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solefi · 27 days ago

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God Between My Legs

𓂃𝐦𝐚𝐤𝐞 𝐦𝐞 𝐟𝐞𝐞𝐥 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐢 𝐚𝐦 𝐛𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠,

| 𝐟𝐞𝐞𝐥 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐢 𝐚𝐦 𝐡𝐮𝐦𝐚𝐧 𝐚𝐠𝐚𝐢𝐧

〻(muse.) sim jaeyun

〻(wc.) 11.4k

〻(genre.) smut. dark-ish romance.

〻(notes.) this was inspired by the song 'a little death' by the neighbourhood. i tried writing in third person for the first time in a while as a way to challenge myself, so... sorry if it sounds weird :p

〻(cont.) fem! reader. description of female anatomy. use of Y/N. kissing (a lot). unprotected sex. pulling out. switch! jake. fingering. cunnilingus. multiple positions. overstimulation. licking(?). mentions of cum. cum eating (male). dirty talk (like, a lot of it). spreading my jake oral fixation agenda. mirror sex (kinda? but not really). use of petnames (baby, sweetheart). reader is described as being smaller than jake and having hair long enough to grab in a ponytail. porn with a little plot?

Exhausted and on the run, a runaway girl and the boy who holds her like she’s the only thing worth living for find sanctuary in each other.

The road stretched endlessly and in complete darkness, only broken by the occasional flickering lamppost, the passing of headlights, or the red neon glow of a motel sign. The only sound was the low hum of the car engine and the muted hum of raindrops against the car windows.

Jake’s hands were steady on the wheel, knuckles pale under the dim dashboard light. He hadn’t said a word since they left. His jaw was tight, and his shoulders looked stiff. Every so often, he would turn his head to look at her, but then quickly look back. This time, though, he looked for longer.

She sat curled into the passenger seat, legs tucked beneath her, sleeves covering her hands. Her eyes were distant, and her voice had gone hoarse hours ago due to all the screaming, but at least she wasn’t crying anymore.

She heard him exhale heavily and stopped feeling his eyes on her.

A black duffel bag sat in the back seat, its contents being everything important they owned: clothes, IDs, cash, medication, basic toiletries, a burner phone, a couple of Jake’s blood bags (carefully hidden inside an unassuming pouch), and his watch, which he refused to wear anymore—too recognizable, he said. Too risky.

His hand twitched on the gearshift, then reached toward her—slowly, like he wasn’t sure if she’d pull away.

She didn’t.

Their fingers met, barely. But she clutched his hand like it was the last solid thing in the world.

“I've got you. Always,” Jake said finally, voice low, rasped from hours of silence. His accent melted the edges of the words.

Y/N answered by tightening her grip, eyes still focused out the window.

He glanced at her, then added, “I’ll kill anyone that comes near you again,” his voice no louder than a murmur. “Anyone.”

A beat of silence passed. She turned towards him.

“I’d help you bury them,” she said quietly with a shaky voice.

Jake let out a short breath—half a laugh, half a sigh. He pressed her knuckles against his lips, “That’s my girl.”

The silence returned, but it was different now. Not empty—just waiting. Expectant.

A bright light from a crumbling motel illuminated their faces. It’d been the first in over two hours to show that relieving word in green light, blooming like a beacon that promised some rest for both of them.

With a swift flick of his wrist against the steering wheel, Jake pulled into the lot. Gravel crunched beneath the tires. The building looked like it had seen better days—fluorescent lighting leaking through grimy windows, paint peeling, and a Coke machine that looked forgotten by time.

Jake turned the engine off.

For a moment, they just sat there.

“Wanna stay in the car?” he asked gently, not looking at her.

Y/N blinked. “I…I don’t wanna be alone.”

Jake turned to her then. His hair was tousled, damp near his temples, and he looked impossibly tired—but his eyes held her like another’s arms never could.

“Okay,” he said, voice almost a whisper. “I’ll take care of you, yeah?”

She nodded, “Okay.”

The motel lobby smelled like stale air and damp carpet. Fluorescent lights flickered and buzzed overhead. There were vending machines along one wall with empty rows of old-looking snacks, and a plastic dust-coated fern in a chipped ceramic pot by the entrance.

Jake walked in first, black duffel slung over one of his broad shoulders. His sweater was damp, making it slightly heavier than usual. It was a little stretched at the sleeves, but long enough to cover his belt and the waistband of his jeans; it was his favorite. Y/N had gifted it to him on their first anniversary.

She followed just a step behind, eyes down but sharp, scanning everything—quietly clocking exits, faces, weaknesses. He hated that she had to. Her legs were bare beneath a pair of denim shorts, she had a tank top clinging to her chest, and Jake’s oversized hoodie swallowing the rest of her.

Behind the desk sat a man in his mid-50s who looked like he hadn’t seen the light of day in years. Greasy hair clung to his forehead, and the collar of his shirt was stained with sweat. His breath stank of microwave dinners and cheap beer.

“Well, shit,” the man drawled, leaning forward on his elbows. His eyes didn’t even pretend not to wander over Y/N. “That’s a pretty little thing you got there.”

Jake’s expression hardened.

The man reached beneath the desk and slapped a dingy clipboard with a registration form down, in front of him. “Bet she keeps you warm at night, huh?”

Jake said nothing, opting to fill the paper and try not to tear the man’s throat out. He didn’t want to cause a scene, being aware that the last thing Y/N needed was another traumatic event happening because of her, but god, was that ball of grease making it hard from him to behave.

The man scratched at his neck, his eyes never leaving Y/N. Tracing the way her hair fell over her shoulders.

“If I were you, I’d be careful, boy. Girls like that one don’t stay loyal for long,” His smile widened. His eyes cut toward Y/N again—lingering too long on her bare legs and the dip of her cleavage. “Though, I bet she looks gorgeous on her knees with her tongue out.”

The air changed like a static charge crawling across the skin.

Jake didn’t say a word. He just set the pen down and gave the man a look while his hand dropped to the back pocket of his jeans. His fingers grazed a sharp blade—small, easy to flick open, and easier to bury in someone’s throat. Quick, and much less messy. Though at that point he wanted to make it hurt.

But before the situation could escalate, Y/N wrapped her fingers around his wrist. She didn’t need to say anything.

He paused.

‘It’s not about you, idiot. Think about her.’

He remembered how her body trembled in the shower while he scrubbed the blood off her body—not having the luxury of time, to be able to do it as gently as he would’ve wanted—and the way her eyes avoided the dead body in her floor at all costs.

His grip loosened.

His hand moved to his front pocket, taking out his wallet and sliding the cash across the counter.

The man slid a grimy clipboard across the counter, followed by a single plastic key. “7B. Corner room. Pretty quiet. No one would hear a thing.”

Jake took the key and started walking outside with Y/N, now holding his arm.

“Better hang on to him, sweetheart,” he rasped. “Boys like him don’t last long out here. The minute he goes for gas, I might just answer the door instead.”

Jake stopped mid-step.

Y/N pulled him gently, asking for his attention.

“It’s not worth it,” she whispered so that only he could hear.

Jake didn’t move.

“Jake.”

He turned to look at her. Angry. Offended. Possessive.

He held her gaze for a few seconds and then closed his eyes for a beat, jaw flexing as he breathed through his nose. Y/N didn’t let go of his hand until they were outside.

The cool air hit once the door opened—wet with rain that never stopped pouring.

As soon as the motel door swung shut behind them, Jake turned to her, voice low and serious. “Should’ve killed that fucker.”

“I’m glad you didn’t,” Y/N said softly.

Jake turned to her with something dark and hot in his stare. Y/N brushed her fingers along his knuckles. “It’d be hard to get the blood off your sweater.”

That got a ghost of a smile from him.

They walked in silence again, hands still laced, until they reached the door to their room. Jake unlocked it without a word. It smelled like mildew, the carpet was littered with suspicious stains, and the comforter on the bed was older than both of them combined. A single lamp flickered in the corner next to a small table with two wooden chairs, casting warped light across the room.

Jake stepped in first, scanned every inch—walls, window, ceiling tiles. Once he made sure the room was clear, he let the duffel drop to the floor near the dresser. She didn’t question his actions, allowing him to do whatever he needed to calm his paranoia.

He shut the door, locked it, and slid the bolt into place. Then he checked the knob, then the bolt, then the knob again. Still feeling like it wasn’t enough, he grabbed a chair from the corner of the room and wedged it under the door handle with a slow, deliberate shove. Only then did he step back, still facing the door with tense shoulders.

Y/N sat quietly on the edge of the bed, legs drawn up beneath her, Jake’s hoodie bunched around her thighs. Her fingers played with the frayed seam near the pocket.

“It won’t open,” she said gently. “No one’s getting in.”

“Not gonna risk it,” he muttered while checking the door again.

With a heavy exhale—let out like he hadn’t taken a real breath since they left the city—Jake sank down to his knees in front of her, resting his head in her lap.

His hands moved, sliding up the outside of her calves, thumbs tracing gentle circles to soothe the nerves under her skin back into place. Yet his movements—up and down, over and over—seemed more like it was him who needed the repetition to calm whatever was clawing at his ribs.

Y/N’s hands slipped into his hair without hesitation. Her fingers tangled through the raven-black strands, nails brushing his scalp gently. It was instinct. Muscle memory. The way she touched him when she didn’t know what else to say.

They stayed like that—him with his eyes closed, and her lost in thought.

Just that morning, she’d woken up in her bed, sunlight peeking through the curtains in soft streams. His arm was around her waist, mouth against her shoulder, whispering something about finding a place for just the two of them—a stupid, perfect moment.

She remembered the gunshots. Her apartment torn to hell—furniture flipped and broken, bullet holes in the walls, blood across the floor. She remembered the sound of Jake kicking down the door. She remembered him dressing her up and dragging her towards a car that she didn’t recognize.

And now they were here.

In a motel that smelled like rot and someone else’s regrets, with Jake kneeling in front of her like her penance. Her savior and her ruin.

He raised his head slowly, like it hurt to move. His eyes met hers, tired, red-rimmed, and crystallized. Y/N studied every inch of him.

“I’m so sorry,” he whispered—rough and low, like the words had clawed out of his throat.

His lips were dry, the lower one split with a cut he kept bothering between his teeth. There was a bruise blooming just under his jaw, ugly and dark, half-hidden beneath his hair. His sweater was damp at the collar, wet with a mixture of rainwater and sweat.

Her hands reached to cradle his face delicately, as if he were to break if she used too much force. Her thumbs brushed slowly across his cheeks, wiping away what little was left of his composure. And instead of pulling away, Jake leaned into her touch.

One of her thumbs trailed down, brushing the cut on his lip and then applying more pressure. He flinched slightly, his mouth parting from the sting. His eyes searched hers as if he were afraid she might vanish if he blinked.

“I love you,” she said.

A single tear rolled down Jake’s cheek, his eyes never once leaving hers. His mouth opened and closed soundlessly, trying—and failing—to find words to formulate an answer.

So instead, he stood up.

Y/N didn’t move—didn’t even breathe—as he stepped forward and caged her with one hand braced on the bed beside her hip, the other gently brushing her cheek.

Jake stared down at her, eyes glossy but intense, and then he kissed her.

Not slow or careful, but everything—all of it—at once. Love, fear, need, guilt, relief. It poured into the kiss from his very being like water breaking through a dam. His mouth crashed against hers, urgent and soft at the same time, teeth grazing her lip before he kissed her deeper, letting his body press into hers like he needed to be sure she was real.

Y/N responded without hesitation. She opened to him, wrapped her arms around his neck, and kissed him back with everything she had, like this was the only place in the universe where she belonged. Her hands travelled upwards to tangle in his hair, fingers sliding through the strands like she never wanted to let go again.

Jake let out a low sound against her mouth—half a growl, half a moan. His hips pressed into hers as he deepened the kiss, mouth moving feverishly, hands wandering beneath the fabric of her clothes like he needed skin under his palms.

He pulled back just enough to breathe, foreheads pressed, eyes locked.

“I fucking adore you,” he whispered. “I love you so much it hurts.”

One of her hands moved down again to wipe off the fresh tear tracks on his cheeks.

His eyes swept over her face—cheeks flushed, lips parted, chest rising with shallow, anticipating breath. His lips found hers once more, slower this time—but no less hungry.

His hands moved to the hem of the hoodie she wore—his hoodie—and slowly, he unzipped it. The sound was quiet, but it felt loud within the room's silence. He peeled it off her shoulders, letting it fall behind her onto the bed.

Then, his fingers slid beneath her tank top. He didn’t rush it, though. He pushed the fabric up slowly, palms brushing the warm slope of her stomach, ribs, and finally lifting it over her head. Her hair fell around her face in soft waves.

“God, look at you,” he whispered.

His hands slipped down to her shorts, thumbs brushing the band before sliding them off inch by inch. He knelt again to guide them down her thighs, his mouth ghosting across her skin as he did. His lips pressed a kiss to the bruise on her knee as a silent promise. Then they were gone—shorts, fear, and the last of the night’s cold fingers.

She was left in only her bra and panties, breath soft and body already arching toward him.

Jake rose again, eyes locked on hers, and reached behind her to unhook the clasp. The straps slipped down her arms like falling silk.

His hand slid between her thighs, brushing her still-clothed core with the lightest stroke of his fingers.

She let out a breathy moan—soft and instinctive and his.

“There she is,” he murmured, a smile growing on his face. “You always sound so pretty when you want me.”

Y/N reached up without a word and tugged at the hem of his sweater. He raised his arms and let her pull it off, revealing the slightly damp T-shirt beneath, clinging to his frame.

She slipped her hands beneath that next layer and lifted it too, revealing the bare torso beneath—warm skin, faint scars, a few smudges of grime from the road and the fight. Her palms ran along his chest, slow and lingering, over the bruise just below his ribs, up to the center of his chest where his heart beat like a war drum.

Then her fingers moved to his belt.

She undid it with steady hands, her knuckles grazing the soft line of hair beneath his navel. The buckle clinked. The button snapped open. The zipper came down slowly.

She eased his jeans down his hips, her eyes never leaving his.

Jake stepped out of them, standing over her now in nothing but breath and want and the fire burning in his eyes.

Her hands slid back up his thighs, over his hips, tracing along the sharp lines of his toned abdomen and the dip of his lower back. Her hands weren’t shy. She knew him. And he let her see him.

“Touch me,” he rasped. “Everywhere. I want to feel like I belong to you.”

“You do,” she said, voice low, shaky with need. “You always have.”

Jake followed when Y/N tugged gently at his wrist, guiding him down onto the bed beside her. The mattress creaked beneath their combined weight, thin and worn, but it didn’t matter. Nothing mattered but skin and breath and the heat building between them.

He laid facing her, propped on one elbwo, his chest rising and falling just a little too fast. Y/N mirrored him, her fingers already skimming his shoulder, then down along the soft line of muscle across his chest. His skin was warm beneath her palm—faintly damp, flushed, and alive.

Jake’s eyes traced every flicker of movement. She could feel his stare like a physical touch.

“You look like a fucking dream,” he murmured, voice rough silk. His accent curled around the words, low and thick like honey.

She smiled, slow and sinful, and leaned in close until her lips hovered just by his ear.

“Then do something about it.”

