Pushing the tip of his cock into the door, already so close as if he had any need to control himself as he was trying to get this done. Get the job finished so he could go back to normal.

Gaudily clutching, hugging his fat dick with his fist. His hips stuttering til–

“Oh, f–fuck–!” Too goddamn loud.

The hand that he had braced against the thick trim surrounding the door now palm his mouth. Oh this was really stupid. He was making it even stupider, riskier.

If he continued to hold this sounds deep within his throat it’d explode. Or– at least it’d feel like that. His balls were drawing up, tightening uncomfortably taut. His pace slopping, slowing as ever quick yank and pull turning into a long, drawn stroke down the length.

Another bubbled up. This time as he reached that peak. Cumming into his palm. Opaque seed spitting out onto the door.

“Sweetie. Fuckin–!”

“...Joel!?”

The curses were the most obvious, seemingly too ashamed to really drive home those so-very-cute pet names as he moaned.

You knew the sound of a moan, though. Maybe you were young but you weren’t a fucking dumbass. The sound of a male orgasm was much different than that ‘I stubbed my toe’ type groan. Even yell.

He felt his cheeks heat up instantaneously. He had no more excuses left in him unless he were to sputter meaningless claims. Begging you to believe he had just stubbed his toe on the bathroom door.

Aftershocks still running through his body in waves. Panting like a dog. Sweating like a pig.

You were basking in the warm water. Your heartbeat took quickly to picking up. Joel Miller. The man old enough to be your fucking father standing outside your bathroom jerking off to the little splashes of the water? Imagining your naked body on the other side.

And you. You were just a girl after all. Couldn’t help the curiosity that pumped in your veins.

“Joel, come in!”

He’d hesitate. How could he not? His breathing still ragged. His cock had hardly even gone soft. But goddamn if he didn’t see you he knew he’d absolutely be killing himself. Turning the knob like heaven was on the other side of it. —For him, it was even better than that. More exciting than eternal life.

The door was kicked open as he singled you out. Staring. Your body was slick as the lighting from the window sheened over your body. He was in there quick. Ripping his briefs off his thighs. By five seconds his cock began to stiffen again. Your tits glazed with the bubbly, soapy water that filler the bath. The normally clear bath water milky, fizz bubbled to the top from the bath bomb that had evaporated as Joel worked himself to his orgasm.

You’ve got his body overworked and you haven’t even touched him yet.

So worked up he forgot he even had his flannel on as he got into the tub. Water that just barely reached the top spilling out onto the tiles, he’d have to wipe that after. The thick fabric of his shirt clinging onto his skin like a fuckin’ lifeline. Hugging the soft muscle.

Stiffed. Once again stiffed. Slapping up against his belly as his hands gripped at your thighs.

“Joel—“ You’d mewl, your fingers digging into his shoulders. He had you.

“This pretty pussy. I ain’t never fuckin’ seen her before.

Why you been so cruel, huh?” He was rambling.

He pushed his head into you. Seeing you stretch out, getting used to the feeling of his tip first. Then he’d slowly let himself sink into your cunt. Gripping your thighs, his hips spasmed.

“Joel!” Another moan. Desperately clinging to him, wet hands placed on his fabric-covered shoulders.

“Got me jerkin’ off out there like a fuckin’ teenager.”

He whimpered, his pace already taking no time to quicken, expeditious and brisk. The man wanted to fuck you senseless. Taking your lips to his, pushing his tongue down your throat. Every moan between the two of you vibrating between your lips. Joel’s cock plunging in and out.

In. And. Out.

Rutting into you with every fiber of his fuckin’ being. He never felt a girl like this— so good, so beautiful and so fucking tight.

Joel Miller has never been so fuckin’ pussy-whipped.

The water of the tub was splashing, spluttering, it was messy. It was quick. Yet he knew afterwards, once the aftershocks yet again dissipated maybe he’d fuck you again. And again. And again—

“God— Fuck yes, Joel! Right there. Right there.”

Nibbling his neck every time his head curved up to kissed that soft spot that made you wanna squeal.

“Daddy’s gonna fuckin’ fill this sweet little cunt.”

He’d moan

“Fuck you S’good.”

His brain was mush. The filthy fucking words uttering from his lips weren’t ones he necessarily put thought into— or, better yet. He put none at all. His thrusts were getting tighter, rigid. His stiffy painful with every clenching, the contraction of the muscles in your hole.

You felt your climax right there. Right. There. Every time his fat dick carved a line right on your cervix you’d cry again, your fingers clawing, ripping down the fabric of his now soaked flannel. He was so practiced. Intently watching the contortions of your face. Your pelvis blew with the intensity of your orgasm, panting into the side of his neck, feeling that familiar euphoria you had always found by the touches of your own hand.

His peak followed close. Spilling his semen into your cunt shamelessly filling you to the brim. He didn’t fuckin’ care about the risks. Not now, definitely not now. All he cared about was how good you felt around him, deep within the hot water of this tub. His tub.

“Oh fuckin’ shit. Baby.”

Momentarily you felt as your eyes would roll back into your skull at the feeling of his cum being beat into your cunt, your orgasm forcing ecstasy making you smile against his neck. His hand braced on your belly, feeling the heat and tightness in your gut settle now that it was all done.

All done?

Miller’s been waitin’ months for this, ain’t no way in hell you were all done. He was gonna make you feel it again. Feel all of it again. Once, twice, three times over— all until you’re squirmy, all until you’re beggin’ him to let you take that breather.

“I fuckin’ love this pussy. Can’t get enough.” He’d drawl.

His face buried into the crook of your neck. Tongue flicking in light, lazy kitty-licks against the skin.

This’ll be lasting til’ the water’s cold.

2K notes · View notes

joelsdagger · 7 months ago

Text

only then, i am good || one shot

joel miller x f!reader

masterlist || ao3 || follow @joelsdaggerupdates for notifs!!

pairing: daddy jackson!joel x f!reader summary: you have a bad day in which it makes you question your worth. only joel can make you see the truth. warnings: jackson era [well into the tlou2 timeline but nothing bad happens], implied age gap [i warn you, joel is old old], angst [in the form of internal turmoil], feelings of guilt/burdening, established relationship, dd/lg dynamics, soft daddy dom!joel, daddy kink, praise kink, size kink, finger sucking, pet names galore [baby, sweetheart, little girl, angel] size kink, reader is hella needy, reader has pubic hair bc i said so, smidgen of cockwarming, just the tip mention, dubcon*, dacryphilia, unprotected piv, nipple play, belly bulge, creampie, joel is reader’s personal weighted blanket, fluff, aftercare. *reader is not in the right headspace to properly consent to piv but she’s a-okay with it! word count: 3.8k

a/n: i’ve been to emotional (and physical) hell and back (are we back? who knows) these last few weeks and it had me yearning for daddy jackson!joel. so this is what this is. it’s a tad different from my typical style of writing and it’s not betaed and very very loosely proofread (barely looked thru it while in the waiting room lol), so it’s probably shit but i hope you enjoy it nonetheless xx

You should’ve double-checked the lock. Triple-checked it. As always. Hand to God, it slipped your mind. You were tired. Achy and sleepy, and you just wanted to go home. Back to Joel. Curl your spent body into the thick, burly warmth of his and let him cradle you until the whole day wipes itself from memory.

You’ve been asking them for more responsibilities — a more serious role within Jackson, for months. After today, you’re sure they’ll never take you seriously. Never see you as one of them. They’re so much older and wiser — experienced. And you…well, you are not.

They never fuck up. Never make mistakes that would risk losing an important asset to this safe haven. And today you have. You fucked up. You don’t know how you forgot. It’s been your only job here, the only thing they let you have, and still — you messed it up.

You forgot to lock the stall door to the stable for one of the horses. And not only did the horse escape but now the town is technically down one patrolman. You have completely thrown off the patrolling schedule, one that was meticulously crafted and has been in place long before you arrived in Jackson. It very rarely changed.

You offered to lend a hand, practically begged them to send you out with the rest of the search party. But Maria, Tommy, and Joel all told you to go home while they sent a group (of which included Joel and Tommy themselves) outside the gates, well past dusk, to go looking for him. You felt entirely useless.

Begrudgingly, you scurried home, a beaten puppy in need of licking one’s wounds. Feeling the weight of the day and the frustration that has accumulated over months suddenly seeping into your bones, and you just…broke. You crawled into bed, alone in the dark, and you cried for hours, your mind spiraled, turning over the mistake you made, again and again and again.

When it stops and the wracking sobs slow into shuddery hiccups, it’s only because you hear heavy footsteps in the hallway. Slow. Tired. But steady — sure. And that nauseating sensation in the pit of your stomach returns as the footsteps grow closer and closer.

The door creaks open slowly, pale yellow light from the hallway spills through the crack, your puffy eyes squint and flutter against the sudden light, shape of him vague in your blurry vision, but you know it’s him: tall frame, broad shoulders, pale skin, and dark features.

Joel.

You curl your body tighter, making yourself as small as possible. Close your eyes, and bury your tear-stained face back into the damp royal blue of his linens, the piney scent of him everywhere: his pillows, his sheets, his mattress, clouding your mind. You hear his footsteps as he rounds the bed, feel him reach over and switch on the lamp beside you. He grunts, his joints creak as you feel his weight sinking the edge of the bed, settling himself down in the ‘c’ shape your body had formed.

“We found him. Fella was out by Hidden Pines,” voice soft, almost cautious.

You nod silently, but you don’t look at him, not wanting to embarrass yourself even more, not wanting him to see how pathetic you look after spending hours upon hours sobbing into the pillows over a mistake you made.

A heavy hand cups your knee over the sheets, thumb stroking bone through the fabric there.

“It wasn’t your fault, baby.” He says, surely.

But you don’t really believe him.

You sniffle and tilt your face away from the tear-soaked pillows just enough so he can hear you. “Yes, it was. I was the last one in there. It’s my job to take the horses back and settle them in for the night. My job to make sure they stay in the stables. It’s been my job, my only job all this time, and I can’t even do that right,” you ramble, voice breaking, bottom lip wobbling, fat tears pricking your red eyes once again.

“No. You listen here,” he says sternly, feeling his body turn beside you, bed covers bunching up around your knees. “You did lock it, but the latch was loose, honey. Tommy and I tried ‘em. They’re due for a fixin’ n’ we should’ve been checkin’ ‘em, but that’s my job, not yours. This wasn’t on you, darlin’. You hear me?”

You avoid his eye and stay furled on the bed. Silence swells between you, and you fiddle with a stray thread in his sheets.

“He wasn’t supposed to take off like that, but he’s a younger horse,” he shrugs, and a sigh falls from his lips. “It happens. Whoever was mannin’ the wall tonight should’ve seen him. Many things were at play, baby. It wasn’t your fault.” He says in a matter-of-fact tone.

Your head snaps over your shoulder in a fury. “I could’ve helped fix it. I could’ve made it right,” you bite, shaky voice laced with venom. You don’t mean for it to sound so harsh, but it manages to stifle the sob that threatens to claw up your throat. And for a second, the irritation in your voice doesn’t rattle you until you notice Joel’s shoulders tense, and you regret it immediately.

A whirlpool of emotions swirls in your belly. A weird noise squeaks out from your lips as you try to fruitlessly blink away the sleep and salt in your eyes. You don’t want to cry in front of him. You bury your face into the pillow again, trying to muffle the sob-like groan as you cringe away from Joel, ashamed.