Jake let out a breath of a laugh, short and sharp. “Oh, believe me, I’m gonna.”

He turned his head, nose brushing her cheek, and whispered directly against her skin. “I’ve been thinking about this… about you in my hoodie… parading around with your thighs all soft and bare… I swear it had me losing my mind.”

She gasped softly when his hand slid over her waist, pulling her tighter to him. Her thigh brushed his—then something else. Hard and thick, straining against the fabric of his boxers. She tilted her head just enough to catch his smirk.

“You’ve got such a filthy mouth, Jakey.”

“And you love every word,” he whispered, kissing the shell of her ear.

Her hand trailed down his stomach, her fingers feathering along the band of his boxers before dipping lower, slowly pressing over the thick bulge beneath the fabric.

His hips flexed forward instinctively, chasing her touch. “Fuck…” he hissed.

Her hand rubbed over him again, firmer this time, and Jake groaned—low and guttural, his eyes fluttering half-closed.

“You’re so hard,” she whispered, dragging her lips along his jaw. “Have you been aching for me since we walked through the door?”

Jake turned toward her, his lips brushing hers with maddening slowness.

“Since way before that,” he breathed. “Since I saw you covered in blood and still fuckin’ beautiful. Since you said ‘I love you’ with those shaky hands and I wanted to drop to my knees and taste every inch of you for the rest of my life.”

Y/N whimpered, her hand curling tighter around him through the fabric.

“I’d never feed again in my life if it meant I can have that pretty mouth on me at all times.”

Jake kissed her—open-mouthed, deep, his tongue claiming hers as his fingers slid along the dip of her waist, down to the curve of her ass. He squeezed gently, grinding himself into her touch.

“You wanna see what my mouth can do?” she murmured against his lips.

Jake grinned, teeth flashing as he licked into her mouth again.

“Oh, trust me, I know.” One of his hands slipped between her thighs to rub slow circles over her soaked panties.

“I want your thighs on my shoulders and your voice hoarse from screaming my name,” he growled. “I’ll have you so fucked out you’ll forget everything else but me.”

She moaned, and he bit her lower lip gently.

He leaned in, slowly, and pressed a single kiss to her inner thigh. Then another, higher up. Then another—closer. She twitched beneath his mouth.

And when his lips ghosted over her slick, swollen heat through the thin barrier of her panties—fuck. She let out a sound that shot straight through his spine.

Jake chuckled low.

“You’re already soaked?” he murmured, his breath hot against her clothed core. “Just from me running my mouth?”

He licked her through the fabric again—slow and deliberate. A long, wet stripe from the bottom of her slit to the swollen nub at the top. Her thighs tensed, and her fingers twisted in the sheets.

Jake moaned.

“I can taste it, even through the cotton,” he groaned. “You’re not fuckin’ real.”

Then he did it again—his tongue flattening, dragging up over her with aching pressure. He circled her clit through the soaked fabric, then used his fingers to push it slightly aside, exposing her properly.

She gasped when the cool air hit her slick folds, and Jake didn’t waste another second to let his tongue meet bare skin.

A slow stroke. One, then two. Then the tip of his tongue flicked right over her clit—fast, teasing, before he flattened his mouth against her, licking and sucking in slow, sinful rhythm.

Y/N moaned, long and high.

She could feel every flick of Jake’s tongue like a pulse.

It started as warmth—wet and slow, the drag of heat between her thighs making her legs tremble. But then it spread. Her skin flushed, prickled, tightened in waves. Her belly clenched. Her chest rose and fell faster, nipples hardening in the motel’s stale air.

Jake growled into her.

“Fuckin’ sing for me, baby.”

His fingers slipped down, circling her entrance, smearing her wetness up over her slit and back down, working in tandem with his mouth—pressure and motion, just enough to tease her open without giving her what she wanted. Yet.

One finger dipped inside, shallow, curling just a little.

“Feel that?” he whispered, voice soaked with lust. “You’re pulling me in already. She missed me.”

Y/N’s head fell back.

“Jake…”

He sucked hard on her clit at the same time his finger slid deeper, and her whole body arched off the bed.

“Oh—fuck—Jake—”

He didn’t let up. Didn’t even pause. His tongue circled, flicked, pressed. His finger curled again, and then another joined it—thrusting slow, thick, wet sounds echoing in the small motel room as her body clamped around him.

His fingers slipped beneath the band of her panties, tugging them down with a quick, practiced motion and letting them slide past her thighs, knees, and ankles until they were gone—tossed somewhere on the motel floor, forgotten like everything else that wasn’t her.

He resumed his ministrations to her heat with another long lick of his tongue. Her hips bucked involuntarily, only to be caught by his strong hands. He held her open possessively, grounding her like he belonged there. Like she belonged to him.

Every time his tongue swirled over her clit, it was like a current. It tugged something deep in her gut—coiled and heavy and needy.

She whined softly, head rolling against the pillow.

Jake chuckled darkly, tongue flattening against her again before he spoke.

“There she is,” he murmured, lips brushing right over her. “My sweet girl. My pretty baby with a filthy fuckin’ mind. You gonna come for me, yeah?”

Her fingers fisted the sheets. The pleasure was sharp now—buzzing and deep, like her body couldn’t decide if she needed more or needed to escape. But he wasn’t letting her go.

“Shit, every sound you make just makes me hungrier,” he whispered. “Like I could stay down here for hours. Would you let me, baby? Would you ride my tongue like you ride my cock? All sweet and needy and wrecked?”

She gasped—a ragged sound pulled straight from her chest.

Her thighs tried to close, instinctively reacting to the intensity, but Jake didn’t let them. His arms pinned her open again, his mouth dragging over her again with more pressure this time—faster. His fingers teased her entrance, soaked and twitching, never pushing in again, just stroking, circling, making her want.

“She’s mine. This cunt’s mine. Say it,” he groaned.

Y/N’s voice shook, barely a whisper. “Yours. Jake—I’m yours.”

“Louder.”

“Yours. Fuck, Jake—don’t stop!”

He latched onto her clit with his mouth, sucking just hard enough to have her back arching. His tongue flicked over the swollen nub, rhythmic and relentless, while his fingers finally slid back inside—two, then curling.

The stretch. The wet sound. His fucking voice.

“You’re so tight like this, baby. So fuckin’ good around my fingers… just imagine when I sink my cock into you. Gonna fill you up so deep you’ll forget your own name.”

Y/N let out a strangled moan. Her body was right there—trembling on the edge, her vision blurring with the heat. Every nerve under her skin was singing. Her thighs trembled, her core slick and throbbing, her hands lost in the mess of Jake’s dark hair.

And just as that perfect, unbearable heat coiled impossibly tight in her belly, his mouth slowed.

He stopped.

He parted from her with a long, slow lick—one last deep stroke, his tongue pressing into her fluttering, soaked entrance. She gasped, back arching. Her body welcomed it, clamped down around the warm, wet intrusion, needy and desperate for more. But it was only a taste. A farewell.

Then he pulled back, licking his lips like a man coming up from worship, not war.

Her slick shimmered on his mouth, on his chin. His pupils were blown wide, his breathing heavy, chest rising and falling with the pace of his hunger.

Jake gave her pussy one final kiss—slow, wet, open-mouthed, his lips sealing over her entrance in a filthy goodbye that made her toes curl.

Then he leaned back, running his hand slowly up her trembling thigh, fingers trailing like embers on overheated skin. He grinned, smug and shining.

“She missed me,” he murmured.

Y/N blinked, dazed. “What?”

Jake dragged his fingers gently through her folds again, a soft touch now, barely-there. Just enough to make her twitch.

“Your sweet little cunt,” he whispered. “She missed me. Clenching ‘round my tongue like she hadn’t felt me in days.”

Y/N flushed instantly, eyes wide, lips parted in shock.

“You—Jake—that’s so—”

He leaned forward, raised a brow, and let the smirk crawl across his face. “That same pussy I had my fingers in this morning, baby. When I made you grind against my hand until you came all over the sheets.” His voice dipped lower. “And you’re telling me she still missed me?”

She slapped his shoulder lightly, giggling despite herself. “You’re the worst.”

Jake laughed, that deep, messy, boyish sound that made her chest ache.

He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, then kissed her inner thigh gently, almost apologetically. Then again, softer, trailing upward—his body following the path until he was level with her.

Y/N watched him rise, her skin still flushed and buzzing, her thighs parted, her breath catching when his face came close again.

This time, instead of being teasing or wild, the kiss was calm.

His mouth met hers like he was kissing her in the kitchen on a Sunday morning, like she hadn’t just screamed into the motel pillows. Like her taste on his lips didn’t matter—or maybe it mattered too much.

She sighed into it, arms looping loosely around his neck, fingers curling into the still-damp strands at his nape.

And when he finally pulled back, his voice was quiet. Different.

“I’m never letting anything touch you again.”

Y/N tugged gently at his arm again, pulling him down with her.

Jake followed instantly, like he was born for it. They sank into the mattress together, bodies pressed side by side, her hand still curled behind his neck, fingers threading through the damp strands at his nape. He was warm against her—bare skin to bare skin, all muscle and heat and tension—but her focus was already drifting.

Because then he kissed her again.

Slow at first. Soft.

Just the faintest brush of lips that sent sparks across the surface of her skin.

But then his mouth opened, and everything else stopped.

Jake’s tongue slipped into her mouth like he owned the air she was breathing. He didn’t push—he coaxed. He guided. His lips molded to hers with aching, perfect pressure, and then that wicked tongue of his licked over hers—just once, slow, deep, wet—and her entire body reacted.

Her thighs clenched instinctively.

A low whimper escaped her throat before she could catch it.

Jake smiled into the kiss.

He heard that.

He licked into her again, tongue flicking, curling, then retreating just to pull her back in with a gentle suck on her lower lip. It was sensual. Hypnotic. Her thoughts dissolved like sugar in warm water. Her fingers slid over his shoulder, her palm resting on his chest, feeling the sharp beat of his heart through her touch.

His mouth was too much and not enough all at once.

Every time he sucked her lip, her stomach fluttered. Every time his tongue dragged over hers, slick and slow, her core throbbed—empty, wet, waiting. Her knees pressed together again, a silent attempt to ground herself.

It didn’t work.

Because he knew. He always knew.

Jake broke the kiss just long enough to breathe into her mouth.

“You’re squeezing your thighs pretty hard,” he whispered, voice thick and hoarse. “Did my kiss makes your pussy ache, baby?”

Her hands tightened on his skin.

This time, she kissed him. Deeper, with more tongue, more heat, more of her mouth claiming every soft part of him. The rhythm was slow, but the weight of it pressed deep, like she could feel his tongue between her legs even though he wasn’t touching her there now.

Their bodies writhed closer, chasing the warmth of each other’s chests, the friction of his thigh between hers, her mouth that wouldn’t stop making him need.

Jake pulled back from the kiss, lips slick, parted. His chest heaved beneath her palm, and his voice when he spoke came out like a growl filtered through a moan.

“You keep kissin’ me like that and I’m gonna fuck you like I did in that bathroom stall. Remember that, baby? In between classes… you were so needy and made me late for my lecture.”

Y/N chuckled breathily at the memory. Her thighs clenched again—this time around him.

She climbed into his lap, slow and sure, knees bracketing his hips. Her body sank down onto his thighs, bare heat pressed to the strain of him beneath his boxers. Jake’s head fell back with a hiss through his teeth.

“Jesus Christ,” he rasped.

Y/N leaned in, pressing a hot, open-mouthed kiss to his throat. She felt his Adam’s apple twitch beneath her lips, felt the vibration of his groan as she dragged her tongue up over it.

Jake’s hands gripped her hips, his thumbs pressing into the soft skin there like he didn’t know whether to worship or hold her down.

She kissed his jaw next—slow and adoring, lips dragging over the faint stubble, then behind his ear, where her tongue flicked just enough to make him shudder.

And through it all, he kept talking.

His voice was broken, breathless, ruined.

“Gonna bend you over this bed next. Hands flat, back arched, legs shaking. Gonna fuck you ‘til your voice is gone and your knees are too weak to close around me.”

She moaned softly into his neck.

“You like it when I talk like this, don’t you?” he whispered, nipping gently at her shoulder. “My pretty baby gets wet when I tell her all the ways I’m gonna ruin her.”

Her hips rolled forward against him—slow, aching friction that made them both gasp.

“Gonna take you from behind,” he panted, “one hand on your throat, the other between your thighs, makin’ you drip all over me. Then I’m gonna flip you on your back, press your knees to your chest, and fuck into you so deep you won’t remember what day it is.”

Y/N whimpered, her hands dragging up his chest, her mouth pressing kisses along his collarbone, her tongue tasting salt and desperation.

Jake was shaking under her.

“And when you come?” he breathed, “I’m gonna stay inside you. Keep fuckin’ you through it. Gonna keep you open for me and stretch you ‘til you don’t want anyone else. Not that you ever could, baby. No one else knows how to break you like I do.”

His voice cracked, just a little, at the end.

“Fuck,” he whispered. “No one makes me feel the way you do. You ruin me. Every time.”

Y/N lifted her head. Their eyes met. Her breath was ragged, her lips swollen, her heart thundering in her chest.

“You want to break me?” she whispered. “Then do it.”

Jake’s hands tightened on her hips. His next breath hitched into a growl.

They shifted together, both kneeling now on the motel bed, their bodies bare and flushed and starving. The room was quiet except for their heavy breathing, the low creak of the old mattress beneath them, and the far-off hiss of passing cars outside the window.

Jake kissed her again.

Hard and raw.

Tongue and teeth and heat—his hand tangled in her hair as he dragged her mouth open and took. His tongue plunged deep, slick and possessive, curling against hers in slow, molten strokes that made her hips rock forward without thinking.

She moaned into him. Loud. Needy.

Jake swallowed the sound, then pulled back, lips wet and swollen.

“Turn around,” he rasped.

Y/N obeyed, breath shaking. She turned slowly, body burning, and knelt on the bed facing the front of the motel room. The beat-up TV sat on top of the scratched old dresser, screen black and slightly dull; however, in the warped, glassy surface, she saw them.

Faintly, hazy with distortion—but there.

Her bare chest, belly, and thighs. The curve of her hips, the dip of her waist and the possessive hold that Jake kept on her. Her flushed face. The dark silhouette of Jake behind her.

And her body reacted.

Her cunt clenched, slick leaking down her thighs, the heat of it so sudden she gasped.

Jake saw it all.

He slid in behind her, chest to her back, hands framing her hips like he was sculpting her posture to his taste. He leaned in close, lips brushing her ear.

“You like seeing us like this,” he murmured, voice honey-thick and wicked. “My girl… dripping just from a reflection.”

Y/N whimpered.

Jake’s hand gathered her hair—twisting it gently at the base of her skull—and made an imperfect ponytail with his fist. Her head tipped back into his grip, neck exposed.

He groaned softly.

“Pretty fuckin’ neck,” he whispered, and then—his mouth was on her again.

His lips dragged over the skin of her nape, slow and possessive. Then he licked her.

A long, wet stripe from the base of her spine to the crest of her neck. All tongue. Hot and firm and deliberate. Like he was tasting her. Claiming her.

She shuddered violently, hips twitching forward.

“Jake…”

“Shh,” he breathed, mouth still pressed to her skin. “Let me have this.”

He licked her again. Tongue flat, dragging slowly across the sensitive skin just beneath her hairline. His breath hitched.

“I could die like this,” he muttered.

Jake’s fingers slid between her thighs with the same confidence his mouth carried—like he already knew exactly how to ruin her.

He pressed in just enough to glide through her slick, then found her clit with maddening ease. Two fingers moved in tight, slow circles—firm pressure, the rhythm tuned perfectly to her body, like muscle memory.

Y/N moaned, low and broken, knees quivering on the mattress.

“Fuck,” she whispered, arching her back into him, “just like that.”

She turned her head—wanted to see him. Kiss him. She twisted just enough to catch his mouth again, pulling him in with lips parted and tongue already waiting.

But this time, she took the lead.

Jake didn’t resist. He groaned against her lips as she kissed him—hard, hungry. Her tongue slid over his, slick and confident, coaxing every sound from his throat. Then she bit his bottom lip, not enough to hurt—but enough to claim.

Jake’s cock twitched hard behind her, straining against the fabric of his boxers. He ground forward, hips rolling into the soft dip of her ass and lower back, pressing the thick, hot length of himself into her skin so she could feel exactly how desperate he was.

He groaned into her mouth, lips swollen, breath ragged.

“Christ, you kiss like you want to own me.”

“You already said I could,” she whispered.

Jake didn’t argue.

Her left hand reached down, covering the wrist of the hand still playing with her pussy. She didn’t stop him—just held him there, grounding herself in the motion of his fingers. Feeling every stroke, every circle as it sent sparks through her hips and up her spine.

The other hand twisted up and into his hair, fingers tangling tight, pulling.

Jake gasped, his mouth parting under hers, head tipping forward like his whole body was surrendering.

“Fuck, baby…” he whispered against her lips. “You feel that? You feel how hard you’ve got me? Just from your mouth—just from the way you taste.”

His fingers never stopped.

That steady rhythm—perfect circles, light press, then firmer when she whimpered. The slick sounds between her legs grew louder, wetter, and Jake groaned like it was a symphony he’d been dying to conduct.

“You’re dripping,” he murmured. “Fuck, I can feel it all over my hand.”

“Good,” she breathed. “You make me like this.”

He kissed her again, messier now. Tongue everywhere. Groaning into her mouth.

Her hips rocked in time with his fingers, and every press of his cock against her back made her body throb harder. Every kiss she stole made him weaker.

Jake’s fingers slowed—just slightly—then slipped away from her soaked, abused clit.

Y/N let out a gasp, her hips instinctively rolling forward, chasing the friction that had been building into fire under her skin.

Then she whined, high-pitched and desperate.

Jake groaned at the sound—low and guttural, forehead pressing against the back of her shoulder.

“Fuck me,” he muttered. “You don’t even know what that sound does to me.”

She whined again, back arching, her hand grabbing blindly for his wrist, trying to pull his fingers back down between her thighs.

“Jakey—please—why’d you—”

“I have to get these off, baby,” he rasped, pulling his hips back just far enough for her to feel the absence, but not forget it. His hand left her pussy, but he reached down immediately, hooking his thumbs into the waistband of his boxers.

“Gonna lose my fucking mind if I don’t get inside you.”

He pushed the fabric down over his hips and his cock sprang free—thick, flushed dark at the tip, glistening with precum, aching for her. It slapped softly against his lower stomach before he wrapped a hand around the base, groaning at the contact.

“See what you do to me?” he whispered, his voice a growl in her ear. “Look at that. I’ve never been this fucking hard in my life. Never wanted anyone like I want you. Not like this.”

She whimpered, and his hand came up—fingertips trailing along her spine, soft, reverent, until they found her waist again.

Jake leaned in close again, his voice low, rough with hunger and awe.

“Down for me,” he breathed. “Face down. Ass up. You know what I like.”

Y/N obeyed without hesitation.

She lowered her chest to the mattress, arching her back, lifting her hips—slow and deliberate—until she gave him that perfect line, that sweet curve of her spine that he’d seen a hundred times. Her hair spilled around her shoulders, her hands gripping the sheets, thighs parted just wide enough to let him see everything.

Jake let out a sound—raw, desperate, worshipful.

“Jesus fuck, baby… look at you. You want me this bad?”

She looked over her shoulder, eyes dark and gleaming.

“I want all of you.”

Jake’s hand slid up her back, tracing the arch, possessive and trembling. The other wrapped around the base of his cock again as he stepped in closer, the flushed tip dragging through the slick heat of her folds, wetting himself with her arousal.

Then he found her entrance.

She was swollen, fluttering, dripping with need.

And he pushed in.

The thick head of his cock eased inside, stretching her open, filling her just enough to steal the air from her lungs.

Y/N gasped—sharp and high-pitched.

Her hands fisted the sheets, her head dropping between her arms.

He was inside her.

Not fully. Not yet. Just the tip.

But still, it was everything.

Jake groaned behind her, voice breaking.

“You feel that?” he rasped. “How tight you are around just the tip? She missed me, baby.”

Then—inch by inch—he pushed deeper.

Y/N felt it like a tide rolling through her.

The slow, overwhelming pressure of him filling her, pressing into spots only he could reach. The friction, the fullness, the way her walls fluttered with every slow slide forward—it was too much and not enough all at once. Her pussy clenched around him, wet and greedy.

He was hot and thick and so hard, the stretch sending shocks of both pleasure and pain up her spine. Her body pulsed around him, instinctively trying to pull him deeper.

Her mouth fell open.

But it wasn’t just her body reacting.

It was her heart, as well.

Because this was Jake—her Jake. The boy who kissed her forehead after she woke up from a nightmare, who licked blood from her thighs like a vow, and who said I love you with his tongue inside her and meant every syllable.

And now he was filling her completely.

Tears pricked at the corners of her eyes—not from pain. From how much she felt.

He leaned over her, one hand braced on the bed, the other still gripping her hip like he couldn’t let go.

He bottomed out—finally—the base of his cock pressing flush against her soaked, trembling cunt. Her body took every inch, molded to fit him, welcomed him like he belonged there.

At first, Jake didn’t move.

He just held himself there, buried to the hilt, letting her walls pulse around him—hot and slick and impossibly tight. His hands gripped her hips like he was holding on for dear life, and when he finally pulled back, it was a slow torture.

Then he thrust back in.

Deep.

“Fuck… this pussy,” he panted. “So fuckin’ warm. So tight. Squeezin’ me like you never want me to leave.”

Y/N’s back arched, and she let out a shaky moan as his hips rolled forward again, another slow, deep stroke that dragged every nerve along her walls.

Jake leaned over her a bit more, his mouth hovering by her ear, his voice a growl softened by awe.

“Do you know how good you feel? How fuckin’ wet you are for me? God, baby—she’s greedy. She’s pulling me in.”

She whimpered, her thighs shaking.

“Jakey, feels so, so good—”

“I know it does,” he whispered, biting softly at her shoulder, hips dragging back again before plunging in deep, deeper. “I get it now. I understand.”

She gasped.

“Understand what?”

Jake groaned, kissing her nape, tongue running up the curve of her spine between thrusts.

“Why men start wars over girls like you.”

Y/N let out a breathless, stunned laugh, even as her body clamped down around him again.

“You’re insane.”

“Mmhm.” He smirked, dragging his cock all the way out until just the tip lingered at her entrance—then slammed back in with one smooth, slow roll of his hips. “Crazy. Absolutely fucking gone for you.”

She moaned again, and her laugh turned into a shiver.

Jake’s thrusts kept the same rhythm—slow, deep, deliberate. His hips snapped forward with weight, burying himself again and again in the tight heat of her cunt, groaning every time her body fluttered around him.

His hand slid up her spine, pressing between her shoulders to deepen that perfect arch.

“You were made for this,” he growled. “For me. This tight little hole’s mine, baby.”

He kissed her again—messy and open-mouthed against her back.

“Could fuck you like this forever. Never pull out. Just keep you full and dripping. Bet you’d love that.”

Jake’s pace began to shift—slow, deep strokes turning faster, sharper. His hips slapped softly against her ass, wet sounds echoing in the quiet, hot room, timed perfectly with her breathy moans and the creak of the bed frame.

He couldn’t stop watching her.

His bottom lip caught between his teeth, bitten and red, eyes locked on the way she moved for him. Met his thrusts halfway. Took him like she’d been sculpted just for this.

And Y/N noticed. Of course she did.

Even through the dizzying pleasure, she saw in their reflection the way his gaze stayed glued to her ass, saw the way he twitched every time she clenched around him.

And she grinned—breathless, wicked.

“I thought you were a boob guy,” she panted, voice laced with teasing. “What happened to all that chest worship, huh?”

Jake froze for a split second.

Then laughed—ragged and wrecked, the sound spilling out of his throat between groans.

“Oh, sweetheart,” he growled, snapping his hips forward harder, making her jolt with the sudden depth, “you bounce this ass like that and expect me to focus on anything else?”

Y/N laughed too—cut short by a moan as his cock hit that perfect spot inside her.

Jake leaned in over her, lips brushing her ear, one hand still gripping her hip, the other now sliding around her front—palming one of her breasts with a rough groan.

“I am a boob guy,” he rasped. “And an ass guy, and a pussy guy. I’m a ‘you’ guy.”

He pinched her nipple, rolled it gently between his fingers.

“You could breathe in my direction, and I’d get hard. Doesn’t matter what part I’m lookin’ at. It’s all mine.”

She gasped again, back arching deeper into him, ass pushing up to meet his thrusts.

He watched the motion in the reflection again—the way she pushed back onto him, watched her face tighten with every thrust. Her mouth open, eyes heavy-lidded, her skin flushed and glistening.

Jake’s rhythm had gone near-perfect—deep and sharp, his hips pistoning into her with that mix of strength and craving. But then he felt it.

Every time he slid out, her pussy fluttered around him, squeezing tight, as if trying to hold him in. And then—when he pushed back in, thick and deep—her muscles relaxed, like she was letting him in on purpose. Inviting him.

Jake choked on a moan, thrust stuttering.

“Baby—fuck—what are you doing to me?”

She smiled—he knew she did, even without seeing her face.

He looked in the reflection.

That wicked, breathless grin.

That soft bounce of her ass every time she clenched around him.

She did it again.

Tighter.

Then again—pulsing around his cock like her body was trying to pull him apart.

Jake snapped.

His hand shot up, grabbing a fistful of her hair, not rough enough to hurt, not really, but enough to make her feel it. He pulled her back hard, arching her spine into a curve so perfect it made his cock throb inside her.

She whined, voice high and sharp.

“Jake—ow—fuck. That hurts—”

He bent over her, his lips brushing her jawline.

“You love it.”

She did.

And so did he.

His free arm wrapped around her waist, yanking her upright against him—flush to his chest, his cock still buried deep inside her, now from a new angle that made them both gasp. The fullness. The depth. The way her walls clung to him like a second skin.

He kissed her again. Tongue-first. All heat, no hesitation. Her mouth opened to him instantly. Tongues collided. Teeth clicked. Her hand flew back, clawing at the side of his thigh, holding him in place as she rocked her hips back into his lap.

Jake moaned into her mouth, hips still moving, fucking up into her from beneath now, his cock dragging against her spot with every thrust.

“You milk me like that again,” he panted against her lips, “and I’m gonna fill you up so deep you’ll feel it in your fucking throat.”

Y/N gasped, lips red and slick, eyes dazed and so full of him.

Jake started to move—hand still in her hair, cock still buried deep, ready to flip her into a new position and fuck her from a new angle.

“Wait,” she breathed, voice soft—breathless, but sweet. “Can—Can you… can you be on top of me?”

He froze.

Still half-sheathed inside her, his hips twitching with restraint.

She looked back at him, over her shoulder, eyes wide, cheeks flushed, hair messy from where he’d gripped it.

Her voice went softer, and her smile turned sheepish.

“I’m tired,” she said, barely louder than a whisper.

Jake blinked once, then a smirk makes its way onto his face. He stared at her—really stared at her. That look in her eyes. The slight tremble in her thighs. Her trust.

He felt it hit right in his chest.

“You’re just lazy,” he said, teasing but warm.

Her cheeks flushed deeper.

“Maybe.”

Jake chuckled, the sound low and loving.

“Come here then, lazy girl.”

He moved gently, slipping out of her to adjust their bodies. He guided her down onto her back, her body folding into the mattress, eyes fluttering shut for a moment with the loss of him. The sheets were rumpled, warm, and damp from sweat and sex.

Then he settled between her legs. Face to face.

His hand found hers, fingers lacing. His other hand came up to brush the damp hair off her forehead, his expression suddenly soft—worshipful.

“You’re so beautiful like this.”

Then he slowly pushed back in.

Her soaked cunt parted for him, her walls welcoming him back like he belonged there. Every inch stretched her again, but now she could see his face. See his lashes flutter when he bottomed out. See the tension in his jaw, the part in his lips when her pussy clenched again.

Her mouth opened in a gasp. Her brows knit with pleasure. Her chest rose with every shaky breath.

“Fuck, baby,” he whispered, hips pressing deep, “I can feel all of you.”

Y/N whimpered, wrapping her legs around his waist, drawing him deeper.

Jake’s hips rolled into her—deep strokes that made the bed creak and her breath stutter.

But he couldn’t stop looking at her chest.

The rise and fall of her breasts with every thrust.

The way her nipples were already pebbled, flushed, just begging for his mouth.

His hand slid up between them—palm warm and rough—and he groaned low in his throat.

Then he took one into his mouth.

He sucked hard at first, like he wanted to bruise her with his lips, then softened—his tongue circling her nipple, then flicking it in short, wet strokes that made her gasp and arch into him. He used his hand on the other, kneading, rolling the other peak between his fingers while his teeth grazed the one in his mouth.

Y/N moaned, high and ragged.

Her fingers flew into his hair, tangling there, holding him against her. She gripped tighter every time he sucked harder, tugging the way she knew he loved.

Jake groaned into her breast.

“Fuck, baby… your tits were made for my mouth.”

He bit gently—just enough to make her hips jump—and she let out a breathless, shaky laugh.

Then she started talking.

And it undid him.

“You feel so good, Jakey,” she whispered, eyes locked on his flushed, focused face. “So, so deep… I can feel you in my stomach.”

Jake growled around her nipple, thrusting deeper, slower.

“You’re fucking me so well, baby… you always know what I need.”

His hips twitched, rhythm faltering for a second. Her praise hit different—like she was stroking something raw inside him.

Her thumb brushed his temple as he licked across her chest.

“I love the way you move inside me. Like you’re made for it. Like you know I was made for you.”

Jake lifted his head, mouth wet, jaw tight.

“Keep talking like that,” he panted, “and I’m not gonna last.”

Y/N smiled, dazed and wrecked.

“Good,” she whispered. “I want you to fall apart. I want to feel you lose it inside me.”

Jake kissed her again—open, messy, tongue tangled with hers—while his cock thrust deeper, harder, the rhythm now desperate. His mouth moved from hers to her neck, back to her breast, worshipping, sucking, devouring.

His free hand slipped down between them, careful through the thrusts, until his fingers found her clit again—swollen, soaked, needy.