His hand drifts up your thigh, broad palm splayed across your flesh, his touch unwavering. “Sweetheart, the only reason I told you to stay here s’because it ain’t safe out there. The amount of infected may be less this time o’year but the cold…” He trails off, his grip tightening around the meat of your thigh unconsciously, “makes people meaner,” his voice grows unsteady at the thought.

You shiver, and you suspect he feels it. He clears his throat, and tender fingers brush the strands of hair out of your face, then they trail down, and you feel the cold roughness of his skin against the warm softness of yours as his calloused hand cups your jaw, tilting it to face him, forcing you to meet his eyes.

Your eyes pinch shut, and the dam breaks. You can’t bear to look at him. Your heart sits heavy in your chest, feeling the guilt creeping back in at his touch. His hands, usually warm, are now icy cold, and all you can think about is how you are the cause of it. He had been out in the cold longer than he needed to be because of you. You and he both know his worn bones can’t handle it, and yet, he went out there in the dead of winter as nightfall cloaked over Jackson to right your wrong, and it makes you feel terrible.

“Baby. Look at me,” he whispers softly.

You do, and through bleary eyes you meet his weary gaze. His lips are downturned into a frown, and with a twist in his brows, that worry line in the middle of his forehead materializes. You hate being the cause of it. Your heart plops to your stomach, your throat goes thick, something rising at the base of it.

“What do you need, sweetheart? Tell me,” he implores, his voice stern but soft, eyes shifting back and forth between yours — dark amber irises so warm, pleading.

Teach me to be good. “Just you, daddy – just need you,” you blubber, your voice innocent and small. Weak.

He knows exactly what you mean. You have been together long enough that he reads you like an open book. You watch as he wordlessly toes off his boots with a thud. Watch as he moves to stand to unbuckle his belt, dropping it to the floor with a soft clink, his jeans, jacket, and flannel following shortly after. Watch as he shifts onto the bed, bones crackling as he lowers himself and presses his broad form into you, his knees popping as they coax yours open. Watch as one of his hands drifts south between your bodies to grip the thick root of his cock while the other bunches up your nightgown to your navel, revealing your unobstructed cunt to him.

You whimper when the leaky head of his cock notches at the already slippery entrance of your cunt. He glides the wide cockhead between your folds, up and down, up and down, while the warmth of his breath fans across your face when his lips part to murmur, just the tip tonight, baby, s’not a good idea for you to take all o’me right now, alright?

You nod numbly. You don’t care how much he gives you — you just need to feel him. Need him to fix you. Need him to make the hurt you feel inside go away. Need him to search for the good. Maybe it’s there, buried deep in a place only he can find.

His hands find yours, pins them firmly above your head, and with his dark gaze holding yours, he very gently pushes his tip inside your tight, wet hole. His mouth pops open in a deep groan, and you catch it with a soft gasp of your own.

“There you go. S’that feel better, pretty baby?” He murmurs, his jaw ticks, brows twitch.

You nod desperately, your wide, glassy eyes going hooded. Your thighs tense around him, causing a little more of his cock to push inside, making you whimper and squirm beneath him.

“Good. Now just listen to my voice. Just focus on me, right here,” he grunts haggardly, voice so low and commanding. And that alone makes your brain go fuzzy.

You try to focus all your energy on his voice and the heavy weight of him on top of you and the fat tip of his cock stretching your too little hole open, but suddenly, he pulls out, and you almost whine at his absence.

But Joel doesn’t give you enough time.

Your body moves up the bed with a jolt, gasping when his hips push forward with more force, filling your cunt with the head of his cock, and then some more, only to slip out of you again immediately after. He’s toying with you, and he’s doing so because he knows you really need this.

He slips his cockhead gently back inside you, and you whine at the soft squelch your slicken pussy makes. The two of you revel in the lewd, wet sounds that ricochet through the room, all while never breaking eye contact.

“My little girl just needed me to fuck all the bad thoughts away, hm?” he breathes, his nose brushes against yours.

“Mmhm,” you sigh, cunt flittering around him.

“Needed me to stretch out her sweet little hole and make everything better, s’that it?”

You nod frantically, moaning breathlessly.

Joel growls. “Say yes, daddy,” he commands you softly, his fingers squeezing yours.

“Y—ye—yes, d–daddy.” Your words come out broken in between the slow rolls of his hips, but by the smirk that tugs on his lips, you know he’s proud of you anyway.

“Good girl,” he praises, his touch featherlight as his fingers push the stray strands of hair away from your forehead, and the scruff of his chin tickles your nose as he lays an open-mouthed kiss between your furrowed brows.

“But daddy—” you start to protest, scrunching your nose.

Joel harrumphs as he pulls back. All of his features pull into a stern look, and to stop you, the pad of his roughened thumb sweeps across your cheek and sinks between your parted lips.

“Na-uh. No fightin’ with daddy,” he presses gently.

By instinct, your lips close around his digit, sucking it into your mouth and swirling your tongue around the thick of it, tasting the salty, woodsy flavor of him, and it only feeds the foggy haze in your mind more.

Spit pools at the corner of your lips. His thumb moves in and out of your mouth, matching the rhythm of his thrusts as he fucks his cockhead in and out of your hole. Your mind begins to blur, but there’s still a storm stirring in your swollen eyes, and Joel, as always, can see it.

“Alright, this ain’t workin’,” he sighs exasperatedly.

And you think he’s utterly fed up with you not obeying him. He unsticks his body from yours, and your eyes search his face — the lines beside his eyes, the hairs in his brows, the muscles around his lips — trying to decode the emotion that flits across his features. Though, as expected, it’s near impossible to read him. Joel may have been able to crack you open, and although the years he has spent in Jackson have managed to soften him up — tiny cracks in his stony exterior over time — he remains inscrutable.

For a moment, you think he’s going to scold you. Tell you you’re no good for him anymore. You wouldn’t blame him. You can’t seem to do anything right. Maybe he thought he wanted to take you apart, bit by careful bit. But what if he peered through the gap and saw something he didn’t like? What if he had a change of heart — now that he stepped back and assessed the damage? What if the severity of it was too much to mend? Burden too heavy to carry. He doesn’t deserve that. He deserves someone good. Someone not in need of fixing. Someone unbroken.

But Joel surprises you. His hand retracts from your face, and instead wraps his arm around your middle, maneuvering you onto his thighs so you're straddling him. His free hand fists the hem of your nightgown, and in one swift motion, tugs the fabric over your head and tosses it aside to join his pile of clothes on the floor. His heavy hands find your waist once again, and with the head of his cock still buried deep in between your legs, he sits up and back against the headboard, grunting a low, alright, c'mere, as he takes you with him with ease.

You cling to him like a koala, body putty and pliant as he brings your weak arms to wrap around his neck. And then, a firm hand moves to cradle the back of your neck, lets you nuzzle your wet face into the dip in his shoulder, and breathe in the comfort of his scent while his other traverses the line of your spine.

Slow but steady, Joel bucks his hips up, up, up, until the entirety of his thick length works its way into the slick slide of your cunt. Your soft thatch of curls meets his, softly grazes your clit, and you writhe in his arms, sniffle, and whimper brokenly against his shoulder, but sure, gentle hands pull you into his chest tighter. You feel the strong drum of his heart against yours, thrumming against each other: ga-gung, ga-gung, ga-gung, pace quickening, like they're trying to catch up, trying to sync. Your body melts into his. Skin to skin, heart to heart, heat of your cunt to the heat of his cock; and then suddenly, two become one.

“Shh, shhh, I know, baby, I know. You got it,” he whispers, as he begins to rock you back and forth, back and forth, lulling you gently back into the haze, and everything finally fades away.

He presses a kiss right behind your ear. “Therrrre we go, just take it, good girl,” he murmurs as a heavy hand pets your hair. And whether he’s talking about his cock or his praise, you obey regardless. Your cunt sucks the heat of his cock in deep. Let him fuck himself into you; let his warmth smolder you until your cunt ignites. Let it roar and burn and spread through your system like wildfire. Let him make you good.

The tips of his fingers move through your hair in small ministrations, gently scratching away at your skull. “Daddy—s–so big—” you whimper, your fingers pulling the hair at the nape of his neck, tears welling up in your eyes as something low in your belly begins to churn.

“Shhh, angel, it’s okay. I know, s’a lot,” he soothes, feeling his deep voice reverberate against your chest. Your cunt contracts at his praise, and the steady pace of his hips falters briefly; he groans deeply when he feels his tip choked tight within your walls, “you’re doin’ so good for me, sweetheart, so good.”

He continues his shallow thrusts while he rocks you in his arms. There’s a low static buzz in your ears, but you can still hear the perverse chant that manages to fall from your lips — one that grows louder with every roll of his hips, daddy, daddy, daddy, daddy. And in turn, he murmurs incessant blabbers of, you’re okay, angel, daddy’s here, daddy’s gotcha, into your hair, punctuating every one of his words with a soft kiss to your temple and a slow buck of his hips.

The tip of his cock nudges that soft ridge deep inside you, and he feels your cunt flutter around him. “You gonna come for me, angel, hm? You gonna be a real good girl for daddy and let me feel this drippy little pussy come all over me?” He coos.

“Uh-huh,” you murmur.

Deft fingers curl around the back of your neck, and with the slightest of pressure, he squeezes once, gently instructing you to use your words. A silent command.

“Y-yes, daddy, I prom–I promise, I wanna be good. I wanna be good,” you mewl.

His nose drags along the side of your face, down, down, down, until his heated lips meet your pulse point. “Go on, baby, let go n’ get daddy all messy. Show daddy how good of a girl you are,” he rambles, his voice a low vibration, goosebumps prickling in its wake.

With your tight cunt full and impaled on his cock, your clit throbs, eager for more friction. You rut your hips against his, humping him like a dog in heat as you rub your puffy pearl against the graying curls there, smearing him in your slick just as he insisted.

And within seconds, your body constricts, navel pulls taut, and then something fiery in your belly erupts. Your body begins to tremble as stars burst behind your eyelids, liquid heat turns your mind and body molten, melting away completely with the force of your release.

“Daaaddy,” you cry, lips quivering. Your muscles go lax, and your body slumps in his hold, feeling the last of your energy leaving you. Your head lulls back, and his hand slides up the base of your neck in time to catch it in his massive palm.

He clutches you tight, marveling at your fucked-out form in his arms while babbling praises of, ohhh–that’s it, that’s it, good job, baby, such a good fuckin’ girl— daddy’s so proud of you, as warm tears roll down your face. And it only spurs him on.

His languid strokes speed up, your body jolts above him violently, weeping cunt fluttering repeatedly around him. Your mouth falls open, wanton moans escape past your parted lips as he fucks you harder. “Christ, that’s it, that’s my girl. Look at you, perfect little thing,” he pants, coaxing you through your orgasm.

His eyes drop quickly to watch the bounce of your tits, nipples peaked and gleaming with beads of sweat. He dips his head to one sticky breast, and with a flick of his hot tongue, he laps up the salt on your skin.

It elicits a sharp gasp from you, your chewed fingernails desperately trying to claw at him, your body arching against his mouth, and you feel him grin against the curve of your breast. His mouth drifts, wraps his whiskered lips around your other swollen nipple, tongue swirls the pointed bud, teasing you with a graze of his teeth across the wet peak before nipping it, tugging the stiffened point ever so slightly between his teeth.

“Daddy–oh!” You choke on a moan, and your spent pussy clenches around him so tight, your cunt is almost forcing him out. His hips buck into you harder in response, his thrusts growing more erratic as he seeks his own release.