He rubbed tight, firm circles just the way she liked. Not too fast. Not too soft. Perfect.

Y/N cried out.

Her back arched. Her thighs jerked. Her eyes fluttered half-shut as she grabbed at his shoulder with one hand, her other still tangled in his hair.

“Jake—fuck—don’t stop—don’t stop—”

He didn’t.

His hips rolled deep, cock thrusting in fast, rough strokes that brushed right there, over and over—right on the spot inside her that made her toes curl and her whole body feel like fire under her skin.

His tongue flicked over her nipple again, teeth grazing, sucking, biting.

His fingers never stopped moving.

And her voice—God, her voice—just kept coming.

“You feel so good, Jake—so deep—you’re fucking me so good, baby—I can’t think—I can’t—”

Jake moaned into her chest, cock twitching inside her from her words alone.

“I—I love your cock—fuck, I love how good you fuck me—like I’m yours—Ah!”

“You are mine,” he growled, voice muffled against her skin. “Every inch. Every breath. Every fuckin’ moan—mine.”

“Faster, Jakey,” Y/N gasped, voice cracked and begging. “Harder—please—I need you.”

Jake didn’t hesitate.

His hips snapped forward with more force now, driving into her with heavy, wet thrusts that made the bed rock and her breath catch with every impact. His fingers on her clit moved faster—tight circles, perfect rhythm, slick with her arousal and the heat of how close she was to coming undone.

He kissed her breast again—open-mouthed, tongue dragging over her nipple as he groaned into her skin.

Y/N clutched at his back, nails pressing into the flex of his shoulder blades.

“No one else, Jake,” she breathed, words tumbling between gasps and moans. “There’s no one else who makes me feel like this. No one else I want.”

Jake’s body jerked at that—cock twitching deep inside her, his breath stuttering against her chest.

“I’d rather die than live without you,” she whispered.

His groan was guttural, primal, ripped straight from his chest.

“You mean that?” he rasped, voice shaking, hips pounding into her now, every thrust hitting so deep she could barely breathe.

“I need you,” she said. “I belong to you. I’m yours, Jake—only yours.”

His rhythm faltered for just a moment, like her words had broken something loose inside him.

Then he snapped.

His fingers on her clit moved faster, tighter.

His cock drove into her with the kind of force that made her body bounce into the mattress, thighs trembling with the overload of sensation.

“You’re mine,” he growled, kissing her throat, biting softly at her jaw. “No one gets you but me. No one ever could.”

Her hands flew back into his hair, dragging him down into another kiss—sloppy, deep, tongue-heavy.

She whimpered into his mouth, her thighs shaking, her body trembling beneath him as that coil in her belly tightened dangerously.

“Come for me,” he whispered, voice breaking. “Come on my cock, baby. Let me feel you.”

Y/N shattered like glass struck by lightning.

It hit fast and overwhelming—the first spasm of pleasure rolling through her like a shockwave. Her thighs clenched around his hips, her toes curled, and her walls tightened around Jake’s cock with a force that nearly made him come on the spot.

“Oh my god—Jake—Jake—” her voice was broken, high, holy, like prayer and desperation fused together.

He felt every squeeze. Every flutter.

His thrusts slowed immediately, deep and controlled, his cock dragging through the slick heat of her as her body convulsed around him. His fingers on her clit softened just slightly, keeping her there, guiding her through it, not rushing, not pulling away.

He kissed her cheek, her throat, her collarbone—open-mouthed and breathless.

“There you go, baby,” he murmured, eyes locked on her face. “That’s it. Fuck, you’re so beautiful like this. Just let it happen.”

She was gasping, eyes squeezed shut, back arching as another wave ripped through her.

Her cunt pulsed around him again—tight, wet, relentless.

Jake didn’t stand a chance.

The second he felt her come—the way her pussy clamped down on him, fluttering around his cock like she was trying to keep him there forever—he was gone.

He slowed even more, each thrust deliberate, letting her feel the weight and stretch of him through the peak of it.

“I’ve got you,” he whispered. “I’ve got you, sweetheart.”

Y/N trembled beneath him, her moans tapering off into soft, overwhelmed whimpers as the high began to fade—but the glow stayed. Her whole body buzzed. Her heart raced. Her fingers gripped him like she’d sink without his skin.

His grip on her hip tightened, his jaw clenched, and he groaned into her shoulder, the sound deep and guttural and full of something breaking.

He was so fucking close, so, so full.

And it took every last ounce of strength in him to pull out—slowly, painfully—her slick, soaked walls dragging on him like a velvet vice, clinging as if to say, ‘don’t go’.

“Fuck—you’re so tight,” he gasped, pulling back inch by inch, every nerve ending in his body on fire. “I don’t wanna leave—shit—”

But he did.

Barely.

And the second he was out—his cock flushed and glistening, twitching with the need to release—he wrapped his hand around the base and stroked himself once—

Twice—

Three times—

“Fuck—Y/N—”

The first rope of cum shot out of him with force, landing right across her slit—thick and creamy and hot.

He groaned through his teeth as another followed—painting her pussy lips white, coating her clit in the warm, sticky mess of it.

More spilled over her entrance—so close to filling her, some of it already seeping inside just the slightest bit, thick drips collecting there, slicking her folds.

He watched it happen, jaw slack, breath ragged.

Her pussy, twitching from aftershocks.

His cum, marking her.

Not bred—but his, nonetheless.

He rubbed the tip of his cock along her soaked slit, dragging through the mess, smearing it across her clit, watching her shiver slightly beneath him.

The room was silent, save for the sound of their ragged breathing—his slower now, hers soft and shallow, like she hadn’t quite come back to earth yet.

Their bodies were still tangled, neither willing to move yet. The motel air was warm against sweat-slick skin, the sheets rumpled and half-slid off the bed.

Jake hovered just above her, propped on one trembling arm. His other hand rested flat over her ribcage, feeling the rise and fall of her chest under his palm.

Her breasts were flushed and glistening, nipples still wet from his mouth, the skin beneath them mottled with hickeys he’d sucked deep into her flesh—his signature, his need. Her collarbones bore more—dark blooms of red-purple where his tongue and teeth had lingered too long. The soft skin at her hips was red, raw where his hands had gripped her too tightly. Possessive. Worshipful. Maybe even a little cruel.

Her lips—God, her lips—swollen and bitten, shiny with spit from their messy, desperate kisses. They looked like sin, and he’d never wanted anything more in his life than to kiss them again.

Her hair spilled out over the motel pillow in wild, damp waves. A halo of chaos. A crown she didn’t even know she wore.

But it was her cunt that kept his eyes.

Red, puffy, glistening. Her pussy lips were flushed and swollen, the delicate folds puffy from how hard she’d been worked, how deep he’d fucked her. The soft pink of her inner lips peeked through slick-stained outer lips—raw, parted, like she was still open for him even now.

His cum was everywhere.

Thick, creamy streaks filled the soft creases between her folds. Some of it clung stubbornly to her clit, tangled in the ridges, glossy and warm, slowly dripping. Another trail had slipped lower—pale white against the flush of her used entrance, where it threatened to slide in, teasing the raw, fluttering rim of her hole.

Her pussy was still clenching.

Twitching—tightening around nothing in soft, slow pulses like it hadn’t yet realized he was gone. As if it was still calling for him, still missing the stretch of his cock. The emptiness only made the mess more obscene.

Her inner thighs gleamed with her slick—slick that had soaked her before he’d even touched her. Before she’d come. Before he’d been inside. It had poured out of her in waves, wetting her soft skin, dripping in thin rivulets down the smooth curve of her thighs, pooling beneath her.

Now, mixed with his cum, it looked even more filthy.

Even more beautiful.

Jake moved without a word.

He slid down the bed, between her still-trembling thighs, resting on his forearms like he belonged there.

Y/N laid open and flushed, her legs barely parted now, heavy with fatigue and aftershocks. But she didn’t resist when he gently eased them apart again. She knew what he was doing. And she let him.

He started at her thighs.

Slow licks first, his tongue dragging along the inside, tracing the sticky remnants of her arousal. He licked through the streaks of slick that had dried to her skin, then lower, collecting the creamy drips of his own cum that had spilled from her. His mouth worked without pause, lips pressing soft kisses in between every lick, every stroke of tongue.

Y/N sighed softly. A shiver rolled through her.

Then he moved up.

There was a bit of his semen clinging to the soft mound above her slit—just a smear, pale and glossy against her flushed skin. Jake leaned in and sucked it clean. Slow. Wet. His tongue flattened, dragging upward, collecting every trace.

He kissed it, then exhaled, hot and heavy.

Then he moves onto her outer lips.

Swollen. Gleaming. Still puffy from the stretch of him.

He mouthed over them first, soft kisses that turned into gentle sucks. His tongue worked in slow strokes along the edges, tasting her, cleaning her, owning the mess he’d made. His hands held her thighs gently now, thumbs stroking mindlessly.

Then his mouth found her clit.

He didn’t rush.

He circled first—just the tip of his tongue, light flicks over the sensitive nub, coaxing it rather than attacking it. Then he flattened his tongue and dragged it across—up, down, again—pressing just a little firmer when she gasped and arched her back.

Jake groaned softly.

She was still so reactive.

He sucked it gently into his mouth, just for a moment, rolling it between his lips before letting go. Her hips twitched. Her breath caught. He loved how she responded to his mouth.

He slid lower.

His tongue pressed between her folds now—slow, deliberate strokes that gathered her slick, his cum, everything in between. He traced the shape of her, the soft, delicate creases, licking through the aftermath like it was his favorite flavor.

And then he reached her hole.

Still red. Still open, just barely.

Still twitching.

Jake moaned, the sound low and desperate.

He leaned in, tongue circling the rim, gentle but unrelenting. He licked over it, around it, into it—just a little. Just enough to make her gasp and shift and say his name like she wasn’t sure if she could take more.

But Jake couldn’t stop.

His mouth never left her—tongue dragging from the soft folds of her used pussy back up to her clit, where he paused.

Her breath hitched.

“Jakey…” she murmured, voice hoarse, barely more than a whimper.

But it wasn’t no.

It was more.

So he latched onto her clit again—deliberate now, tongue flicking fast and tight, then circling slow, then flicking again.

Y/N’s legs jumped.

Her thighs pressed inward, instinctively trying to close around his head—but Jake just wrapped his arms around them, holding her wide and open.

“You love this,” he murmured between strokes. “Don’t pretend you don’t.”

She moaned—high and helpless.

“I—I can’t—”

“You can,” he growled, tongue never breaking rhythm. “You will. You’re gonna come again, sweetheart. Gonna let me taste it this time.”

He sucked her clit between his lips again, harder now—drawing circles with his tongue while he held her in place.

She writhed under him, fingers twisting in the sheets, her hips stuttering against his face, overwhelmed and overstimulated and so fucking close.

Jake moaned into her, eyes half-lidded, cock still half-hard just from the taste of her.

“You’re so fucking good for me,” he murmured. “Letting me fuck you like that… letting me lick you clean. You’re gonna come just from my mouth, aren’t you?”

She nodded, breathless, gasping.

“Yes—yes, Jake—I’m close again—”

He buried his face deeper, tongue stroking harder, faster—one hand sneaking up to press flat over her lower belly, holding her down.

“Then fucking do it, baby,” he growled. “Come on my tongue. I want you shaking. I want you crying for me.”

And she did.

With a cry that broke halfway into a sob, her body arched, then locked, her legs trembling, cunt clenching in fluttering spasms as another orgasm crashed through her. This one was sharper—brighter, and painfully sweet. Her thighs trembled, her hips jerked, her hands flew to his hair, pulling him tighter.

Jake held on.

Held her.

Licked her through every wave, clench, and aftershock. Letting her calm down just enough for her squirming to become light twitching and her moans to become soft whimpers.

And with that, Jake kissed her one last time.

A full-mouthed smack to her overstimulated, twitching pussy—his tongue already gone, but his claim still lingering in the sound. A parting gift. A promise. Something she’d remember every time she shifted her legs and felt the soreness he left behind.

She let out a shivery, exhausted laugh.

He grinned against her thigh.

Then he finally moved.

Jake dragged his body up the bed, slow and loose with post-release heaviness, skin damp with sweat and her scent. His hair was a mess—flattened where she’d held him, spiked where she’d pulled—but his eyes were soft, dark and warm when they found her face.

She was wrecked.

Her lips parted, lashes low, chest still heaving with the final echoes of that second climax. Her skin glowed with heat, her body limp and raw and safe.

He laid down beside her, then pulled her in—an arm looping around her waist, tugging gently until she rolled into him, face tucked under his chin, her leg sliding over his thigh like it had always belonged there.

“Hey,” he murmured. “Still with me?”

Y/N let out a soft hum against his chest.

“Mmhmm.”

Jake smiled softly and pressed a kiss to the top of her head. He ran a hand slowly down her spine, then back up to her shoulder, fingers tracing lazy circles into her skin. There was no need for more now. No pressure. Just her in his arms.

Quiet, safe, and his.

The room was dim now, shadows stretching long across the motel ceiling, the air heavy with the scent of sweat, sex, and fading adrenaline.

They didn’t speak.

They didn’t need to.

Jake held her close—her cheek resting just above his heart, her leg thrown over his hips, his arms a circle around her small, worn body like a vow made in flesh. She was warm. Quiet. Real.

Her fingertips traced his bicep in slow, looping lines. Barely there. Soothing. The kind of touch that wasn’t meant to stir—but to keep.

She spoke softly.

“What do we do now?”

Jake’s breath hitched.

“We can’t run forever.” she added. Her voice was tired.

He didn’t answer right away.

“I’ve been thinking about it,” he said.

Her fingers paused.

“We can’t go back,” he added. “Not to your place. Not to the city. They’ll be looking.”

Y/N nodded faintly against his chest.

“Then what?”

Jake looked up at the ceiling, eyes unfocused.

Y/N waited, heart pressed against his, her fingers still trailing slowly along his skin. She could feel the hesitation in the way his chest rose beneath her cheek. The pause in his breath. The heaviness starting to creep in again.

And then, finally—softly:

“I don’t know.”

He turned his face slightly, hiding in her hair, one arm tightening around her waist like he was afraid she might let go after hearing it.

“Just hold me,” he whispered.

Y/N didn’t hesitate and pulled him in.

Both arms around him now. Her leg tightening over his hip. Her fingers finding the back of his neck and threading into his hair, grounding him.

“I think I can be okay,” she murmured. “As long as you’re with me.”

He didn’t speak again.

He didn’t have to.

Because in that moment, with her heart pressed to his, her breath warm against his skin, and her arms wrapped around his body—that was the only answer either of them needed.

And in the quiet, with hundreds of questions but nothing left to say, they stayed together.

For now.

TAGLIST @yourislandgirl @splzq @rikiislovrr @hoonprksung @kyunlov

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unearthlyeclipse · 2 months ago

Text

LOKI ODINSON/LAUFEYSON P!LINKS // NSFW/SMUT

A/N: I GOT MY FIRST REQUESTTTT!!!!! This anon was soo lucky since I've had Loki on the back burner for a bit. By the time I actually finished this up I had another request for Loki from @kimm4710!! I hope you all enjoy!!