Joel hisses, mouth releasing your tit with a wet pop, “sweet Jesus, m’gonna give it to you real good, baby—like you deserve, fuck—”

He's cut off by the strangled groan that rips through his chest, his back arches off the headboard, and you feel him twitch. His grasp on your enervated form tightens, and then a blazing heat spreads inside you. His sweaty forehead falls to your dampened chest, the swell of your breasts cushioning the drop of his head, his body convulsing as he pumps upwards into your core. Cock pulsing and spasming within your walls as he continues to spill inside you, your belly swelling and set to burst full of his seed.

Joel slumps back against the headboard, his arms loosen, but they don’t release you, just holds you there on top of him as he presses hasty kisses and whispers shaky sweet nothings into your hair while his hot seed dribbles out around his length, turning the hair at the root of his cock into a pool of sticky milky white.

You don’t know if it’s minutes or hours that pass by as you stay limp in his lap, breathing in the sweat and sex on his skin as you snuggle back into his neck, the heat a low simmer. But when he runs a warm, wet rag between your legs and uses the same one to wipe your mixed wet off of his shaft before he tucks you in with a peck to your lips, the tip of your nose, a long kiss to your forehead, and lays himself on top of you with the full weight of him, pulling the comforter up to trap the heat of your bodies between you, sore cunt plugged with his softened cock once more, you know that he makes you feel whole. Not ruined or broken. Not stupid or useless or helpless. And in truth, it's all you’ve ever known with him.

As you slip gently into the waiting black, small fingers that draw circles into his silver curls come to a slow, you think you hear a quiet sigh — feel his lips lazily form around the words against your tacky skin — something of, you are good, angel tucked away into the valley between your naked breasts like a secret. And you think you believe him, and for now, that’s enough for you.

#i'm fighting for my life so if anyone sees my husband tell his ass to come home asap!!!!#anyway this goes out to my homies who are perfectionists who think the world will implode over one small mishap #it won't and ily ❤️‍🩹#joel miller #joel miller x reader #joel miller x f!reader #jackson!joel x reader #joel miller fic #joel miller smut #joel miller fanfiction #the last of us fanfiction #daddy!joel #tw daddy kink #game joel miller #game joel #game joel miller fanfiction #pixel joel #game joel smut #noelle's workshop

3K notes · View notes

skzdust · 6 months ago

Text

Rock Will Never Die

Pure smut. MINORS DNI.

This took me almost three weeks. The season's greetings has been eating me alive. So. Omegaverse rock band ateez. 6.7k words of it, which is by far my longest smut. Please enjoy <3

Big thanks to @kpop---scenarios, who helped me decide which members were alphas/betas/omegas, and for generally helping on this one!!! I appreciate you sm!!

Update 2.26.25: Sequel! Go check out Whatever Will We Do?

Update 3.31.25: Second sequel! Go check out Worth It!

Summary: Y/n, manager of rock band Ateez, is out of heat suppressants after a show. Luckily, all 8 members of her band are there to help.

Pairing: Ateez x reader

Includes: omegaverse, LOTSSSSS of smut, porn without plot, omega reader, spitroasting, double penetration, knotting, unprotected sex (you did not come here for sex ed but please be safe irl!!!)

Word count: 6.7k

Taglist (Comment on a post/send an ask if you'd like to be added): @weirdowithaphone, @caught-in-the-afterglow, @palindrome969, @skzstan12345, @katsukis1wife,

@hyunjinsjeans, @somethingkindazainy, @silverstarburst

Network:@mirohs-aurora-society

Reblogs, likes, comments all appreciated!!!

Masterlist

-----

You bit your lip as you pawed through your bag, looking for your suppressants. You could taste blood before you found the little orange bottle. You pushed down on it, opening the lid, and—

Empty. Not a single pill left.

“Fuck.” You whispered. “Fuck, fuck, fuck.”

“What’s wrong?”

You turned around. Mingi was standing there, freshly showered in grey sweatpants and a blue T-shirt, a concerned look on his face.

He looked so fucking good, you restrained yourself from jumping at him then and there. You could feel yourself getting more and more desperate, and you swallowed.

“You smell really anxious.” Hongjoong looked over from where he was relaxing in an armchair, still in his stage makeup and outfit. His striped knit hat was askew on his head.

“I— well—” You stammered. “I’m— God, this is embarrassing.”

“What?” Mingi raised his eyebrows. “It can’t be that bad.”

You gave a small, involuntary whimper. “I’m out of heat suppressants… and there’s one coming on.”

“Well, shit.” Mingi said softly. “That’s not great.”

“And it’s not like you can really stop it once it starts.” Hongjoong said.

“Exactly.”

“Hey, calm down.” Mingi’s voice was soothing. “We’ll find a solution for this.”

“What?” You whined. “I don’t have an alpha, and we’re in a hotel, and I don’t have any of my—” You swallowed. “Er, stuff. What’s the solution?”

Mingi and Hongjoong looked at each other for a long moment. “I mean… we could help you.”

You’d been the manager of Ateez for about a year now. They’d always been incredibly talented, but they’d needed someone with your managerial and business sense to catapult them into the stardom they now enjoyed.

And as their manager, to make sure they maintained that stardom, you had to keep close with them. Ride on the tour bus with them, stay in the same hotel rooms, go to all the same bars and after parties.

(Okay, so maybe you had some personal motives to that, too. Maybe the members of Ateez were the eight hottest men you’d ever seen. Maybe you fantasized about the aspects of them you saw both on and off stage. Maybe you thought about them when you were at home on your heat days, fucking yourself with a toy.)

But you’d never thought you’d be alone in a hotel room with two of the group’s four alphas with no heat suppressants.

Especially not with them offering to help you.

They must’ve noticed your hesitation, because Hongjoong smiled softly. “If you don’t want us to, we don’t have to.”

“No! No, help— help— please help me.” You stammered, then more quietly added, “I need you.”

“Shit.” Mingi said. “You’re all desperate.”

“I’m going into heat.” You huffed. “Of course I’m desperate.”

“No, I know. It’s just hot. You want a knot?”

His teasing sent a wave of arousal through you. “Stop it.”

“I don’t think so.” He smirked. “I like watching you squirm, y/n.”

You could feel slick leaking out of your hole, and you bit your lip.

“Enough, Min.” Hongjoong stood up. “I’m the captain, I’m going first.”

“Aw, but I don’t want to wait.” Mingi pouted.

“Contact the others while I fuck her, then you guys can watch while you all wait your turn.”

You gave a long moan from where you were still crouched beside your bag. Hongjoong looked at you. “Slut. You like the idea of all of us fucking you, don’t you?”

“Yeah.” You nodded. Hongjoong had never talked to you like this before, always sweet and gentlemanly as could be.

“When you text Woo, tell him he owes me.” Hongjoong said to Mingi, but he kept his eyes on you. “She seems to like being degraded, so I won that bet. Get on the bed for me, pretty.”

“Bet?” You obeyed, getting onto the bed.

“Me and Woo have had some money on your kinks.” He said, as if this were a perfectly normal thing to do.

Mingi snickered. “Pervert.”

You were, inexplicably, into this, and Hongjoong could tell it made you hornier. He laughed. “You smell even sweeter. You like that? Me and Wooyoung talking about how we’d like to fuck you?”

“Mhm.” You whined. “Can— um, can…” You trailed off, realizing how desperate your request sounded.

“Use your words.” Hongjoong climbed onto the bed, over you, trapping you beneath him. “What is it?”

“Can you fuck me at the same time?” You whispered.

Hongjoong grinned, turning over his shoulder. “Mingi, you can tell Woo there’s a consolation prize for losing.”

You whined as he looked back at you. “Please, Joong. Alpha. Need you.”

He slid his hand into your hair and pulled you into a searing kiss. “Need you too, pretty. Take all those clothes off, you’re not gonna need them.”

You hurried to obey him, getting your shirt and skirt off as fast as you could.

“Look at your body.” He murmured, his eyes raking over you. “Absolutely beautiful.”

You blushed, more slick leaking out of you. “Please, Hongjoong.”

“Ah-ah.” He raised his eyebrows. “You call me alpha, isn’t that right?”

“Yes.” You whispered. “Please, alpha.”

He smirked. “How can I resist when you ask so nicely?”

You whimpered as his hand came down to rub at your pussy. His touch felt so good, and all you wanted was to whine and rut into his hand, but you restrained yourself.

“So well-behaved.” He remarked, pulling his hand back and rubbing his fingers together, watching your slick drip down his hand. “I just know you’re gonna feel so good around me.” With that, he pushed three fingers inside you, and you moaned.

“Fuck, Hong—alpha.” You breathed. “Feels so good, alpha. I… I want your cock, though.”

“Greedy little thing.” He laughed softly. “You’re gonna fucking get it, aren’t you? So be patient.”

You bit your lip again as he began rubbing his thumb around your clit. “Does that feel good, pretty? Is that what you need?”

You swallowed. It was a trick question, and you weren’t going to answer it.

“Answer me.” He added a fourth finger.

“Ah! Yes, it’s good, but I need more, please, Joong—alpha!”

He sighed. “Can’t even remember what to call me. I guess I just gotta fuck that disobedience out of you, don’t I?”

“Yes.” You squeaked. “Yes, you do.”

Hongjoong pulled down his pants, freeing his hard cock. Your mouth began to water at the sight. He threw them across the room. “Mingi, when are the others coming?” You’d forgotten he was even there.

“Soon, I think.”

You looked over Hongjoong’s shoulder to see Mingi watching you, his phone in his hand, practically drooling.

“Good.” Hongjoong said. “I want to make good on Woo’s consolation prize.”

Fuck. He’d been serious? You couldn’t wait for Wooyoung to arrive.

Hongjoong pushed his cock through your folds, coating it in slick. “So messy, pretty.”

You just watched him, breathing hard.

He lined himself up with your entrance. You could just feel him starting to press himself in when there was the loud sound of a door opening. You, Hongjoong, and Mingi all turned around to look at it.

San and Seonghwa walked in, both dressed in dark t-shirts and sweatpants. San’s eyebrows were raised as he took in the sight. “Oh, look at that, Hongjoong’s about to fuck y/n. What did you say, Mingi? She’s in heat?”

You could hear the smirk in Mingi’s voice. “Yeah, she’s definitely in heat.”

You didn’t even realize you’d started breathing so hard until Seonghwa walked over to you and put a hand over your mouth. “There. You can start, Joongie.”

“Don’t need your permission.” Hongjoong sounded a bit irked, but grinned at Seonghwa as he slid inside you. You moaned long and loud into Seonghwa’s hand. You felt so full… but it still wasn’t enough.

“Fuck me.” You asked, and it came out muffled, but Hongjoong could definitely tell what you meant because he laughed meanly.

“Is there something you want, pretty? Use your words, I can’t hear you.”

“Fuck me, alpha, please.” You tried again, and you could hear Seonghwa’s snicker.

Hongjoong looked up at Seonghwa, pursing his lips. Seonghwa leaned down and gave him a long kiss. You were a little surprised. You didn’t know they did that.

Hongjoong looked at you after a moment. “I guess I can start fucking her now.”

“You should.” Seonghwa took his hand away from your mouth. “She was about to bite my finger or something. She’s so fucking horny.”

You wanted to snap out that you were in heat, of course you were fucking horny, but you held back. You wanted to submit, to be a good girl (to be their good girl) more.

“Fuck.” San said from where he sat on the end of the bed. “Damn, she’s so wet, I call next.”