Warnings: 18+ MINORS DNI, smut, Loki + clones, choking, brief President! Loki, cunnilingus, fingering, matingpress, slight BDSM, slight power dynamics/scaling (/pos), creampies, dry humping/grinding, morning sex, light slapping, titfucking, breeding/impregnation kink.

Overstimulating Loki, not giving him a moment to rest as you continued to jerk off each load while his cum sputtered on your palm.

Loki was tired of all of your teasing, so he gave you a rough pounding as a lesson.

"Producing an heir" (Breeding kink) Loki whimpering from how tightly your cunt squeezes around him, causing him to cum inside of you. Loki just wanted to make sure you became pregnant, matepressing you hard. Loki just couldn't stop moaning as he pumped load after load into your cunt.

Loki loved treating your cunt how it should be, lapping up your mixed cum, not afraid to get his hands dirty.

President! Loki having some downtime with his precious assistant.

(Long video) Loki teasing you for countless moments, a blindfold around your head with your arms and legs bound to the bed as he toyed with you however he pleased.

Loki pushing you to the edge with ease. He loves listening to you squeal.

Some early day dry humping with Loki, both of you being vocal as per usual. You had noticed his morning wood, and you wanted to help.

"Clones" Loki having some fun with you, he had decided to use a clone to enhance your pleasure. Double penetration with Loki and one of his clones.

#loki x reader #loki laufesyon x reader #loki odinson x reader #marvel #mcu #marvel rivals #twt links #p!links #p links #writers on tumblr #writeblr

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chrissssssmut · 2 months ago

Note

You heard of parasocial relationships where fans of a celebrity feel like they know the celebrity and am close to them even though they aren't?

Imagine a reverse yandere parasocial relationship where an idol sees social media posts from a guy online who is a fan of her and she becomes obsessed with him and goes full yandere

NOTICED

Yandere Kazuha x Male Reader

AN: Sorry I take so long writing! I've been super busy recently and I hope you all could understand!😭♥️

You didn’t expect your K-pop fan account to go anywhere. It was just a place to dump your edits, fancams, and long-winded rambles about how “Kazuha doesn’t even feel real sometimes,” or how “no human should move that gracefully unless they were sculpted by the gods.”

You were just one of thousands. One more voice in a sea of fanboys.

But… she saw you.

And she never stopped looking.

It started small. A like.

You noticed it one night around 2:12 AM, while lazily scrolling through your old posts, chasing dopamine. Your most recent tweet—“If I ever get reincarnated I hope it’s as Kazuha’s phone charger”—had a new like.

From her official account.

You sat upright so fast your spine popped. The checkmark stared back at you like a blinking cursor on a love letter.

“Okay,” you whispered, screen glowing in the dark. “Okay, that’s not… normal.”

Your heart wouldn’t stop racing. She had millions of followers. Why your post? Why now?

Maybe it was her social media manager? Maybe it was random?

You retweeted it anyway, captioning it with:

“No way Kazuha just liked my tweet???? Is this real life???”

You didn’t know it then, but she was already watching. Already scrolling.

Next Day — Seoul

Kazuha scrolled through your feed, her thumb trembling ever so slightly as she lay on her hotel bed. The blue light carved shadows into her face.

Every post. Every caption. Every breath you typed into the void—meant for her.

“He thinks I’m not real,” she murmured, eyes glinting. “He thinks I’m a goddess.”

A slow, eerie smile tugged at her lips.

“Then I’ll become one.”

Three Days Later

Your account was exploding. Kazuha had liked three more of your posts.

One was your fan edit—her rehearsal shots layered with angel wings and a dreamy filter.

Another was your tweet:

“Kazuha's smile should be registered as a WMD.”

And the third?

“If Kazuha ever looked at me the way she looks at the camera, I’d pass out. Actually pass out.”

You were losing your mind. Your DMs were flooded. Kazuha had liked three more of your posts, and the internet was combusting over it. Your phone buzzed non-stop—mentions, retweets, follows, and angry fanboys and fangirls trying to decode what black magic you used.

Some of the messages were just chaotic:

@swanfeetfanatic:

BRO??? WHAT DID YOU SELL TO THE UNIVERSE FOR THIS?? GIVE ME THE RITUAL CIRCLE???

@kknuckles:

This is rigged. You’re not even her biggest fan. You don’t even tag your fancams right.

But then came the jealous DMs.

unknown:

“Seriously? SHE liked you? You barely know anything about her. You said she looked ‘unreal’ like three times. That’s lazy simping.”

user82837:

“You're just a thirst account. If anyone should get noticed, it's people who actually care about her art.”

zuha4life:

“You think she’s gonna date you now or something? LMAO. Delusional.”

private account (no pfp):

“She follows me too. You’re not special. Stop pretending you matter.”

The bitterness dripped off every word, but you couldn’t lie—it kind of made it sweeter. You knew it was petty, but something about being the one she saw… it stirred something in your chest.

You refreshed again.

Another like.

This time, on your old post from months ago:

“If Kazuha showed up at my door soaked in rain asking to stay the night, I wouldn’t even ask questions. I’d just pray she never leaves.”

You stared at it.

And then the DM came from that private account with no posts.

unknown:

"You wouldn’t pass out. You’d fall to your knees."

Then it vanished.

Same Night — Hotel Room

Kazuha grinned at her burner account. She had watched your reaction through the reflection in her hotel window, playing your stream on mute.

She could see you squint at your screen, confused and flustered. She could practically taste your pulse.

“That’s enough teasing for now,” she whispered, rolling onto her back. “He’s almost ripe.”

Next Day — Fanmeet

You had to fly out. You couldn’t resist anymore. Kazuha was attending a public fanmeet in Seoul and you had to see her.

You didn’t expect to get in. You didn’t expect your fan letter to even be read. But someone—somehow—pushed your name to the top of the list.

You were called up.

And there she was.

Kazuha, smiling up at you from across the small table. Her skin glowed. Her eyes—deep, unreadable—fixed on you like you were the only thing left in the world.

You stammered. “H-Hi…”

“Hi,” she said sweetly, but her tone was low. Slow. Intimate.

Your heart did a backflip.

She tilted her head. “You look… just like I imagined.”

You blinked. “W-What?”

Kazuha leaned in, lips just a whisper from the mic.

“Your voice. Your face. I’ve seen all of it. So many times.”

You stood frozen. The staff gestured for you to move along, but she raised her hand—delicate but firm.

“One more minute,” she told them.

Then her eyes turned back to you.

“I liked your post,” she said quietly. “The one about reincarnating as my phone charger.”

You let out a half-choked laugh. “I-I was joking, of course—”

“I wasn’t.”

Silence. Her stare burned into you.

“Would you let me keep you in my room?” she asked. “Just… on the floor. Warm. Plugged in. Close.”

Your throat dried.

She smiled. “I’m kidding.”

But her eyes weren’t.

Two Days Later — Your Apartment

You couldn’t shake her from your mind. Every notification made your heart stutter. Every shadow in your hallway felt like it was holding its breath.

You told yourself you were being paranoid.

Until the note appeared under your door.

“I know where you live now. I liked it better when I was the fantasy. But I’ll make reality better, don’t worry. — K”

You dropped the note like it burned.

Outside, the wind howled.

You couldn’t sleep. Every sound outside your window had you glancing over your shoulder. You checked the locks again. You checked your phone.

No notifications. No messages.

Then the lights flickered.

You turned—slowly—to see her.

Kazuha.

Standing in your living room.

Barefoot. Hair wet. Dressed in one of your oversized hoodies.

“Hey,” she said, as if it was the most normal thing in the world. “Miss me?”

Your mouth opened, but nothing came out.

She walked toward you, slow and deliberate.

“I told myself I’d wait. That I’d be patient. But you kept posting. You kept calling me a goddess. You kept making me real.”

You backed up, bumping into the wall.

Kazuha raised a hand and gently pressed it against your chest. “So here I am.”

Her smile was soft. Her eyes weren’t.

“I’m yours, right? You made me yours. You manifested me.”

“I—Kazuha, this isn’t—”

“Shh,” she whispered. “Don’t ruin the fantasy. You prayed for this. Every post. Every word.”

She leaned in close, lips brushing your ear.

“Let me be what you worship.”

The words lingered in the air, thick with heat and danger.

You swallowed hard, heart pounding so violently it echoed in your ears. Kazuha was inches from you now—too close. The hoodie she wore was yours, you could tell from the faint detergent scent and how it draped perfectly over her dancer’s frame. Her bare legs, toned and poised, brushed against yours like it was deliberate.

“Kazuha,” you whispered, as gently as you could. “You’re not supposed to be here.”

She tilted her head, feigning confusion. “Why not? Isn’t this what you’ve always wanted?”

“I—”

“You said it yourself,” she murmured. “Over and over. You wanted me in your room. You said you’d let me stay the night. That I could do anything. Be anything.”

She pressed her forehead to yours, eyes half-lidded, breath warm.

“You told the world you’d worship me. So why hesitate now that your goddess is standing in front of you?”

You didn’t know what scared you more—how calmly she said it, or how much of you wanted to give in.

Your hand moved up, instinctively reaching for your phone, but she caught your wrist with gentle fingers.

“No,” she said, smile still soft. “This isn’t something you share.”

Her grip tightened slightly.

“This moment is ours.”

Hours Later — Same Night

You didn’t sleep.

Kazuha sat curled up on your bed like a cat who had always belonged there, scrolling through your phone as if it was hers now. Occasionally, she'd let out a soft giggle or hum.

“Oh,” she said, waving the screen. “This one’s cute.”

She read aloud:

“I’d let Kazuha slap me with a ballet shoe and I’d thank her. I’m sick in the head.”

She turned to you with wide, amused eyes. “That was you?”

You nodded mutely from the corner of the room, where you sat—legs pulled up to your chest—trying to make sense of the nightmare you were trapped in.

“God, you’re adorable,” she cooed. “You’re so loyal.”

She crawled toward you, slow and deliberate, dropping the phone beside you.

“You made me feel seen. Real. Not just some perfectly sculpted robot for the stage. You talked to me like I was art. Like I was holy.”

Her hand slid against your cheek.

“So I’ll treat you like my most devoted worshipper. Isn’t that what you are?”

You didn’t answer.

You couldn’t.

She smiled, tapping her forehead to yours again.

“Don’t be scared. You’re mine now. That’s all this is.”

You awoke to the smell of breakfast—burnt toast and eggs, slightly too salty. Kazuha was dancing barefoot in your kitchen, humming a Le Sserafim song under her breath like she was home.

Like she belonged here.

She turned when she saw you, eyes lighting up.

“Good morning, sleepyhead!” she chirped. “I made food. It's probably bad, but you’ll eat it anyway, right?”

You stared at her.

“Zuha… you can’t stay here. This isn’t normal. People will notice—”

“Let them,” she said, expression unchanging. “Let them see what real love looks like.”

“But your fans—your company—”

Her face shifted just slightly. A small, almost imperceptible crack in her serene expression.

“I don’t care about them,” she said flatly. “I care about you.”

Silence.

Then, quietly:

“You think they’d still love me if they knew what I was willing to do for you?”

You didn’t move.

She stepped closer.

“If they knew how long I’ve been watching? How many of your locations I’ve tracked from tweets? How many people I blocked from your replies—using sock accounts—so you’d feel like I was the only one who cared?”

“Kazuha—”

“They’d crucify me,” she whispered, smiling. “But you wouldn’t. You’d kneel.”

Later That Day — Twitter

Your account was different now. Your follower count had mysteriously dropped. Your tweet replies were unusually quiet—no more chaotic DMs. No more angry fangirls or jealous snark.

They were gone.

You opened your DMs and saw nothing.

Nothing.

Except one new message.

From @onlyzuha (a private account with zero followers).

“You’re welcome. I cleaned up the noise. I want to hear you clearly.”

“Post something for me. Something true. Tell the world who you belong to.”

And somehow… you knew if you didn’t, she’d find another way to make it clear.

You hovered over the tweet button.

Your hands were shaking.

“I don’t know how this happened… but she’s mine now. And I think I’m hers.”

You hit post.

Seconds later—liked by @Kazuha_official.

Your post went viral.

Not viral like before—no chaotic memes or fan envy. This time, it was quiet.

Sinister.

Everyone could feel something was off.

Your tweet:

“I don’t know how this happened… but she’s mine now. And I think I’m hers.”

Got liked only once—by Kazuha’s verified account.

No replies. No fan jokes. No chaos.

Just silence.

And then, one by one, your tweets started disappearing.

Not the ones Kazuha liked—those remained, carefully pruned. But old ones, ones where you casually mentioned your friends, college, exes, late-night gaming buddies—they all vanished. It was as if someone was scrubbing your digital identity clean.

That Night — Your Apartment

Kazuha was humming in your room again. Sitting cross-legged in your chair, scrolling through your timeline like it was hers.

“Your friend Dan,” she said calmly, “he called you pathetic once in a Discord voice call. I saved the clip.”

You stared at her. “How did you—”

“I joined with a throwaway,” she smiled. “Voice mod and everything. Cute, right?”

You stood frozen, bile creeping up your throat. “You… you were listening?”

“I am listening,” she said softly. “All the time.”

She got up, walked to you, and gently took your face in her hands.

“I know you better than anyone. Better than your mother. Better than God. Because I chose to.”

“Kazuha,” you whispered, barely breathing, “I’m scared.”

Her smile didn’t falter.

“I know, baby. It’s always scary when divinity touches you.”

Next Morning — Trending Tab

#FREE___

Your name.

It started trending without context. Just your name. Bold. Empty. Dozens of fans began asking:

“Why has this guy’s account been completely wiped except the Kazuha tweets?”

“Did he delete himself or did someone else delete him?”

“He was super active and now he’s silent af. Where is he?”

“This is giving Black Mirror.”

You tried to post something. Anything.

But the tweet wouldn’t send. Your drafts vanished as you typed them.

Kazuha walked past behind you, brushing her teeth, wearing your shirt. “Internet issues?”

She spat in the sink, smiling through the mirror.

“I locked you out. Just for a bit. You were shaking too much.”

Sometime later, a secret video is leaked.

A blurry video was posted by a burner account and quickly deleted.

It showed you—clearly distressed—sitting on a balcony. Kazuha beside you, holding your hand, smiling into the camera. Whispering something into your ear. You looked like you were crying.

Fans lost it.

“No idol should be that close to a fan, ever.”

“He doesn’t look okay. He looks like he’s being held hostage.”

“If this is real, we need to help him.”

But the video disappeared in minutes.

The account that posted it? Nuked.

The people who reposted it? Suspended.

Your last tweet remained.

Still liked.

Still pinned.

Still yours.

You sat on the edge of the building, wind tugging at your clothes. Kazuha sat beside you, her hand on your thigh, casual like always.

“I think people are starting to notice,” you murmured.

“They’re irrelevant,” she said. “They don’t understand us.”

She leaned her head on your shoulder, like a girlfriend in a drama.

“I used to think I needed the world. The stage. The lights. But it was all so… hollow.”

“Then I found your words.”

“You made me alive.”

The wind howled. You didn’t speak.

“If the world burns because I chose you,” she whispered, “then let it burn.”

She looked up at you.

“So choose, baby. Me or them.”

Your lips trembled.

“Kazuha…”

“I won’t ask again.”

One Week Later — You were declared missing.

It started with a welfare check.