“I was here first.” Mingi said indignantly.

Hongjoong abruptly pulled his hips back before snapping them back into you. You gave a long moan. This was what you needed, someone to fuck you long and deep and hard, into the mattress, someone to fuck a litter into you, someone to knot you and breed you and—

San cut into your thoughts. “No, I said it first. You and I both know the second someone starts to dominate you you’re gonna want to be a good boy, so shut up before I have to punish you.”

San’s voice was smug, or you thought so, most of the thoughts had left your head as Hongjoong had started to fuck you in earnest. His cock was so big, and so good, and filled you up just right. You couldn’t fucking wait for him to knot you.

Mingi and San went suspiciously quiet. Honestly, though, you didn’t even care who won the argument, who got your body next, so long as they kept going the way Hongjoong was going.

The door clicked open again, and you whined as Hongjoong stopped. “Alpha, can you please— why’d you stop?”

“Wooyoung.” Seonghwa’s voice was practically a purr.

You shivered. Wooyoung.

“Hey, Woo, get over here.”

Wooyoung was in a black satin robe, a sash tied around his waist. His hair was wet, like he’d just gotten out of the shower. He smiled as he saw you. “Oh, God, you’re so gorgeous like this.”

“Right?” Hongjoong thrust inside again. “She feels so fucking tight. Want her mouth?”

Your eyes widened as Wooyoung smiled. “D’you want me, baby?”

“Yes.”

Hongjoong pulled out for a brief moment to readjust, and you whined at the sudden emptiness.

“Shh, pretty, it’s gonna be okay, you’ll be so full soon.” He murmured to you, helping you move so your head dangled over the side of the bed. You looked up to see Wooyoung untying his robe, revealing absolutely nothing underneath. He left it on, untied, as he gently pulled you close to him.

You were practically salivating at this point. His cock looked so good. He was gonna fill your mouth up, and Hongjoong—

Before you could finish your thought, Hongjoong pushed back inside you. You moaned, and Wooyoung took the opportunity to slide into your mouth. “So good for me.” He murmured, holding onto your hair.

It felt so good, being full from both ends. “Fuck me.” You moaned, although it came out muffled and distorted around Wooyoung’s cock. “Fuck me, alpha.”

Hongjoong grunted and began to do as you’d asked, aligning his thrusts with Wooyoung’s so you were pushed back and forth between them.

Through your cock-drunk haze you could hear Mingi whining. Your eyes darted over to him as best you could, only to see San pulling his cock out and slapping Mingi across the face with it before grabbing onto his hair. “Open up, slut.”

Mingi obeyed, his tongue lolling out. San groaned as he started to fuck Mingi’s face. Even just from glimpses you could see San’s cock was huge, much bigger than most betas. It was bigger than some alphas you’d seen, even.

You couldn’t wait for it to fuck you.

Hongjoong noticed. “Like watching Sannie fuck Mingi’s face, pretty?”

You moaned in the affirmative, spit leaking out around Wooyoung’s cock.

“Fuck, so messy.” Wooyoung sighed. “Such a good girl.”

That sent another shiver through you, and you looked up at him through your lashes. He sighed again. “Fuck, keep looking at me like that and I just won’t stop.”

You didn’t want him to stop. You looked at him for another moment before looking back over to San and Mingi, who were still… busy.

Hongjoong and Wooyoung kept going as you watched them. San slapped Mingi, and as you watched his hands drifted down to his lap. San slapped him again. “No, bad boy. You don’t touch that alpha cock. That’s my job.”

“Fuck, San, tell him.” Wooyoung’s fingers tightened in your hair. “Make him be a good boy.”

Wooyoung’s commentary on San and Mingi’s oral was only making you wetter. It was really fucking hot to watch him make Mingi submit, and to see how whiny and teary Mingi got when he was being fucked, even in his mouth. You wondered what he’d look like with a cock at both ends. Like you.

Wooyoung and Hongjoong kept going, kept using you. Your body jerked between the two of them. You were mostly along for the ride. You could feel the slick between your legs as Hongjoong kept fucking into your pussy, and Wooyoung’s hands in your hair turned almost gentle, combing through it as he continued with your mouth.

It was a nice contrast, Hongjoong rutting into you like a feral animal while Wooyoung stroked your hair and shallowly fucked your mouth. You closed your eyes.

You opened them a second later as a loud whimper filled the room. You looked over to see Seonghwa yanking Mingi’s hair back, pulling him off San’s cock. “Sannie doesn’t get to cum yet, he’s not wasting it on you.”

Before you could see what they did next, Wooyoung’s hands suddenly fisted in your hair, pulling you down onto his cock. “Fuck, y/n, I’m gonna cum.” He held you in place, his hips moving madly. He was in your throat at this point, and fuck it felt so good to be so full at both ends, to be used so thoroughly by your band members.

Wooyoung came, and you tried your best to be a good girl, to take it all, to let him use you, but you coughed as he pulled back.

“Good slut.” He whispered, leaning down to peck your forehead.

You looked up at him with glazed eyes. “Good for you?”

“So good for me.” He smiled.

You turned over your shoulder. “Please, need a knot.”

“A knot?” Hongjoong’s smirk was evident even in his somewhat breathless voice. “You want a knot, why not beg alpha for it?”

“Please!” You cried out, uncaring if you woke up the whole hotel. “Please, alpha, need your knot, need it so bad.”

Hongjoong laughed, but it was more of a loud exhale with the effort of his thrusts. “I’ll give you a knot.”

He pushed into you, and you could feel something stretching you wide.

Hongjoong’s knot.

He came, deep inside you, his knot inflating. Wooyoung pressed a hand to your stomach, grinning at the way you felt full. “You really bred her, huh, Hongjoong.”

Hongjoong reached around to hug you. “C’mon, pretty, relax with me.”

You hummed, pliant, laying down with Hongjoong as he curled up on the bed. Wooyoung joined you, pulling a blanket over your connected forms and cuddling into your other side.

“Thanks Woo, thanks, Joong.” You whispered.

“No need to thank us.” Wooyoung kissed your neck, long and leisurely. “Always glad to fuck our favorite girl’s mouth. Whenever you want it.”

Hongjoong moved his leg, readjusting. You held back a moan at the slight motion of his cock inside you. “Yeah, we really should be thanking you, for letting us help you through your heat.”

“It’s not over yet.” You mumbled. “I’ve got a knot in me now, but as soon as it goes down… my heats tend to last some time.”

“Well, luckily for you, there are eight of us.” Hongjoong smiled.

The bed dipped as someone else got on. Wooyoung groaned in protest. “Hwa, let us have our moment.”

Seonghwa laughed softly. “I just wanted to join, not trying to ruin any moments.”

You absently started to stroke Wooyoung’s hair with one hand while you reached out for Seonghwa with the other.

Seonghwa smiled, leaning down to kiss you. “So beautiful, but you’re a needy thing, aren’t you?”

Out of the band’s members, you loved all of them in their own ways, but Seonghwa had always held a special allure. He was incredibly talented. The man played guitar and did vocals, none of the other members filled multiple roles like that. And he was sex on legs when he was onstage, singing duets with frontman San like they were in love. It drove the fangirls insane.

And you, but that wasn’t something you’d wanted to admit until now.

“Needy.” You nodded in agreement.

Seonghwa gave you another, longer kiss. This one was sweet, but it had an undercurrent of seduction that yanked you in and kept you there. He was trying to turn you on again, and though Hongjoong’s knot was still locked inside you, it would not be a difficult task.

“Hwa… Joong’s still inside me.” You whined.

Seonghwa bit your earlobe, making you twitch and gasp and arch your back. Hongjoong’s dick twitched inside you at that, and he groaned.

“Well, as soon as he’s done, it’s my turn, isn’t it?”

The words sent shivers through you. “I thought San and Mingi were arguing about that.”

“They’re still… busy.”

You looked over Seonghwa’s shoulder to see San sitting in the armchair Hongjoong had been in earlier, scrolling on his phone. His legs were spread, and Mingi knelt between them. “Don’t drool on my pants.” San said, his voice bored, but you could see the little smile tugging at his mouth.

“Fuck.” You whispered. “That’s hot.”

“Mingi and San like to be rough.” Seonghwa smiled. “It’s quite fun to watch. You’ll have to join us more often.”

Hongjoong let out a strangled moan as you clenched down on him. You had no idea what they were, you had no idea what you were with them. You did know, however, that you loved them, and they loved you. And now everyone was fucking, you guessed? But whatever. It seemed to work.

And it seemed you’d fit in with them quite well.

But you didn’t dwell on that too long, because when Seonghwa kissed you again, another wave of slick rushed out of you.

“Hongjoong.” You whimpered. “I need— I need—”

“I know.” Hongjoong kissed your neck. Wooyoung joined in, too, licking up the other side. “It’ll go down in just a second, and then Seonghwa can take his turn.”

The phrasing, his turn, turned you on so much. Seonghwa, just like the others, got to use your body. They all would.

You couldn’t help yourself, you rocked your body back onto Hongjoong’s cock. He hissed in overstimulation. You tried to be kind, to think of him, but your body just wanted to be fucked, more and more and more. You just held yourself back.

They kept kissing you for a few more minutes, your body burning, until Hongjoong’s knot started to go down. You whined as he pulled out, suddenly empty. “Seonghwa…”

“I know, baby.” He got his pants off, and you almost started drooling at the sight of his long cock.

Seonghwa slid inside you, and you sighed at the sensation. “Fuck...”

Hongjoong and Wooyoung went off to shower, kissing you one more time before they left. Seonghwa set a languid pace, rolling his hips deep inside you. You were both panting after a few minutes, and you threw your head back. “Need it harder, alpha.”

Seonghwa laughed softly. “Alpha? I’m a beta, baby, but I’m happy to fuck you harder.”

Your cheeks burned with embarrassment. “Sorry, Hwa, I didn’t mean to…”

Seonghwa stopped for a moment to kiss your head. “Nothing to apologize for. If anything, it’s kind of a compliment. But I know you need a knot right now.”

You swallowed, nodding.

Seonghwa thrust into you a few more times before turning over his shoulder with a sly smile. “Mingi, get your submissive ass over here.”

Mingi pulled off of San’s cock, his eyes heavily lidded, spit dripping down his chin. He looked obscene, fucked-out without even having been fucked.

“You heard him.” San patted his cheek just softly enough to be a pat and not a slap. “Get over there.”

“Mhm.” Mingi climbed onto the bed, sitting in front of Seonghwa.

He smiled. “Such a good boy… why doesn’t our good fuckpet satisfy y/n? Give her the knot she needs.” His voice was patronizing, condescending, but based on the significant bulge in Mingi’s pants, he was getting off on it.

Mingi nodded. “Wanna be a good boy for you, sir. Wanna make y/n feel good.”

A shiver ran through you.

“Why don’t you take off your clothes, then, and lay down on your back.” Seonghwa raised his eyebrows. “That’s not a suggestion, Mingi.”

Mingi squeaked, moving faster than you’d ever seen him move to get his pants and shirt off. He propped himself up on the pillows, looking at Seonghwa with wide eyes. You couldn’t take your eyes off of his cock, standing hard and full.

Seonghwa smiled and scratched his head. Mingi leaned into his hand. “Good boy. Y/n, why don’t you come ride him for me?”

You inhaled sharply and pulled away from Seonghwa’s cock, instead positioning yourself over Mingi’s and grabbing onto his shoulder. He looked at you with the most pathetic, desperate expression you’d ever seen. “Please, y/n.”