Neighbors hadn’t seen you in days. Lights on all night. Packages stacked outside your door. No noise, no movement. Your parents tried calling—you didn’t answer. Your friends, the few who hadn’t been pushed away, filed a report.

By the time police reached your apartment… it was empty.

No sign of a struggle. No signs of violence.

Just your phone—cracked, screen facing the wall. And a note:

“Don’t worry about me. I’ve gone somewhere better.”

Your name hit the trending tab again.

#RIP[YourName]

#JusticeFor[YourHandle]

#WhatHappenedToTheSimpKing

Memorial edits popped up. Fan theories ran wild. Some blamed Kazuha—pointing to the tweets, the video, the possessive behavior. But HYBE’s legal team moved fast. Every accusation was buried. Every account mysteriously suspended.

It was dark when you woke up. Dim yellow lighting. A room with no windows. Your limbs ached from disuse, your body heavy. The bed beneath you was soft. Too soft. Sheets freshly washed. The scent of clean linen mixed with something sweeter—like jasmine and static.

Then you heard her voice.

“There he is.”

Kazuha stepped into the room, barefoot, wearing a flowy white dress that made her look like a dream—or a ghost. She sat beside you, brushing your hair from your face.

“Sleep well?” she whispered.

You tried to sit up. “Where am I?”

“Safe,” she said, like that explained anything. “The world thinks you’re gone. And for once… they’re right.”

You stared at her, mind spinning. “You faked my death?”

Her smile didn’t waver. “I set you free.”

The bunker—because that’s what it was—had everything.

Soft lighting. A stocked fridge. A mattress. Speakers playing Le Sserafim on loop. No internet. No phone. Just books she picked out. Sketchbooks. Headphones. Her.

She was always there. Always.

Feeding you. Bathing with you. Stroking your hair as you lay on her lap like some prized possession she could finally keep.

“You were too soft for the world,” she said one night, straddling you with a featherlight touch. “Too pure. They would’ve ruined you.”

“But I kept you.”

You stared at the ceiling.

“You stole me.”

She giggled, kissing your cheek. “And yet… you haven’t run.”

You didn’t respond.

You didn’t even know where the door was anymore.

Above Ground — Fan Reaction Shifts

A user posted screenshots of your old tweets.

“Guys. Look. She liked every single one that hinted at him wanting to disappear with her. This wasn’t random.”

“What if she saw him coming? What if she planned it?”

They were shut down instantly. IP banned. DMCA strikes. Cease-and-desist.

Kazuha’s fans pivoted.

“He was clearly unstable. Poor girl must’ve been traumatized.”

“She hasn’t smiled once onstage since it happened.”

And it was true.

Kazuha’s performances changed. She danced slower. Sang with empty eyes. But in between sets, a ghost of a smile would return. Not for the cameras. Not for the fans.

Just when she looked at her phone.

Because she still had photos of you.

Videos.

Recordings.

Proof that you were here, beneath the floorboards of the world.

It had been over a month. You couldn’t tell time anymore. Kazuha walked in with two mugs—one for you, one for her.

You didn’t even look up.

“Are you ever going to let me leave?” you asked softly.

She sat beside you, curled her legs underneath her. “No.”

You finally turned to her. “Then why pretend this is love?”

She looked at you, long and deep, like you were scripture.

“Because you loved me when no one else saw me. You wrote about me like I was more than skin. More than choreography. You called me sacred.”

“You gave me that godhood. I’m just returning the favor.”

You laughed bitterly. “You buried me.”

“I immortalized you,” she said, tone still calm. “You're legend now. The fan who loved me so much he vanished.”

She kissed your knuckles.

“And now you’re mine forever.”

Final Scene — A New Fan Surfaces

Far away, in a different country, a new Twitter thread begins.

Someone posts an edit of Kazuha.

Captions it:

“If Kazuha kidnapped me, I’d say thank you.”

The tweet goes viral. Harmless joke. Just another fan craving attention.

But in the shadows… a new account likes it.

@onlyzuha

💬 “Do you really mean that?”

#kpop yandere #yandere kpop #yandere #yandere stories #yandere x reader #male reader #kpop story #yandere blog #yandere story #yandere scenarios #kazuha #kazuha le sserafim #sakura le sserafim #yandere x male reader #yandere x y/n

257 notes · View notes

catboymoonknight · 24 days ago

Text

Ramen

Carmy x College Student Reader

Gender Not Specified

Words: 1,200+

Notes: This is something I've had in my head for a while. I have a bit more free time now, so hopefully I can do some more writing! I PROMISE I'M GETTING TO REQUESTS, I'VE STARTED WRITING THEM.

You groan softly as the palms of your hands press into your eyes. Taking a deep breath, you wait until the burning in your eyes subsides before pushing yourself away from your desk. You sigh as you walk into the kitchen, sluggishly pulling a pot out to make some half assed dinner before relaxing on the couch.

You fill the pot, setting it on the stove and turning on the burner. Your head buzzes with information, your fingers rubbing your temples. You glance at the clock, knowing Carmy should be getting to his apartment soon. You make a mental note to message him soon, ask about how the restaurant is doing.

Opening up a cabinet, the box of ramen stares down at you as you pull a packet out of it. The wrapping almost hurts your eyes due to the light reflecting off of it, your eyes still hurting from staring at your computer screen for so long today.

You set the packet down on the counter, leaning back against it as you wait to hear the sound of the water boiling. You pull your phone out of your pocket, unlocking it. There are a few messages from Sugar, one from Fak. You know how Carmy is when he works, so you're not surprised to see none from him. You quickly type out a message and hit send, knowing he won't answer until he gets into his apartment.

You're brought out of your thoughts soon after, hearing the bubbling of the water next to you. You turn down the heat a bit, adding everything from the ramen packet into the water. You place the lid on the pot, keeping an eye on it so it doesn't boil over. After a while, you turn off the burner, pouring everything from the pot into a bowl.

You drag yourself over to the small table in the kitchen, grabbing a fork on the way. You sigh as you take the first bite, your shoulders sagging a bit as you start to get food into you. Carmy would end you right now if he saw the sorry excuse for dinner you're eating.

A soft laugh bubbles out of you as you continue to eat, thinking about the scolding you'd get. You stop mid-bite, noodles hanging from your mouth as you hear the jingle of keys. Your eyebrows furrow, not moving from your spot. The door to your apartment opens, closing with a decent click.

Carmy walks into the kitchen, pausing as he sees you at the table. You slowly slurp the noodles into your mouth, the two of you staring at each other.

"What is that?" He asks, trying to hold back from making a face at the noodles.

You swallow the food in your mouth, slowly pulling the bowl closer to you. "... Nothing." You say hesitantly.

Carmen glares, but you don't flinch. "That crap is barely food, babe." He says, walking over to the table.

You pull your bowl away from him, immediately knowing he's going to toss it out. "I didn't know you were coming over."

He glares again as you pull the bowl away. "I wanted to see my partner. Is that a crime? Give it here."

"Carm, you just got off of work, and I'm starving." You pout at him, knowing he has to be tired.

He brushes you off, reaching for your bowl of ramen. He pulls it from your grasp, immediately walking into the kitchen and tossing the bowl into the sink. He pulls open the cabinet where you have the box of them, pulling it out. He looks over at you, and you immediately smile bashfully. "They're good for quick dinners."

"This is not dinner. I barely call it food." He says, setting them aside. You sigh and get up from the table as he begins pulling out pans and ingredients from your fridge.

"Babe, you barely have anything in this fridge." He sighs, closing the door and standing up straight as you walk over. You lean against him, your head resting against his.

"I haven't had time to go shopping. I've been swamped with assignments this week." You mumble to him, your lips brushing over his cheek. He sighs, immediately relaxing a little at your proximity. His arms wrap around you, holding you close. One of his hands comes up, cupping the back of your head, and pulls you in for a forehead kiss.

"We're going shopping tomorrow so I can get you some real food." He says to you, holding eye contact.

You let a sigh out of your nose, nodding. "Fine.."

He presses another kiss to your forehead, pulling away from you to open the fridge again. He grabs a bunch of random ingredients from the fridge, putting them on the counter before searching the kitchen. Knowing better than to get in the way of his flow, you hop up on the counter, close enough to feel his presence but far enough not to get in his way.

He looks over at you, staring for a bit before smiling and looking away. You smile, looking at the back of his head. "What?"

"What?" He looks over at you again.

"You're smiling."

"I can't smile?"

You glare at him, your smile tugging at your lips. "You know what I mean, Carmen."

He chuckles, setting a knife down before walking over to you. He stands between your legs, his hands on your thighs. ".. I just like looking at you." He says softly, rubbing over your thighs.

You break out into a smile, your wraps loosely wrapping around his neck. You lean in, rubbing your nose against his. He visibly relaxes, his hands coming up to rest on your hips. He leans in to kiss you, but is cut off by the rumbling of your stomach.

You let out an embarrassed giggle, pulling away from him a bit. "I did say I was starving."

He chuckles again, nodding as he walks back over to the stove. "Yeah, yeah you did." He starts cutting up a mix of things, feeling your eyes on his back as he moves. A nice silence flows over the two of you as Carmen moves around the kitchen, making you some real food.

"You don't have to make me food, Carm." You mumble softly, hopping off the counter. He glances over at you again, hearing you move closer.

"Yeah... I don't mind." He mumbles back, blinking a few times as he feels your arms around his waist from behind. He enjoys the feeling, the warmth of you against his back. After a while, he pulls you in front of him and rests his hands over yours.

"Here, hold the knife and help me cut this up." He guides your hand into proper position, pressing against your back.

"Careful with your other hand. Don't wanna cut your fingers." His hands stay over yours, slowly guiding you through cutting some ingredients. You half pay attention, eventually just end up leaning back against him.

He smiles, pressing a kiss to the crook of your neck. "I love you." He whispers against your skin, watching you cut up the rest of what's needed.

You smile, turning to look at him. "I love you too, bear."

He leans in, pressing a soft kiss against your lips. You hum against his lips, enjoying the feeling of him behind you as he throws a few things on the pan. The sizzling of ingredients fades quietly into the background as you focus on Carmen's warmth behind you.

#carmy berzatto x reader #carmy berzatto #carmen berzatto #carmen berzatto x reader #the bear #the bear x reader #the bear carmy #x reader

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mrsshabana · 2 months ago

Text

𝐌𝐨𝐫𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐧 𝐚 𝐁𝐨𝐬𝐬

ꔫ‧₊ Summary Your kindness and sincerity are like a drug to him, healing the broken man beneath the fancy suit and tie. But he will need to tread carefully so as not to overstep the professional boundary as your boss. And not to mention his wife, a cold and detached relationship that's worn him down. ꔫ‧₊ Content Gyutaro x female!reader, Modern au, Boss & secretary relationship, Gyutaro is married, Age gap ꔫ‧₊ Note 1k words. I've been planning this fic for a long time and I finally feel comfortable putting my own writing wants first. I think it'll be good for me as an author to prioritize what I'm excited about instead of constantly putting them on the back burner and writing what everyone wants me to. I hope you all enjoy this first chapter and thanks for reading ♡

✧:･ﾟ→ Chapter 2 ✧:･ﾟ→ AO3

Today is your first day at your new job. It’s a secretary position in a fancy building downtown. You don’t know much about the company itself, but you do know they are big and quite successful. Really the only reason you applied was because the pay was great and you had experience doing secretary work in the past.

You had your interview with a man by the name of Tengen Uzui. He was kind, funny, and very charismatic. Making a point to state multiple times that he thought you’d be a great fit for his boss, Gyutaro Shabana, the CFO of the company. Who apparently needed a secretary desperately.

When he offered you the position on the spot, you were more than happy to accept. Leading you to where you are today.

Tengen excitedly leads you up to the top floor of the building, walking over to a large door. Knocking twice when you hear a gruff voice from inside the room rumble, “Come in.”

Opening the door, you see your new boss sitting behind a large desk, tall glass windows behind him, filling the room with natural light and a beautiful view of the city below.

Immediately, you notice his unconventional appearance. He looks quite rugged for someone with such a high position in the company. His hair is shoulder-length and untidy, he has bags under his eyes, and looks exhausted. Contrasted with how sharp he looks in that dark tailored suit that nicely hugs his broad shoulders and thin waist. And of course, there’s the obvious — the strange assortment of birthmarks on his face. They’re midnight black and create a pretty contrast with his pale skin and deep blue eyes. He looks unconventional, but there’s something about him that you find appealing and attractive.

With a smirk, Tengen pushes you forward, “Hope I’m not interrupting your brooding session. But I brought you someone.”

“Explain,” Gyutaro says flatly, his expression unreadable.

“This is Miss Y/N,” Tengen smiles, “You’ve been complaining about scheduling messes and email overloads for weeks. So I took initiative and hired you a secretary. You’re welcome.”

Gyutaro is slightly annoyed by Tengen hiring a new employee without telling him, but he doesn’t want to come off as rude, so he forces a smile as he stands and reaches out his hand, “I see, well it’s a pleasure to meet you Miss Y/N.”

“The pleasure is mine! I’m excited to work for you!” You say enthusiastically, hoping to make a good impression on your new boss, trying not to be intimidated by how tall he is once he stands from his desk.

With a clap of his hands Tengen chimes, “Well, I’ll let you two get acquainted! Try not to scare her off, boss,” he winks playfully before leaving the room.

Gyutaro sighs, already feeling a headache forming, “I’ll call the IT guys to come up and help you get your computer set up, I’ll also forward you my calender and files. In the meantime you can get situated at your desk,” he gestures to the desk sitting outside his office.

“Yes, sir. Thank you,” you bow curtly before turning to exit the room.

Gyutaro watches you, a mix of curiosity and confusion in his eyes. You didn’t flinch — you had actually smiled at him. Like there was nothing wrong with him, no imperfections on his face, no rasp in his voice, no awkwardly crooked teeth. You looked at him like he was normal.

Something he hasn’t felt in a very long time.

His gaze lingers, and he doesn’t realize he’s still staring at the door after you’ve closed it behind you.

His office is dimmer now, orange light filling the room as the sun begins to set behind the horizon of buildings. Gyutaro leans forward in his desk, fingers pressed into his temples as he tries to lessen the aching in his head.

His email inbox is a war zone — filled with meeting requests, reports, and investor inquiries. He sighs, exhausted and full of frustration.

Then, a soft knock on the door.

“Come in,” he grunts, sounding more annoyed than he intended.

You shyly step forward, holding a stack of neatly sorted papers and a printed schedule.

“I went through your emails and responded to anything urgent. The rest I’ve sorted here by priority,” you offer a kind smile as you gently set the documents on his desk.

“Oh!” you gasp, almost having forgotten to mention something, “I also fixed your schedule for tomorrow afternoon. You had three meetings scheduled at the same time. So I reached out and rescheduled based on everyone’s availability.”

Gyutaro is left speechless. Impossibly impressed by your diligence, especially since he hadn’t even realized the accidental triple booking.

Taking the documents in his calloused hands, he scans them over, “You did all this?”

“Yes, sir. I know you’re busy so I figured it might help.”

He stares in awe at the weekly schedule you’ve printed for him, everything is clean and organized. Feeling so much more manageable than the mess of stress he had before.