You sank onto his cock, moaning as every inch of it filled you up. He whimpered as you seated yourself fully on him, staying still for a moment to adjust to his size.

“Go on, baby. Use him.” Seonghwa encouraged, voice smooth as satin.

You took a breath and began to bounce on Mingi’s cock, moaning as he hit that spot inside you with every motion. Like the rest of him, his cock was big, and you were euphoric as you felt it deep inside you.

Seonghwa tilted your head towards him. You didn’t stop fucking yourself on Mingi, but you looked at him.

“Aw.” He simpered. “So sweet. The subs are playing nice. You wanna kiss me, baby?”

You nodded enthusiastically, desperately. “Yes, Seonghwa.”

“Sir.” He reminded you.

“Yes, sir.” You rushed to correct yourself.

“Good.” He murmured, leaning in. He gave you a long kiss that might’ve been sweet if he hadn’t started biting your bottom lip. You moaned into his mouth.

Mingi’s whines were a sweet soundtrack to Seonghwa’s kisses. He sounded so desperate and submissive, a far cry from the Mingi you knew onstage or even off.

“Can Mingi fuck me now?” You whined against Seonghwa’s mouth. “I’m tired.”

“Of course, baby.” Seonghwa helped position the two of you so Mingi could start fucking into you. He rubbed Mingi’s back for a moment before suddenly scratching down his spine. Mingi moaned, arching his back and pushing his cock deep into you.

“Good boy.” Seonghwa whispered. “Y/n wants you to fuck her, so make sure you do a good job.”

Mingi began rutting into you with the same fervor that Hongjoong had, only with a lot more whimpering and big puppy eyes. “Am I doing good for you, sir?”

Seonghwa grabbed Mingi’s hair and forced him to look at you. “Ask her if you’re doing good.” He looked at you. “Baby, be honest.”

“Am— am I doing good?” Mingi’s voice was small.

“So full.” You said, your voice breathy. “So good, Mingi, Seonghwa… Mingi, don’t stop.”

Seonghwa laughed meanly. “For someone with such a nice cock, it’s kind of funny how little Mingi uses it.” He yanked his head back. “He loves being stuffed full so much. So I’m sure this is a nice change of pace for him.”

Mingi looked at him. “She’s so tight… I’m gonna… sir, I can’t last much longer.”

“Knot her. Give her what she wants.” Seonghwa leaned down to speak into your ear. “He’s gonna breed you so full, isn’t he?”

Mingi pushed into you one last time before his knot expanded and you were locked together. You could feel him start to cum inside you, and you whined, shaking as your own orgasm overtook you.

When you came back into reality, Mingi was collapsed by your side, breathing hard. Seonghwa was furiously working his hand on his cock, and you watched, transfixed.

“Good boy, Mingi.” He breathed. “Good girl, y/n. You both did so good for me.”

You made a pleased noise, and that seemed to send him over the edge. He spilled onto his fist, his hips jerking up into it.

“’M sorry I wanted a knot.” You muttered, feeling bad Seonghwa didn’t get to finish inside you.

“Don’t apologize, baby.” Seonghwa said, looking around for a towel. “You have no idea how much I like watching.”

Your face got hot at the words. “Oh… well… that’s good.”

He finally found one, wiping off his hands. Mingi wrapped his arms around you as Seonghwa laid down on your other side. You were sandwiched in a giant Minhwa hug, and it was heavenly.

You didn’t quite fall asleep, but you were definitely drifting off cuddling with them. Having a knot inside you and two of your eight favorite people in the world with you made you feel happy and safe.

You heard the door open, but you didn’t care enough to look and see who it was, at least not until someone came over to you, and you heard two people messily kissing.

You opened your half-asleep eyes to see Mingi and Yunho making out, almost directly over your face. It was quite a sight to wake up to, and you moaned almost without realizing it.

They broke apart, both smiling down at you.

“Hi, sunshine.” Yunho leaned down to peck your forehead, and Mingi adjusted, moving his cock inside you. You whined at that, oversensitive but your body still craving more.

They ignored you, kissing each other again. You could feel Mingi’s knot starting to go down, and you pushed yourself back onto him, chasing the fullness. It was too late, though, he was pulling out, whispering an apology to you. “Sorry, Yunho’s gonna go next, though, okay?”

Your body was so hot, the ache between your legs so strong that you just looked at Mingi with big eyes. “Is he gonna fuck me?”

Yunho laughed. “Maybe I won’t. Maybe I’ll just make you lay there and stay still. Hold me deep inside you.”

You take a deep breath, trying to keep it together, but Yunho continues.

“You just wanna get fucked so bad, isn’t that right, you want me to breed you and make it feel so good… maybe I’ll just make you take me the way I want it, hm?”

You knew Yunho was an alpha. But he’d always been sweet and kind to you. He’d never teased you like this.

His large hands moved over your form, caressing you, your tits, your waist, your ass, rubbing your pussy. You stretched out, opening yourself up to all of him.

He laughed and unzipped his pants, revealing his cock straining against his boxers. You whimpered just looking at the bulge.

“Stop teasing, Yunho.” Seonghwa’s voice was playful. “Don’t you see how much she needs it?”

You gave Seonghwa a grateful look before turning your attention back to Yunho. “Please, Yunho.”

“I love your begging.” He smiled, but there was no kindness in it. It was toothy, almost predatory. He completely took his pants off and positioned himself over you like he was about to fuck you. His boxers were still on, and the cotton rubbed against your clit as he rubbed against you. You whined weakly, feeling almost dizzy with the need to be full.

“What did I say, Yunho.” Seonghwa’s voice was firmer now. “She’s in heat. Be nice.”

Yunho sighed, and before you knew what he was doing, you were flipped on your stomach, your knees propped up under you and your face pressed into the pillows.

“You wanna get fucked?” Yunho’s voice was almost a growl. Clearly he was not happy at Seonghwa’s interference. “I’ll fuck you, sunshine.”

A thrill went through your body at his roughness. You could feel his tip at your entrance, and you took a deep breath.

Yunho pushed inside in one swift motion, and the breath you’d just taken whooshed out of your lungs. He was so deep inside you, so big, so good…

And then he started moving. With every deep thrust, you felt like you might cum that second. He was so rough, his fingers digging into your hips. You knew for sure there would be bruises the next morning.

Yunho fucked you like he hated you, and as he leaned over your back, you could feel he was still wearing his sweater and buttons from the show. The pins felt cold on your back, and you shivered.

“You like it like that? You like it when I fuck you rough?”

You nodded. “Yes, alpha.”

“You know, you really should share with Sannie.” Seonghwa’s voice was light, lilting. “He’s been waiting so patiently.”

You could hear rustling behind you, and a whimper that sounded like Mingi’s. It was probably San standing up, and you wondered if Mingi had returned to sucking him off as soon as his knot had gone down and he’d left the bed.

Yunho fucking growled.

You whined, the display of dominance turning you on more, but the rest of the room went silent.

“I’m so sorry.” Yunho said immediately, stilling his hips. “Oh my God, I did not mean to do that.”

“It’s okay.” San said, and he sounded genuine. “Take your time with y/n, I’ll get my turn after.”

You did your best to stay still, trying not to ruin their conversation, but you needed him fucking inside you.

“Thank you, San.” Yunho’s voice turned to you. “You alright, sunshine?”

“Mhm.” Your voice was small. “Yes, Alpha.”

“You want more?” Yunho’s voice turned smooth, slippery.

“Yes.” You breathed.

“Yunho?”

You pushed yourself up from the bed at that voice. “Yeosang?” You hadn’t even heard him come in.

But there he was, sitting cross legged on the bed beside you. You could see the fabric between his legs was dark, clinging to his thighs with slick.

“What is it, baby?” Yunho hummed.

Yeosang bit his lip. “I fear… y/n may be sending me into heat.”

Your head nearly spun at that. One omega sending another into heat was not something that happened often, not unless the pheromones were just right. It had to be the scents of the alphas in the room who’d already fucked you who had a relationship to Yeosang, right? It couldn’t be you?

Yeosang smelled sweet, smelled needy. You whined.

“Hey, Sannie? I have an idea.” Seonghwa said. “Why don’t you fuck Yeosang while you wait your turn.”

“Fuck.” San sighed. “I would love to, but I gotta keep disciplining this little slut for now.” There was a strangled noise from probably Mingi.

You could hear Seonghwa’s smirk in his voice. “Joong? Wanna get over here and fill Sangie up?”

“I can do that.”

You’d almost forgotten about Hongjoong and Wooyoung. You looked around for them and saw Wooyoung laying on the other bed, watching, as Hongjoong got up to position Yeosang beside you.

He smiled at you. “Hi, y/n.”

“Hi, Yeosang.” You breathed. He was so beautiful, still in his stage makeup, with bronze blush and little star freckles dotting his cheeks. “You’re so pretty.”

“You’re pretty.”

“Can I kiss Yeosang?” You looked over your shoulder at Yunho.

He laughed, thrusting his hips into you. Your head fell back on the pillow in front of you.

“Yeah, you can kiss him.”

You pulled your head up and looked at Yeosang for a moment, just taking him in. His expression went blissed-out for a moment as Hongjoong slid inside him, and you took that opportunity to pull his face to yours and kiss him.

“Mm, y/n.” He moaned into your mouth. “You taste so good.”

“Wooyoung.” You explained.

You and Yeosang kept kissing, your hands slowly getting a little more exploratory with each other, while Yunho fucked you and Hongjoong fucked him. It felt so fucking good to have him inside you, and to have two pairs of warm hands on your body.

You were dimly aware of Seonghwa moving to the other bed, and based on the sounds you were hearing he was touching Wooyoung, but you were too caught up in Yunho and Yeosang to really care.

You could barely breathe for the size of Yunho’s cock inside you. He wasn’t quite as big as Mingi, but he still felt delicious inside you, hitting spots inside you that made you sigh and whine in pleasure. This was a side of him you’d never seen, and it made you feel so good.

“Fuck me.” You whined.

“I am, sunshine.” Yunho gripped your hips tighter. “You’re already kissing Sangie, do you need someone else to come over and shut you up with their cock?” His voice turned into a whisper that edged on a growl. “No one else is touching you till I’m done with you.”

Yunho’s possessiveness was really fucking hot. He was a man possessed, fucking you with the fervor of an acolyte worshipping their god.

Yeosang whimpered, and you looked at him. His eyes were squeezed shut, tears beading at their corners, and his mouth was wide. You wondered what he’d look like choking on someone’s cock— Mingi’s giant one, maybe. Although it seemed from what Seonghwa had said he wasn’t going to be fucking anyone’s face. Maybe they used Yeosang as a punishment. He’d have to hold Mingi in his mouth while Mingi stayed completely still. You could see it in your mind’s eye, Mingi looking at Hwa or Hongjoong and absolutely begging to thrust down Yeosang’s throat, and them denying him time after time. Maybe he’d even cry.

You were pulled out of your thoughts by a particularly rough thrust from Yunho, and you cried out as you felt his knot starting to build at your entrance. “Fuck, Yunho, knot me, please.” You cried.

“Beg a little harder.” He snarled.

“Please, please, Yunho, please!”

“That’s it.” He held you in a punishing grip, forcing his knot into you. You held your hand to your stomach, feeling the bulge of him inside you. He began to cum, groaning, and your orgasm hit you at the same moment. You arched your back, pushing you into a kiss with Yeosang, who returned it with a whine.

Yunho slumped on top of you, pressing a kiss onto your back. “You feel so fucking good, sunshine. Taking my cock so good.”

You sighed. “You feel so good, Yunho.”

The door opened one more time. You knew who it had to be.

“Jongho.” San said. “Welcome to the orgy!”

You could smell him as soon as he walked into the room. You’d forgotten he’d started entering pre-rut right after the show, and had decided to sequester himself in his room. It seemed Mingi’s text had encouraged him to come take a turn with you.

Yunho’s knot went down quickly, deflating at the scent of another alpha clearly ready to fuck you into submission. The look in Jongho’s eyes was downright predatory, but the rest of his expression looked a bit nervous. He was chewing on his lip. “Hey y/n… do you still… need someone?”

You could feel yourself growing distressed at the sensation of so many ateez member’s cum leaking out of you. “Yes, Jongho, please, I need you to fill me up.”

Jongho’s clothes were off him in a flash, and he was on top of you. You were briefly worried that Yunho would get aggressive again, but he seemed spent, moving to take your place making out with Yeosang on the other half of the bed.

“Not so fast, Choi.” San stood up. “I’ve been waiting though everyone else, it’s my turn.”

Jongho looked thoughtful for a moment. “What if we shared?”

San raised his eyebrows. “I’m listening.”

“I’ll get inside her… and then you can join me.” He looked between your legs. “I think her little hole can take it.”

You clenched around nothing, breathing hard. The thought of both of them inside you at the same time, fucking you in rhythm, was almost more than your heat-addled brain could handle. You needed them so bad you could barely even get out a whine, your desire choking you.

San smiled. “I like that idea.”

Jongho lined himself up with you, everyone’s cum and your slick making it an easy slide inside. You still gasped as he filled you up. Jongho was so thick, you wondered how San would fit.

“Fuck.” Jongho’s voice was low. “I’m gonna knot you so hard.”

You took a shaky breath, lifting your hips weakly in an effort to get him to move.

He laughed and grabbed your legs, starting to push in and out. Your eyes started to lose focus.

“San, get over here.”

You weren’t even paying attention to how they were positioning themselves, your eyes fixed on the ceiling, but you could feel a finger enter beside Jongho’s cock.

The stretch was so good. It was intense, but you could handle it. You wanted more. You wanted both of them.

“More.” You choked out.

“Slut.” San bit out. “I’ll give you more.” He bypassed two fingers and skipped straight to three. “Good, taking it so well. You’re gonna need to be prepared if you want both of us.”

“Want both of you.”

San sighed. “So impatient.” You could feel something bigger pressing at your entrance, beside Jongho. San swore, Jongho made a high noise, and you panted as he slowly pushed himself inside of you.

“Beautiful.” Jongho reached down to brush away a piece of your hair. “Beautiful girl.”

You made a pleased noise.

And then you couldn’t make any noise at all as they began to fuck you, alternating thrusts. First San’s cock, then Jongho’s, then San’s, then Jongho’s. It was so much, and the rhythm was uneven at the beginning, making it even nicer when they settled into it. You were overstimulated, your body trembling and leaking slick and taking it so well, as Jongho and San kept telling you.

The room had descended into debauchery. Hongjoong and Yeosang were still going at it, with Yunho stroking Yeosang’s cock. Seonghwa and Wooyoung had begun to fuck Mingi from both ends, and he looked like he was in heaven. And of course Jongho and San were both deep inside you.

You hadn’t expected your night to go like this, not even a little bit, but you were so glad for the turn it had taken.

Jongho groaned. “I’m gonna cum, Sannie.”

San sighed. “Ugh, fine.” He moved up towards your face and held his cock in front of your mouth. “Get me off, y/n.”

You practically started salivating at the sight of his cock, opening your mouth and starting to lick at his tip.

Jongho gave a few more strong thrusts before his knot inflated. Your eyes rolled back in your head as he locked himself inside you and started to cum, weakly sucking on San.

As your orgasm passed, you flopped on your back, completely exhausted.

“It’s okay, baby, I can finish myself off.” San whispered, kissing your forehead. “You were so good for us.”

You finally felt satiated for the night, satisfied, now that all eight of your boys had had the chance to take a turn with you. Your heat hadn’t broken yet, but you felt safe now. If you had them with you, everything would be okay.

And as the rest of them finished up and crawled on the bed to cuddle with you and the others, you thought that this was what a pack must feel like.

1K notes · View notes

navybrat817 · 1 month ago

Text

Make It or Break It

Pairing: Husband!Bucky Barnes x Pregnant!Female Reader

Summary: Bucky is determined to not let the kitchen sink defeat him.

Word Count: Over 2k

Warnings: Established relationship, pregnancy, swearing, implied smut, fluff, feels, domestic life, Bucky Barnes (he's a warning, okay?).

A/N: Another new AU? Why not? Inspired by a wonderful nonnie. And thanks @targaryenvampireslayer for letting me discuss this. ❤️ Not beta read and written on my phone, so any and all mistakes are my own. Please follow @navybrat817-sideblog for new fics and notifications. Comments, reblogs, feedback are loved and appreciated!

It was a peaceful day for Bucky. Well, it was supposed to be a peaceful day. He should’ve been snuggled up with you on the couch, reading a book or watching a movie. He could’ve taken a ride on his bike, or gone to that bakery you love to surprise you with something sweet. Instead of doing any of those things, he was stuck under the kitchen sink that suddenly decided to stop running hot water.

Heaving a heavy sigh, he mentally reviewed the list of things he had checked: the shut-off valve, a possible leaking hot water line, and the aerator for blockages. No such luck. He hoped it wasn’t a water heater issue. That was the last thing you needed to deal with.

He grunted and reached for the wrench, not understanding what the problem was. He was handy, and had fixed everything around the house. So far he patched holes in drywall, replaced windows, repaired the roof, and remodeled the kitchen, to name a few. Sam could vouch for his skills since he fixed things on the boat. Surely he could repair this.

Or it might be the thing to finally defeat him.

“Fuck that,” he muttered, gripping the wrench so tight he nearly bent it.

The former brainwashed assassin had faced worse: superpowered enemies, a world war, experimentation, losing a limb, brainwashing, torture, PTSD, and more. For Christ's sake, he was dusted by Thanos. He refused to let a kitchen sink defeat him, especially since he had promised you he'd fix it, and he always kept his promises to you.

Bucky stared down the pipe with a withering death stare. Why the fuck wasn’t the hot water running? “I’m not going to let you break me, you piece of shit.”

“Bucky?”

As he crawled out from under the sink, his gaze softened at the sight of you. Your bare feet gently padded across the floor as you moved toward him, a tender smile on your face and a hand on your belly. He hadn’t grasped what pregnancy glow was until you became pregnant with his child. It was like a soft ray of sunlight that glowed through you and touched everything within its reach. It was beautiful, just like you.

Sunshine to his moonbeam.

“Hey, sweetheart,” he rasped, still in awe of your beauty.

You ducked your head and smiled to yourself, something you had done from the first time he called you that term of endearment. “Sink still giving you trouble?” you asked, keeping your tone light since you knew it was a sore subject. With a clench of his jaw, he nodded. “Maybe we should-”

He cut you off with a point of his finger and saw you struggling not to smile. “Do not suggest a plumber.”

He felt his resolve begin to crack when you batted your eyes. He couldn't resist that look, which always got you what you wanted, but he couldn’t bend on this. “We don't have to call a plumber, but it might not be a bad idea to have someone take a look.” Bucky’s lip curled in a snarl, but you just smiled. “I don't mind.”

“I mind because I said I can fix this and I will. I promised you that,” he argued.

It was irrational for him to feel jealous at the thought of someone else fixing the sink, but he didn’t want you depending on someone else to fix stuff around the home you made together. If he couldn't take care of your home, it meant he couldn't take care of you, which he would always do. Just as you took care of him, being partners meant you relied on each other.

Additionally, the idea of another man checking you out, which he knew would happen because you were stunning, both infuriated him and filled him with pride, as he didn't want anyone else to admire your beauty, but was happy to call you his own.

You shook your head after a moment, as if you read his mind. “Okay, He-Man. We don’t have to call anyone.”

“Thank you.” He smiled, but then sat up abruptly, his heart racing in alarm as he was about to go back under the sink. “Wait, why aren't you lying down?”

Fatigue hit you out of nowhere earlier, and you went to rest, which he felt a pang of guilt for. It was a common symptom in pregnancies, but he couldn’t help but wonder if any of the serum would pass on to his kids or what it would do to your body. But you didn’t complain, didn’t show any signs of worry. He may be a super soldier, but you were the one with the strength.

“I’m fine,” you assured him before a sheepish smile crossed your face. “Except I'm a little hungry.”

He chuckled and sat up to wipe his hands, relieved that there was nothing wrong. He couldn’t help feeling protective. “You or the baby, sweetheart?”

Rubbing a hand over your stomach, you giggled. The sound wrapped around him like a warm hug and urged him to exhale his frustration. “I think we’re both hungry. Something sweet and salty.”

He crawled on his hands and knees, making you giggle again, until he reached you and sat back on his heels. Pulling you close by your hips, he pressed a gentle kiss to your stomach and smiled. “Hey, sprout,” he whispered.

A blossoming life was growing within you like a sprout.

“Sprout loves your voice,” you whispered, running a hand through his hair as he closed his eyes.

Bucky hoped so. He read books to your belly and sometimes talked when you had fallen asleep, telling stories of his past and how excited and nervous he was for the future. He also talked about how amazing you were, how he was lucky to have you as a wife and how lucky they’d be to have you as a mother.

Despite everything life had thrown at him, he got a family, a dream come true he had tried not to hope for.

“Well, I’m glad our little sprout hasn’t heard me swearing today,” he joked, kissing your stomach again. “That kitchen sink is trying to get the better of me, but I won’t let it.”

“Your father is a stubborn man,” you smiled, clutching Bucky’s head to you as he rested it on your belly.

“And your mother is a stubborn woman, don’t let her fool you. She also suggested calling a plumber, which I’m against,” he said, keeping a hand beside his head. “Give me a kick if you think I can fix it myself.”

“Bucky, we-”

Both of you gasped when your baby kicked where Bucky’s palm rested. He stared up at you with wide and happy eyes, his heart swelling in his chest. “D… Did you feel that?” he whispered.

“I did,” you smiled, your eyes shining with unshed tears. Your baby kicked, and it was one of the most incredible things he had ever felt.

He let out a slow breath. For years, he was forced to fight. The war, HYDRA, and everything that followed. No one ever really asked what he wanted. At the end of the day, it all came down to this: building a home with a loving family.

As he knelt there, you smiled down at him, feeling your baby move, and he realized he'd do it all over again for this moment.

“Help me get a snack, and then you can finish fixing the sink,” you suggested.

“And no plumber?” he smiled, more determined to keep his promise to you, since your baby believed he could do it.

“No plumber,” you promised with a sly smile. “Unless you want to pretend to be a plumber and help me clear out my pipes.”

His nose crinkled when he laughed. “Earmuffs, sprout. You don’t need to hear those things your Mama is saying.”

“Me?!” He chuckled when your voice went up an octave. “What about all the dirty things you say? Like this morning when I woke up to you doing that thing with your tongue and-”

Bucky suddenly stood up and silenced you with a deep, sensual kiss that would send your hormones into overdrive. As he pulled away from your lips, he was met with your shuddering breath, and he trailed soft kisses along your face. “Now, sweetheart, we both know you seduced me in your sleep, and I couldn’t resist having a taste.”

How could he ever resist you?