“Thank you,” he offers a soft smile.

“You’re very welcome, sir,” you blush slightly, “I-I hope I’m not overstepping-”

“Not at all,” he says firmly, “You’ve done more in one day than most could do in a week.” There’s a rare hint of warmth in his tone as he says this, “It’s been a long time since someone has helped me like this.”

You try to hold back your excitement at his praise, “That’s my job, sir.” You grin happily, warmly, at him before slipping out of the room.

Leaving Gyutaro alone again. But this time, the air in his office doesn’t feel as suffocating. It’s warm and calm. Something Gyutaro hasn’t felt since he was a child. A feeling that he never feels at the office, and certainly never feels at his home.

But he welcomes the unfamiliar feeling. And for the first time in a long while, he can’t wait to come into work early tomorrow morning.

Maybe hiring you wasn’t such a bad idea after all. He’ll thank Tengen later.

#gyutaro #gyutaro shabana #gyutaro x reader #gyutaro x y/n #gyuutarou #gyuutarou x reader #demon slayer x reader #kny x reader #boss x reader

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lolita-lollipop · 1 year ago

Text

Iron

YANDERE BARBARIAN BAKUGO X READER

The king of the most violent and powerful tribe in the eastern world is captured during battle by a small farmers village. What does a violent man like katsuki bakugo do upon meeting a kind servant girl like you?

WARNINGS: reader gets hurt by villagers (bakugo saves her)

He couldn't remember how long he had been here, he just knew it was cold, dark, unsanitary, and painful. He remembered the battle that put him here, getting shot with a poison-laced arrow, feinting on the field. Heh. imagine it, the great barbarian Bakugo, the children's slayer, the village burner, the soldier slaughterer falling because of one puny arrow from one puny kingdom. When he first had woken up he could feel the slick of his blood under him mixed with the dirt and grime of the cell, he had giant iron cuffs wrapping his wrists and legs, binding him to the floor. He couldn't blame these people, truly, they knew that once he woke up if he were to get out they were all as good as slaughtered.

It was a small stone dungeon, with only a couple of stalls, he occupying one of them. There was a small barred window, along with a wall of iron bars serving as protection from him and the rest of the world. Iron, he hated the stuff, and banned it from his country, it burned him, burned his people. There was a thick, damp smell of blood and rust, a musty smell he could easily recognize as death. He would carve every person in this building up, then burn every building in the village, and he would let the fire spread to their fields and watch as their lives work shrivels up into ash. But for now, He would wait for the perfect time to strike, all he could do was wait really, watch the guard rotation, see which ones were talkative, and which ones were cruel.

Many of the guards would beat him, carve his skin, and watch him bleed, they know of all the gruesome things he has done to so very many people, and supposedly the bastards feel some kind of idiotic vengeance or justice for those people. They would pay in the long run, who exactly do they think they are? he is a king, royalty, the highest of the highest, the strongest too. If he doesn't kill them his people will, they'll see. All the king could do was watch, wait, and plot the splattering of this village.

That was, until you came along.

Little you, in your flowy little skirt that was all torn up, with no shoes and a dirt-covered face. Little you with your oh-so-innocent smile, and your callused hands. Little you with your malnourished body, frail and sickly. Little you, who had no idea who he was. Little you who snuck in when no guard was on duty, a small bowl of soup in your hands, and a cup of water.

“I-im sorry that this is all I have, I know you haven't eaten in a long time I just- I’ll have more tomorrow” you whispered, and he swore he fell in love right then and there, you were too frail, too weak to be giving out food that you surely needed. Yet here you were, shakily handing him the bowl and the cup. He stared at you for a solid second, not even his own mother was this selfless, and you don't even know him. Who were you? You did not seem like aristocracy, too kind, maybe a farmer? Maybe a maid, a servant even.

He hadn't realized how hungry he was, not until the entire bowl and cup were gone, and he was left to stare at you. You were ethereal, dirt-covered and all, your eyes, your hair, your hands, everything, absolutely stunning. You had a look in your eyes. Something hungry and fearful told him that you were not happy, not safe and sound, not as you should be.

“I don't have anything to treat your wound, but- I'm sorry. Nobody should be treated this way, not even prisoners. I'll be back tomorrow, please don't tell the guards that I've done this. They will kill me.” you whispered, cautiously reaching to grab the glassware from his grip, waiting to see if he would snap at you. He didn't, only stared, grunting in response to your plea. You stared back with those sympathetic globes of yours, as if you could see the anger in his soul. Before turning on your heel, and quietly sneaking out of the dungeon room, you gave him one last glance before disappearing.

He was left in the quiet, in the cold, falling head over heels in love with you, a mere human. A peasant at that. Strange. You were too sweet, too kind, you clearly needed the food, clearly were starving and malnourished, yet you still stood here and offered your only food to him, a prisoner of war, you were so sweet. So kind. His people were not like you, they were not soft or sweet, he loved them for it, but you, oh you. You were soft and supple and sweet andso sickeningly kind. He would protect you, he has too.

The next couple of nights went similarly, you sneaking in during the dead hours following midnight with varying foods, sometimes a stale loaf of bread with milk, sometimes some leafy soup and water. He was grateful every time, thankful that he wasn't starving, still burning with absolute rage towards the mere peasants who believed that they could contain him. But you, in the very few days that he had known you, had wormed your way into his heart with your soft hands and pretty smile.

He can just imagine you adorned in stolen jewels and furs, dressed in the finest silk, or better, the clothes of his people. something soft like you, something pretty and supple and shiny and light. Something that reflects you, he would take you out of those rags, clean you up, teach you what luxury truly is. and you wouldnt have to lift a finger. he dreamed about your future everyday that you would visit, asking your favorite color or season or jewel.

That was, until you stopped showing up. No more quiet hours gazing at each other, no more shared food and drink, no more listening to you quietly talk about your life, no more sympathetic glances, no more questions about him from you, no more answers from him. It was like you had disappeared entirely, and back to his old routine of watching and observing the guards had begun once more. He had to admit it kind of hurt, having the only good thing here disappear entirely, he resented this place more, resented you.

He hated you, how could you leave him? You, a servant girl abandoning a king. Funny, hilarious, he sat in a pool of blood and hatred thinking about you, about this town, about the people who put him here, who chained him to the floor and watched him bleed out, this city will burn. And burn and burn and burn and burn and burn, his people would tear it apart until it was nothing but ash and blood-

What tore him out of his internal monologue was a pained scream, but not just anybody, he didn't know anybody in the town, it was yours. With that whispery rasp that you had from overexertion, and that neverending fear that dripped from your tone. He stood up to stare through the small window, only to see you on the ground, surrounded by many people, all bigger and stronger than you, yelling and screaming.

“It's her, the traitor!”

“She has been feeding the enemy, treason, treason I say!”

“She should be beheaded, the traitor.”

You let another scream ring out through the town center as one of the men brought their boot down on your bare foot, he could hear the crunch followed by another scream. The first kick sparked more from other men as they brought their feet down on frail little ou, you slowly reverted into a fetal position, lying in the dirt as they beat you relentlessly. He saw red, crimson blinding him and overflowing all of his senses. How could they? You did nothing, you knew nothing. You were just a sweet, innocent little human who knew no better, who were they to punish you, to beat you so cruelly? You were thin and frail and he could hear each one of your bones cracking and breaking into pieces.

He saw bright ruby red, anger wasn’t the word, absolute rage is a better way to put it.

Red red red red red red red red red

He didn't even realize he had broken from his chains till his legs were moving,

Red

He didn’t even feel the burn of the iron till the bars holding him were bent out of shape and twisted

Red

He didn’t realize they were all dead till his hands were stained with that bright crimson color he loved so much- you guessed it, red

He killed them all, so painfully, knuckles crunching skulls and tearing off limbs, pulling people apart faster than any wolf or bear could even try to. The thrill of freedom mixed with rage and pure anger let him revert to the ways of his homeland, back to the thrilling violence and electrifying feeling of tearing another apart. He enjoyed it, enjoyed tearing them limb from limb and watching them bleed as they had done to him. He cackled as they screamed in terror, relishing in their fear.

You watched deliriously, you had lost too much blood in too short of a time, and you were positive that you had many many broken bones, pain overcame you as you watched the bloodshed in front of you, your vision was blurry and shaking but you could tell that somebody was strong, and enjoying violence. Fear budded in the back of your brain, he was enjoying this, enjoying their pain, he would hurt you just the same, kill you, and relish in it.

You hadn’t known who he was, you swore to the village leaders, swore that you just felt bad for the poor starving man in the dungeons who seemed to gentle and sweet, they hadn’t cared. You were to be burned or drowned or noosed they said. But a death like this, at the hand of a man you had been fooled to be sweet? That was worse. Oh god, oh god oh god oh god oh god oh god you were going to die

Your breath became shallow, both because of what was surely a punctured lung, but also because of the slowly approaching footsteps crunching on the dirt. A small whimper escaped you as the figure towered over you, and your hands came up to shield your face from the blow that was surely to come.

But Instead of a painful ending blow, arms wrapped under you and hoisted you up, you never realized how tall this man was. Naturally, you curled into his warmth and tried not to think about how sticky his hands were with blood. your breath hitched as he squeezed you closer with calloused rough hands. Tears washed down your face, you were quivering, shaking in fear.

“P-please-“ you quivered out. Hand moving up to push him away, your statement had many meanings, to beg for your life, to beg him to put you down, to beg him to leave you and your village alone, to beg him to forgive you. He stared down at you with crimson eyes, a sudden softness overcoming them, more than he thought he could have.

“Don’t you worry baby,

I’ll take good care of ya”

———————————————————————

Cute

Anyway enjoy, I noticed a lack of barbarian bakugo content on here so I figured I would add some fuel to the fire.

Love you all, make sure to have a great day!

#soft yandere #yandere x reader #yandere #yandere my hero academia #fem reader #soft yandere bakugo #yandere bakugo #romantic yandere #yandere romantic #platonic yandere #yandere barbarian bakugo #yandere barbarian #platonic yandere katsuki #yandere katsuki bakugo #yandere dragon king #yandere dragon king bakugo #dragon king bakugou #barbarian bakugo x reader #platonic obsession

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vigilante-3073 · 5 months ago

Note

How about an imagine in which reader and house are together established long term or married doesn’t matter, recently house has been thinking about taking the next step and starting a family. At the same time reader (who is also a doctor) is taking care of a little baby or toddler and maybe their family left them or died or whatever and reader falls in love with the baby and begs house to adopt them. And later when they finally finish all the legal stuff and the baby is officially theirs, they find out they’re also pregnant

I’m a sucker for house with a happy family

Baby Fever

Gregory House x Psychiatrist Female Wife Reader

Summary: Doctor House is suffering from an illness that desperately needs to be cured.

TW: Mentions of death/adoption/sex, babies.

A/N: Love this request so much!

C/N: Cousin's name D/N: Daughter's name

Doctor House had baby fever.

Y/N and House had been married for almost seven years, they had talked about the idea of having children before he proposed. Y/N had always wanted to have a baby, but the timing had never been right.

Y/N was a the head of the inpatient mental health department at Princeton-Plainsboro. She saw both adults and children while they were admitted to the mental health units. Y/N had always taken her job incredibly serious and felt awful when she took time off. The relationships that she created with her patients were vital and she was dedicated to ensuring that they could trust her.

House had to admit that Y/N was good at her job and he respected that, but as time passed, the idea of having children was put on the back burner.

Then there was an accident.

Y/N's cousin had gotten into a car accident on the highway, she and her husband both tragically passed away. They left behind a beautiful four month old baby girl that stole the hearts of anyone who saw her.

Y/N had always been close to her cousin, she was the maid of honor at their wedding and threw her a baby shower before D/N was born. House and Y/N had babysat for the couple on multiple occasions, which is actually how House wound up with baby fever in the first place.

D/N had been passed around to various close family relatives while things were being figured out, the will would be read soon and the couple's assets would be distributed.

Y/N had encouraged them to write a will before D/N was born, stating that they needed to decide what would happen if something ever happened to them. It was an unfortunate thing to be right about, but it was important.

Y/N offered to take D/N for a few days while the rest of the family gathered to read the will. Y/N was incredibly good with her and the little girl loved her. House watched Y/N bounce the baby in her arms, humming softly as she rocked her to sleep.

House leaned on the door jamb, a soft smile on his face as Y/N leaned over the crib and laid the sleeping infant down on the mattress. Y/N made sure the baby monitor was on before making her way over to her husband. The couple stepped out of the room, closing the door gently behind themselves and walking out to the living room. House sat down on the couch and Y/N sat beside him, leaning into his side as he wrapped his arm around her shoulders.

Y/N leaned forward briefly to place the monitor on the table in front of them before settling into her husband's side. He pressed a kiss to her forehead, "You're really good with her," He said.

She smiled, "She's the sweetest little thing," Y/N said, resting her head on his shoulder.

"I've been thinking that maybe we could revisit the idea of having a baby," House said.

"House," Y/N started, already shaking her head.

"Just think about it for one second. We could have the cutest kid known to man and it would be brilliant," He said.

"A baby with your eyes would be pretty cute," She replied.

"You could work through your entire pregnancy and you could talk to your patients on video chat the whole time you're off," House offered.

"Who would look after them while we're at work?" Y/N asked.

"We'll get a nanny," House shrugged.

"And when you stay at work until four o'clock in the morning while on a case?" Y/N questioned.

"I can still have an epiphany while covered in baby barf," House said, Y/N smiled.

"I'll cut down my hours. Home by seven every night and have the team call if they need me," He added.

"Are you serious about this, House? This is a big decision," Y/N said.

"I've been sure for years. That cute little gremlin in the other room made me one hundred and fifty percent sure," He said, tilting his head in the direction of the guest bedroom where the baby was sleeping.

Y/N sighed, opening her mouth to respond before someone knocked on the door. The baby stirred in her crib and began to cry.

"I'll get her, you get the door," Y/N said, grabbing the monitor and making her way to the guest bedroom.

House stood up from the couch, making his way over to the door and opening it. Y/N's aunt and uncle stood on the doorstep, "Is Y/N here?" Her aunt questioned.

House nodded, stepping out of the way to allow them to enter the apartment, "She's in with D/N," House said.

The couple moved into the apartment and House closed the door behind them, "Want a drink?" He asked.

"Just a water, if possible, dear," Y/N's aunt said.

"I'm alright," Her uncle said, waving him off politely.

"Have a seat. Y/N will be out in a minute or two," House said, moving into the kitchen. He returned with a glass of ice water, passing it to Y/N's aunt.

"Thank you, Greg," She said, he nodded. Y/N's aunt and uncle settled on the loveseat, sitting close to one another.

House sat down on the couch, hand kneading the muscle of his thigh gently. Y/N made her way out into the living room, a look of surprise on her face when she saw her family members.

"Sorry to barge in on you last minute, dear," Y/N's aunt said, standing to hug the young woman.

"It's good to see you," Y/N said, giving her aunt and uncle a quick hug before settling in beside her husband.

"Did everything go okay with the will read?" Y/N asked.

"That's actually what we wanted to talk to you about, dear. Your cousin wrote you into her will and I-," Her aunt paused, tears gathering in her eyes. Her husband settled his hand on her back, offering silent comfort to his wife.