“I seduced you in my sleep, huh?” you asked with love shining in your eyes. His eyes reflected the same. “You’re lucky I love you.”

“I love you, too,” he whispered, giving your ass a gentle pat and smirking when you gasped. “Now sit tight while I get us a snack and finish fixing the sink. You said something sweet and salty, right?”

“Right,” you nodded.

“Peanut butter pretzels?” he suggested, hoping he was right. He’d hate to see your face fall if he guessed the craving incorrectly.

When your face lit up, he breathed a sigh of relief, especially since he had just stocked up. “Yes, please.” Guiding you to the island stool, he felt your eyes on him as he moved around the kitchen. “Thank you.”

“Nothing to thank me for,” he said, setting a filled up bowl in front of you. He didn’t care if it was the middle of the night. If you were hungry, he would get you something or go out to find what you wanted.

“No, I mean, thank you for… everything.” He stopped when your eyes welled up, his heart aching at the sight. “God, these hormones,” you teased, wiping away tears as they spilled over.

“Hey,” he whispered, turning you on the stool, and gently framed your face to wipe away the remaining tears. Your hormones made you cry at the drop of a hat, and he was thankful that you allowed him to comfort you whenever that happened. “I should be thanking you.”

Bucky had found love and a family thanks to you, which filled his heart to the point of overflowing. He had purpose, and he was still a hero. He had a life he wanted, one worth fighting for. To him, it meant everything and more.

“You do thank me. Every single day,” you reminded him, bringing your hand up to trace his wedding band.

“Does that mean I get a reward after I fix the sink?” he asked, wiggling his eyebrows before you smacked his arm. “Worth a shot.”

“Tell you what,” you smirked, picking up one of the peanut butter pretzels. “If you get the sink fixed before I finish this bowl, I’ll reward you.”

When you popped the treat into your mouth with a hum and licked your lips, he bit back a groan. “And if I don’t?” he asked, determined not to lose.

You shrugged and inspected the next piece. “Then you don’t get a taste of me for a whole week.”

He gawked at you. Withholding that delicious nectar between your thighs from him for a whole week? That was cruel and unusual punishment.

“Listen. I know you can fix it and our baby knows you can fix it, too,” you said, nodding to the sink. “So get to work because I’m hungry.”

He kissed you for luck, tasting the sweet and salty snack on your lips. “You’re on, sweetheart,” he said, winking and rushing back to the sink as you watched.

“Domesticity is really sexy on you.”

He winked again. “Don’t I know it.”

It turned out that your belief in him, along with your baby’s and the promise of a reward, provided the exact motivation he needed to fix the sink. Just as he had kept his promise to you, you kept yours and rewarded him right there in the kitchen. After carrying you back to the couch, ignoring your protests about your weight, he felt lucky once again to have such an incredible wife and mother of his child.

And if he was really lucky, you two would have more than one.

What other domestic things do we want to see Bucky get up to? Love and thanks for reading! ❤️

Masterlist ⚓ Bucky Barnes Masterlist ⚓ Ko-Fi

2K notes · View notes

aurorawritestoescape · 6 months ago

Text

BORROWED TIME

Joel Miller x f!reader || 4k

Summary: Joel and you are enjoying an ideal vacation together. Warm ocean, white sand, soft kisses, and hot sex make it feel like paradise. But as your time here is running out, the thoughts that you‘ve been trying to keep at bay start eating at your soul.

Tw: 18+ mdni, smut, angst, fluff, age is not specified, soft dom vibes, infidelity, praise kink, f!oral, unprotected piv (wrap it up), creampies, belly bulge, soft!Joel, EMOTIONS, rough-ish sex, consensual somno, heavily inspired by Pedro’s vacay pics and videos. Pics are only for the mood. Joel can lift reader. Reader wears a dress, a bikini.

A/n: yay my first fic of 2025! I didn’t expect it to be this one but like all of us I was deeply affected by the recent Pedro content and needed to cope somehow so I wrote this. I really hope y’all will like it! Smooches to @milla-frenchy for beta-ing💋 ILY, baby🫂 Dividers by @/saradika-graphics

MASTERLIST

The first day in heaven. A soft breeze caresses your skin as soon as you step out of the cab, just from the airport, but Joel’s hands always do it better.

You’ve been looking forward to this trip, afraid to even talk about it, scared to jinx it, make it vanish like a mirage. You’ve been dreaming of having Joel all to yourself for too long.

Joel hugs you in the hotel lobby while they’re checking you in, and you tilt your head up to face him. You’ve never smiled so widely before. Your heart is fluttering in your chest, and his scent, your favorite in the whole world, makes you tremble and gush.

You taste sugar on your lips from a welcome Mimosa, and as soon as you two are in your room, he licks it off; the kiss is full of passion, his hands eager, desperate to tear your summer dress off. It’s on the floor in a second, just like your panties. He kneels in front of you and kisses your naked thigh. A growl against your skin makes you shiver before he looks you up and down, taking in the sight of your naked body, and then tuts with overexaggerated disapproval,

”Asked you not to wear anything underneath, didn’t I?”

“Yeah, but I couldn’t be butt-naked on the plane, Joel,” you giggle, tracing a line from the crease between his brows, down the slope of his nose, and to his chin. You love his profile so much that seeing it is not enough, so you made a habit of touching it too.

“I promise you’ll never see any underwear on me from now on.”

“Good girl,” he praises you with a wide smile, and then suddenly latches onto your wet pussy. You gasp and grab his broad shoulders to steady yourself. Joel helps you not to fall, his strong hands on your thighs spread your legs apart, and you happily grant him access to the most sacred part of your body.

He pushes his tongue between your folds, traces your soft entrance with its tip, and your legs are already trembling. He starts playing with you, mischief swimming in his dark eyes, slowly laps at your folds, gently sucks on your clit but doesn’t give you enough stimulation to come.

You whine when his mouth parts from your puffy bud, desperate for a release.

“You’ll come, my angel. But only on my cock,” Joel promises, getting up, takes you in his arms, and carries you to the shower.

You're caged between the shower wall and Joel. He's naked and wet, radiating sex and desire. Soapy water is running over the curves of your body while he's washing you, taking his time. His big lathered palms are gliding over your breasts, belly, mound, ass. Your hands are pressed to the expense of his chest as he's slowly edging you, always happy to play with you like a cat with a mouse. He's waiting for you to break under his touch, to beg for more. Yet his heart is beating so fast and hard under your palms that it leaves you no doubt that he's desperate for you just as much as you're for him. He can't get enough of you and your heart sings, seeing every sign of it— his blown out eyes, his heavy breathing, his hard cock.

You're revelling in the caress of Joel's hands but your body takes over soon enough. Your wet palm slithers down his torso and wraps around his stiff length. You pump the shaft a few times and then guide his tip between your folds.

"Fuck me, Joel." Your plea is almost swallowed by the sound of the rainfall shower but he hears you.

"Begging me already? So needy." His eyes are obsidian, he can't fool you.

"Aren't you?" you purr, sliding his fat tip up and down over your hardened clit, massaging it, making yourself moan and tremble. The sensation makes Joel grunt and break. Through his teeth he commands, "Turn around."

“Yes, sir,” you breathe out, smile wide, eyes sparkling, and in a second the cold tile kisses your cheek, then your pebbled nipples, and his fat head slowly slides into your pussy, followed by his girthy shaft.

“Hngggg— oh, baby—been thinking of fucking you since this morning. Your damn dress. Took me a lot not to ruin you right on the plane.”

You whimper at his words and then your eyes roll back when he starts thrusting his thickness in and out of your tight cunt. It takes you a few deep breaths to get used to the stretch but you always take him well and soon wet slapping noises reverberate off the walls, together with your moans and his grunts fusing into a melody of lust and passion. You love when he’s as desperate for you as you’re for him. It gives you hope.

Crispy sheets, so white your eyes hurt, envelop your poorly-dried bodies like a cloud.

“C’mere,” he croaks, pulling you closer, and you rest your head on his chest as he covers you two with a blanket. His warm cum is leaking out of your stretched pussy and you tingle all over again but the flight has drained you both and in a couple of minutes you two fall asleep.

You wake up before Joel and slip out from under his arm to look at the view. You walk out on the balcony and the beauty of the ocean under the bright sun overwhelms you, making you squeal with excitement. Not being able to wait any longer to feel the caress of the waves, you hurry back to the room and wake Joel up with a soft kiss.

“Wake up, sleepy. Let’s go swimming before the sun sets.”

Joel’s golden skin is sparkling with a myriad of water diamonds as he’s standing waist-deep in the bluest ocean in front of you, rendering you completely mesmerized. He chuckles, noticing the way you’re almost drooling, and pulls you closer into his embrace. With his body pressed to yours, your pussy starts aching, and a twitch in his swim trunks tells you that he’s also affected by the sight and the feel of you.

“Damn, baby, driving me crazy…your tiny bikini…”

“Do you like it?” you ask, brushing his neck with your lips, tasting salt on his skin.

“Hate the way they all stare at you. You’re mine. But the way you look. Yeah, I like it,” he growls and bucks his hips against you under the water. You giggle and then sigh into the crease of his neck.

“I’m yours,” you whisper. ‘Are you mine?’ you think. You push the thoughts back into a box in your mind you promised yourself not to open here. ’You’re in heaven. Don’t ruin it,’ you remind yourself.

The next morning you wake up and see Joel right next to you, limbs tangled in the sheets, plush lips asking for a kiss. A rush of happiness makes you tear up and you squirm with impatience to start the day when Joel opens his eyes. He’s gorgeous in the morning — hair disheveled, voice hoarse. He looks a little grumpy but you kiss the crease between his brows away and his face softens.

“Morning, my angel.”

You wish you could hear it till the rest of your life. Or at least next week. He pulls you into his sleepy body, the hug is tight, the kiss is impatient, and soon the murmur of the ocean accompanies your whispers as you’re riding him, your thighs, sticky with sweat cling to his hips, his hand is kneading your breast, the other’s focused on making you come, thick fingers swirling around your clit. He expertly brings you to a hard orgasm and follows quickly after—the back of his head dips into the fluffy pillow as he bursts into you and you milk him to the last drop, happy to walk around with his cum between your legs all day.

Joel’s lying on a lounger now, his expression concentrated, reading a book in the shade, while you’re standing a few steps away, drying yourself with a towel, just out of the ocean. You can’t help but stare at his handsome face, the broadness of his shoulders, his big arms. God, he’s gorgeous. Feeling your heart eyes on him, Joel glances at you from the side and his lips curve into a playful smirk. It sends a bolt of lightning through your body, electrifies every nerve, makes your core burn with desire.

No need for words. His expression tells you everything - ‘C’mere. Now.’

Still dripping water, you walk to him and straddle his muscular thighs, barely covered by his red shorts. His legs are hot against your cold skin but you melt into your bikini bottoms because of his eyes— obsidian, piercing, magnetic, they pull you close and you lie down on his chest. His book, forgotten in a second, falls on the sand with a thud. You kiss his soft lips and whisper against them, “Take me to our room.”

Delicious dinners at sunset, the warm ocean, the white sand, clinging to your heated body, but most importantly him next to you make the time here fly. Blissful minutes turn into hours, hours flow into days. Full of laughter, long conversations, endless kissing and hot sex. But your ideal life, your paradise starts glitching and breaking into pixels when one morning he offers, “Wanna go get some souvenirs?”

Just one question, as trivial as it can be on a holiday, breaks the wall you’ve built in your mind between your perfect existence here and your reality there. Between your present and your future. Near future. You’re going back soon. To that life.

Suffocating panic tightly grabs your throat and you squeeze your eyes shut, trying to drive away the thoughts, to glue the wall back together but he muses what he should get for Sarah and your wall turns into glass and shatters into a million pieces.

You mumble something incoherent trying to fight the upcoming tears and rush to the bathroom.

By the time you’re standing in front of the mirror tears are flowing down your cheeks and you hastily wipe them away, hating to upset him, but your heart and your head, joined in a cruel tandem, remind you that everything is going to go back to normal very soon. Normal for him is a misery for you. Waiting, hoping, asking him to stay longer, wishing that he finally makes a decision, finally chooses you.

The rest of the day you’re quiet, afraid to speak and to let your emotions spoil your precious time together. It gets unbearably hard to ignore the fact that you’re having him all to yourself on borrowed time. You start or rather let yourself notice his calls, his voice quiet, probably lying about his business meetings. He talks to his wife on the balcony or in the bathroom, not to keep you a secret —you know how to be quiet when she calls at this point, but rather not to rub her in your face. You’re thankful, not wanting to reopen the wound that’s been slowly healing up during these days together. Yet you know that soon it’s going to gush blood again when you say goodbye to your paradise and return to your empty bed, fleeting dates with him and soul-crushing loneliness.

You disassociate when he talks about packing and the flight back. You kiss him and want to cry, moan his name under the weight of his body but your heart aches. Every touch is a reminder that soon it’ll be over, soon he’ll be hers again.

It’s the last day of the trip and early in the morning you sneak out while Joel’s still asleep and go to the beach. It’s almost empty, only seagulls are the witnesses of your breakdown. You’re crying, swept by a wave of dreadful thoughts in your mind. Tomorrow you’re leaving and then he’s leaving you. For a day? Two? A week? Who knows.

You can’t blame him. You knew that he was married from the start. At first it felt like a fling but you got attached, you fell in love with the married man and foolishly expected him to divorce his wife, scoop you up in his big arms and carry you into the sunset like in a cheesy rom-com. But he kept telling you that, yes he didn’t love his wife anymore, but his daughter Sarah was too young and she was his world. He’d never hurt her like that, would never break up the family.

They say, you can’t change the ocean, no matter how hard you try, so it’s best to learn how to sail in all conditions. Just like the ocean Joel was unyielding in his devotion to his daughter but you failed to adapt so you were slowly drowning in despair, your love for him dragging you down like an iron ball chained to your foot.

You wipe the tears away and squeeze a handful of sand between your fingers as anger rises in your stomach. You deserve better than being someone’s dirty secret. What if you give him an ultimatum - you or his wife, and if he chooses her, you’ll find someone else. Someone who’ll love you openly, who’ll choose you. Someone better.

A thought makes your stomach sink - it’s not possible. Joel is perfect. He’s fucking perfect except for one huge flaw. He’s married.

You walk with your heart heavy back to your room and find Joel up, nervously pacing the floor. He asks where you’ve been and, not being able to conceal your feelings any longer, you burst into tears. He rushes to hug you but you slap his arms away. You shout, you cry, you beg. All the pain pushed deep down is spilling out of your heart, accompanied by the words you hate saying, insecurities you promised yourself to hide but it’s hard to stop.

It’s not like he hasn’t heard it all before. He has and that’s why now he looks tired. Not angry. Never. Just tired, sad and guilty.

Joel tries to calm you down, comfort you but all in vain. You’re waiting for him to tell you ‘I’ll be with you forever,” but instead he mumbles that he needs to take a walk and leaves you crying, face buried in his pillow. His scent woven into the fabric brings a thought to your mind which makes you cry even harder — soon you’ll go back to your flat where everything smells like him but loses the warmth of his body the second he leaves.

In the evening Joel timidly suggests going to the hotel bar. You feel embarrassed for your earlier outburst, but the fact that he didn’t make the decision you hoped for is twisting your stomach. Thinking that everything is better than staring at the suitcases in the corner of the room, you agree to go.

The bar is almost empty except for the two of you. You sit at the counter and order two shots of tequila. After emptying them fast, you both get two more and soon the hard liquor slightly numbs your emotions.

Joel’s warm hand is resting on your lower back as he’s peppering your shoulder, your neck, your cheek with open mouth kisses, but you’re cold, distant. It’s hard even to look at him.

He sighs but then suddenly exclaims, making you jerk,

“I love this song! Let’s dance!”

You smile a little, amused by the lights in his eyes. He’s cute when he’s tipsy. But you shake your head and mumble that you’re not in the mood.

Joel surprises you when he slides off his stool and starts dancing. Alone. For you. Despite everything you can’t tear your eyes off him. His dark gaze set on yours pierces your soul and makes your heart flutter in your chest. His movements are slow and alluring and the sway of his hips ignites fire in your core. You press your thighs together, quickly affected by his blatant seduction, and when he moves closer, so close you can feel the heat of his body, it gets hard for you to breathe.

Joel’s lustful eyes tell you to submit and when he places his hands on your knees, you obediently open your legs in invitation. He gets between your thighs and gently takes your face in his hands. Joel looks into your eyes and you stop breathing altogether. At this moment you realize that you’ll never leave him willingly, never be able to say goodbye to these kind brown eyes, these soft lips, these gentle hands. He’s the love of your life and you’re his completely and utterly. But he’s not yours.

You rush to your room, both swept by the urge to tear each other apart. Soon your clothes are littering the floor, your cheek pressed to the bed, ass pushed out in the air, as he’s kneeling behind you, snapping his hips against you hard and fast, pushing his throbbing cock deeper into your wet cunt, grunting, making you scream. His fat tip knocks at your cervix and it slightly hurts but you welcome it, wishing to focus on the ache from his length rather than the pain torturing your soul. His hands are leaving marks on your soft hips and you’re looking forward to seeing them on your body later as evidence that this trip was in fact real and not a wishful dream.

“Fuck— gonna come— you first, baby,” Joel growls and rubs your clit with an impatient hand, wet with your juices. You come shaking and crying on his cock and he rewards you with his load, squirting against your pulsating walls, which are squeezing him tightly and desperately. He’s carefully pulling out, and your tight cunt grabs onto him. Just like your heart, your body always craves him.

You wake up when it’s still dark outside. Joel’s chest is pressed to your back, his hand is cupping your wet folds, as he’s taking you from behind, sleepily moving his cock in and out of your sore pussy, drenched with his cum.

“Oh, baby— ahhh—love you—so much—yeahh— so good—,” he’s whispering in your ear, his voice gruff with sleep, his hot breath caressing your cheek. You moan softly before echoing him, “I love you, Joel.”

You beg him not to stop, already feeling yourself on the brink of ecstasy. The nature of your relationship makes it a rarity to be used by him in your sleep and you get turned on instantly. His arm snakes under and wraps around you as he starts pulling and twitching your nipples, while his other hand massages your puffy folds and then moves up.

“Damn—right here,” Joel grows, feeling a lump, moving under your skin. Thrusting his cock in and out with a steady rhythm, he mumbles, “Gimme,” grabs your hand and presses your palm tightly to your own belly, covering it with his hand.

“Feel it?”

“Yes, Joel, fuck,” you whimper and turn your head to catch his lips with yours. Joel keeps fucking you leisurely while you both are feeling the push of his cock under your skin.

Completely drunk on pleasure, swallowing each other's moans, you start coming hard at the same time, and your bodies, wet with sweat, jerk against each other. You feel so full, complete - your core is full of his load, your heart is full of his love. Happy in your oblivion, you fall asleep in the heaven of Joel’s arms.

But the dreaded morning comes fast. You try to concentrate on the tasks at hand, focus on the last preparations and soon Joel and you get into the cab, ready to head to the airport. You throw one last look at the hotel and the ocean, and take a deep breath, fighting the urge to cry. Sensing it, Joel pulls you closer and starts telling you an old childhood story, something about his brother Tommy and them ditching school together. You know what he’s doing but surprisingly it works and soon your giggles and his deep laugh fill the cab, lighting up the air between you two.

When you arrive in Austin, Joel insists on going to your address together. You refuse at first, but spending an extra hour with him sounds amazing. You hold hands on the way and shamelessly make out at the back of the cab.

You arrive at your place and Joel helps you with your suitcases. When you step into your flat, it seems like you’re carrying something heavy on your shoulders. Should you apologize for the last few days? Should you say something about it at all, risking leaving a bad taste in your mouths, ruining the whole trip.

But Joel beats you to it.

He comes up to you and hugs you tight. So tight that it’s hard for you to breathe. You nuzzle his neck, reveling in his scent, and suddenly you feel his whole body shake. You tilt your head up and see tears in his sad eyes. You’ve never seen Joel cry before, and it makes your chest hurt and your eyes well up too.

“Joel?“

“No, baby. Listen to me.” His voice is shaky, and fear grips your heart. Is he going to break up with you? You’d die on the spot.

He sniffs and continues,

“I’m sorry. Sorry for the mess I got you in. Sorry for your tears, but — I can’t, baby. Can’t do what you want from me. Rightfully so, but — not now. I’m sorry.”

You’re shaking your head, your teardrops landing on his tee,

”No, it’s ok. It’s fine.”

“It’s not, sweetheart. I’m an asshole. It’s horrible what I’m doing to them and to you. But I’m fuckin selfish. I can’t — can not be with you. I need you. I love you too much.”

You smile weakly, hearing his confession. Joel takes your hands in his and holds them tightly as he croaks,

“And you decide to stop seeing me, I’ll understand. I won’t bother you. I promise.”

You wipe tears off his scruffy cheeks and reach up to give him a kiss.

When you part from him, your expression is serious and determined.

“There’s nothing to decide, Joel. I love you. And I’ll wait for you. As long as you need me to. I’m yours.”

Joel’s red eyes dart between yours, and you give him a reassuring smile. After taking a deep breath, he whispers ,

“I don’t deserve you.”

He lifts you up, strong arms wrapped around your torso, and crashes his mouth against yours. You kiss him back with passion, putting your love in every stroke of your lips. Joel possessively licks into your mouth, his big hand cups the back of your head, keeping you close - a sign that he’s not letting you go. He needs you too much.

It might be wrong, it might bring you both grave pain, but a glimmer of hope in your heart, given by his confession, puts a smile on your face when you close the door behind him. He loves you, he wants to be with you, you’re his. And for now, it should be enough.

Thank you for reading! Please comment and reblog if you enjoyed the fic!<3

MASTERLIST

Tag list: @milla-frenchy @harriedandharassed @iamasaddie @nervousmumbling @bbyanarchist @stevie75 @puduvallee @auteurdelabre @mountainsandmayhem @senoratess @flamingochick55 @theoraekenslover @schnarfer @mermaidgirl30 @staywildflowahchild @yesjazzywazzylove-blog @evolnoomym @keylimebeag @joelmillerisapunk @pascaltesfaye @fruityreads @itwasntimethatdidit40

People who were interested in the wip: @baronessvonglitter @almostfoxglove @tammythr @sawymredfox @myownwholewildworld @guiltyasdave

#pedro pascal #joel miller #joel miller x reader #joel miller smut #joel miller fanfiction #pedro pascal characters #joel miller x you #joel miller x f!reader #the last of us #joel x reader #joel x you #joel miller angst #joel miller fluff #tw infidelity #pedro pascal smut #tlou hbo #joel tlou #joel miller the last of us #the last of us fanfiction

1K notes · View notes