"We don't have to do this now, it can wait," Y/N assured.

Her aunt shook her head quickly, "You need to know, honey... Your cousin wanted you to be D/N's guardian," She said shakily.

"What? Are you- Are you sure?" Y/N asked softly.

Her aunt reached over, pulling a yellow envelope from her purse and passing it to the young woman. Y/N took it from her hand, sliding the document out of the envelope and setting it in her lap as she read it over.

"All money made in the sale of the house will go into a trust for D/N to pay for her schooling. The rest of their assets will be liquidated, C/N wanted you to receive fifty percent of the funds while the rest is split evenly between us and his parents... She wanted you to be able to pay off your student loans," Y/N's aunt said softly, wiping her tears.

Y/N's eyes flickered over the pages, struggling to focus as tears clouded her vision.

"Why don't you let me take a look?" House asked, holding his hand out.

Y/N passed him the documents, allowing him to look over it.

"I'm so sorry, I had no idea," Y/N said shakily.

"No, honey, you have nothing to be sorry for. That baby loves you and she will have an amazing life with you, I just know it," Y/N's aunt assured.

"We know that you will honor her parents' memory and that is the most important thing. Just know that we still want to be a part of her life," Her uncle said.

Y/N nodded, "Of course. You're her grandparents and nothing can change that," She assured, wiping a tear with a sniffle. House rested his hand on her thigh and she quickly covered it with her own.

Y/N's aunt looked over at her husband with a watery smile, "Our girl is in good hands," She said.

"The best," House replied, eyes focused on his wife.

...

Y/N and House made their way into the hospital, D/N was settled comfortably in her stroller. Wilson was standing at the reception desk, talking to one of the nurses as he read through his messages.

"Wilson," House called.

The Oncologist looked up, a confused look settling on his face when he saw Y/N pushing a stroller.

"What's going on?" Wilson questioned, Y/N hesitated.

"We have a baby," House said.

Wilson's eyebrows almost shot up to his hairline as he turned his attention to Y/N, "Is he serious?" Wilson asked.

"Yeah, my cousin named me as her guardian," Y/N said.

"I'm so sorry for your loss," He said, stepping forward and giving her a quick hug.

"Thanks, I'm just trying to keep it together right now," She started.

"I can imagine," He nodded.

"There's a lot of stuff that I need to figure out so I'm going to talk to Cuddy and see if it's possible to take some time off," Y/N said.

"Let me know if you need anything. Absolutely anything, okay?" Wilson said.

"I will," Y/N smiled softly.

"Can I see her? Or is she asleep?" Wilson asked.

"Yeah, finally asking the questions you really wanted to ask," House teased, Wilson shot him a look.

"Not sleeping, just a really quiet baby," Y/N said, pushing back the cover.

D/N blinked up at Wilson, "She's gorgeous," He smiled.

"Wanna hold her?" House asked.

"I definitely wouldn't say no," Wilson said.

House hooked his cane on the handle of the stroller, reaching into the pram and lifting the baby into his arms. D/N smiled up at him, he smiled back before carefully passing her to his best friend.

House adjusted the bow around her head, making faces at her as Wilson held her. D/N giggled loudly, "She's adorable," Wilson grinned.

"How old is she?" He asked, finger being grasped by her tiny hand.

"Four months," Y/N replied, smiling as she watched House interact with the baby.

"You're gonna be great, I'm sure of it," Wilson assured.

"Thank you, that means a lot," Y/N said.

"I should let you get to it. Again, feel free to let me know if you need anything, alright?" He said, Y/N nodded. Wilson passed her the baby, watching her carefully transfer the little girl into the pram.

"Wow, you're kind of a dad, huh?" Wilson questioned.

"Got the kid without having unprotected sex with my wife, what a shame," House muttered.

Y/N shook her head with a smile, "Careful, make any more jokes like that and you might just talk me out of making her a sibling," Y/N said.

"Consider the joke dead and buried," He said quickly, taking his cane from the handle of the stroller.

"See you later, Wilson," Y/N said, he nodded.

Y/N covered the pram with a blanket before making her way into the clinic. House followed closely behind her, opening the door to Cuddy's office and allowing her to step inside before following after her.

Cuddy looked up from her desk, hanging up the phone when she saw House and Y/N approaching her office. Cuddy stood up, rounding her desk as Y/N made her way through the door.

"Your cousin?" Cuddy asked.

"She named me as guardian in her will," Y/N said.

"I'm sorry for your loss," Cuddy said, pulling her friend into a tight hug, "I know you two were close," She said, pulling away from the embrace.

"We were and she'll be missed... I know this is short notice, but I was hoping to get some extra time off in order to get things figured out," Y/N said.

"Of course, take all the time you need... This is a whole other life that you have to prepare for. I'm sure your cousin and her husband had everything you're gonna need, but if you need anything else just know that I'm happy to join you for a shopping spree. Baby stuff is always fun to look at," Cuddy said.

"I'll let you know. I'm going to their place after we're done here, my aunt was kind enough to put together some boxes so I'll start there," Y/N said.

"That's a good plan... But how are you doing with all this? Really," Cuddy questioned.

"I don't really know, honestly. Everything just happened so fast, but I know that I'm going to do everything I can to give her the best life possible," Y/N said, looking down at the stroller.

"You're going to be a good mom. She's lucky to have ended up with you, these situations don't always work out so well," Cuddy said, Y/N nodded.

"Do you want to meet her?" Y/N asked.

"I don't want to hold you up," Cuddy said.

"You're not. House already decided that we're introducing her to his team too," Y/N said, folding the blanket back.

"Her kid needs to meet my kids," House shrugged.

Y/N leaned over and picked up the baby, bouncing on her feet lightly as she looked down at the little girl.

Cuddy smiled, eyes glossing over with happy tears as she held out her arms. Y/N carefully passed the baby to her friend, lightly brushing her thumb across the baby's cheek as she pulled away.

House stepped up beside Y/N, wrapping his arm around her waist and pressing a kiss to her temple.

"She's beautiful, Y/N," Cuddy smiled, rocking the baby gently.

"Has Wilson seen her yet?" Cuddy questioned.

"Uncle Wilson is already wrapped around our girl's little finger," House stated.

"I can see why," Cuddy chuckled, staring down at the baby.

She stepped over to the stroller, carefully laying the baby down and adjusting her blankets, "Your team is waiting for you upstairs. You have a case," Cuddy said.

"Shortest paternity leave known to man," House sighed.

...

House made his way into the conference room with Y/N following closely behind him. The team sat at the table, looking through the patient file and formulating theories in their heads.

"Got some news, kiddos. I'm a dad," House said.

Cameron's head shot up from her file, "What? Since when?" She asked.

"Since today," House stated.

"How?" Chase questioned.

"Her cousin died and made her guardian," House replied.

"Congrats," Foreman said hesitantly.

"Wanted to introduce you," House said, leaning his cane on the desk and lifting D/N out of the stroller.

Cameron stood up from her seat and made her way over, giving Y/N a quick hug, "I'm sorry for your loss... I sent flowers," She said.

"They were beautiful. Thank you," Y/N smiled.

Cameron stepped over to House, looking down at the sleeping baby wrapped in the soft pink blanket, "How old?" She questioned.

"Four months," House said.

"May I?" Cameron questioned. House transferred the infant into her arms, Foreman and Chase stood up from the table.

Chase made his way over to Y/N, giving her a gentle hug. He pulled away after a moment, "I'm sorry about your cousin," Chase said.

"Thank you," Y/N responded.

"You're going to be a great mom. Your cousin made a good choice when she picked you as guardian," Foreman stated.

"Thanks," She replied.

"She's adorable," Chase smiled, gently brushing his fingertip over the back of the baby's hand.

"What's her name?" Foreman questioned.

"D/N," House said.

"Oh, it's perfect for her," Cameron smiled.

House stepped over to his wife, wrapping his arm around her waist and pulling her close to his side. He pressed a kiss to the top of her head, Y/N wrapped her arms around him.

Cameron passed the baby to Chase, adjusting the bow on her head and fixing the blanket. Chase smiled down at D/N, "What a pretty girl you are, huh?" He murmured, swaying gently on his feet.

House was proud that he was able to share this part of his life with the people that mattered most. He knew that there would be hell to pay when his mother found out, but he would worry about that another day.

"We're parents," House muttered.

"Yeah, we are," Y/N nodded.

"I'm going to make those changes that we talked about. I can't promise it'll happen overnight, but I'm going to do what I can," He said.

"I know," Y/N replied.

It took a few months, but House made good on his promises. He limited his hours and took calls at home when Y/N needed his help.

They hired a nanny for the times when they both needed to be out of the home and things worked well.

House found his baby fever to be satiated, it didn't happen in the way he expected, but he wouldn't trade his daughter for anything in the world.

A few weeks before D/N's first birthday, Y/N discovered that she was pregnant. House was excited until the idea of having two kids under two years old hit him. It would be crazy, but it would be their crazy and he could definitely handle that.

#james wilson #gregory house #house imagine #house md #gregory house x reader #house md imagine #gregory house x you #gregory house imagine #greg house imagine #greg house #gregory house x female reader #lisa cuddy #alison cameron #james wilson imagine #james wilson x reader #house #eric foreman

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azsazz · 1 year ago

Text

Tell Me I'm Your Midnight

Kinktober Day 13: Cassian x Reader [Virgin!Reader]

Summary: In the middle of the night in the middle of your thoughts, you want a distraction.

Warnings: Smut, descriptions of death,

Word Count: 3350

Notes: Yeesh, bout time I hopped back on these...OOF Cassian how i've missed you big boy 💙💙💙

_________________________________________

The moonlight spilling in through the open doors of your balcony does nothing to settle the aching in your chest. From your place in bed, you watch the stars sparkle in the blackness of night. The gentle and cool breeze makes your curtains sway, and the moon is so bright in the sky that you can make out the shapes of every piece of furniture in your room, the silhouette of the Starfall dress wrapped tightly around the figurine in the shape of your body.

Cerridwen and Naula had been so very eager to show you what they came up with for Starfall and the dress had brought you to tears—your first glimpse of the deep navy fabric draped elegantly across the bodice of the dummy had the tears you’ve been desperately trying to shove inside of you for months spilling over. You had collapsed into a puddle of emotion on the floor like you aren’t the High Lord’s sister, but the sight of your mother’s Starfall dress from last year reworked to fit your body made the dam of emotion burst within you.

Oh, how deeply you miss your mother.

The thick comforter surrounding you does nothing to ease the clenching of your heart. It’s another sleepless night, haunted with images of what happened to your mother out in those lands of the Night Court she shouldn’t have been riding alone in. All to see your brother and check in on him during his time at the camps.

Something in your gut twists like a hot knife. It’s your anger flooding your senses at the thought of how she’d been brutally attacked and left for dead, succumbing to her own injuries. She was all alone out there, and you would have been too, if it weren’t for the request of your father that you stay in Velaris with him until his meeting with Keir was over, the promise that he’d winnow you to the camps and meet up with Rhysand and your mother later.

You’d always been excited about the prospect of winnowing, and you thought that if you stayed back to tag along with your father that he might teach you how to do it yourself.

These days, you wonder if he had set the ambush up himself, a deal struck with those from the Spring Court who you’ve been told had done the terrible awful.

He died before you got the chance to ask.

With a heavy sigh, you shove the blankets back and climb out of bed. You forgo a robe, letting the perpetual chill the deepening autumn airs bring forth settle into your bones. You need the bite of the cold floors to ground yourself, the prickling of your fingers, toes, and the tip of your nose because it had been the same cold your mother had endured for so long.

The House of Wind is silent except for the soft padding of your feet against the hardwood floors. You slow your pace, treading very carefully as you creep past Azriel’s room, biting your lip at the sight of the swirling shadows like a cloud of smoke curling beneath the doorframe, always on lookout for their master. If they report to him that you’re awake, he may try to console you in that way of his, where he sits silently in the same vicinity as you. Most of the time, you appreciate his ability to care for others without words, but tonight, you just want to be alone.

In the kitchen, you fill the kettle and set it on the burner, flicking the flames as they lick the bottom of the teapot. While you wait for it to heat, you slice into a lemon, breathing in its fresh scent. It’s relaxing, even though it reminds you of your mother, who would make you a cup of warm lemon water on the nights you were unable to find sleep. She’d often join you in the kitchen, lending an ear to whatever was on your mind.

Tonight, it makes your throat tight.

You climb up to the counter with your made mug between your hands, feet dangling off the floor as you think about her. You swear you can feel her presence, see her at the kitchen as she looked out over the vast mountains of your home, watching the butters and creams of the sunset. Or how she’d pretend not to notice when you snuck into the kitchen and snagged a taste of whatever she was making that night.

It brings a soft, sad smile to your face that falls at the sound of approaching footsteps drawing your attention to the door. Your shoulders sag because you wanted to be alone, but your heart kickstarts in your chest when Cassian is the one who stumbles through the archway.

His hair is mussed with sleep, but it looks like it may have been a restless attempt. He blinks groggily, clearing his throat at the sight of you.

“What are you doing down here?” You ask him. It’s a whisper of your surprise and delight of the beautiful male creeping into the kitchen. The cup in your hands is warm, matching the feeling that his eyes bring forth.

His sleepy gaze hardens into something that you can’t make out in the dark as it creeps up your bare legs to where the hem of your night shirt rests against your thighs. You’re careful not to move as he takes his fill, a moment of weakness in the dark for the both of you, a small acknowledgement of the charge in the air.

His hazel eyes sweep upward, lingering on the perk of your nipples where they’ve gone tight under his gaze. You swear you catch him shuddering, but he’s shaking the tightness from his wings, finally stepping further into the room with a shrug, his stare now pinned to the ground.

“Felt like this is where I needed to be,” he answers lamely, but it means more to you than maybe it should. He could be awake for any reason this late at night. Surely, he has enough on his mind with the looming war that’s headed the Night Court’s way. “Why are you up?” He asks, leaning against the counter across from you and crossing his arms over his chest.

You have to consciously remove your eyes from the sight of his bulging muscles, instead focusing on the slice of lemon that’s swirling around in your cup. “Couldn’t sleep. Was thinking about mom.”

Before your next breath, Cassian’s body collides with yours, those strong eyes you were just forcing yourself not to ogle wrapped tightly around you. You squeak in surprise, you didn’t even hear him launch himself across the kitchen, but you easily melt into Cassian’s comforting hold, tears prickling at the back of your eyes as you squeeze them shut tight.

“I’m sorry you had to go through that,” he admits softly, and the warmth of his breath caressing your hair makes you shiver, makes you want to burrow even further into him. He has nothing to be sorry for, he’s not only lost one mother, but now two, since she had taken both Cassian and Azriel in like they were part of her own brood.

When Cassian straightens, he’s already too far away. He stays close, hazel eyes boring into yours as he brushes some of your hair behind your ear, examining you. His touch is a brand across your skin, sending electric zipping through your veins, making you sit taller. Cassian still towers over you, but he seems distracted, thumb stroking across your cheek, drifting down to your mouth to where your tongue darts out to wet them.

His admission is a whisper that strikes you to your very core. “As selfish as this may sound, I’m glad that you weren’t there that night.”

“Me too,” you breathe, trying to crane yourself further into him, to see if he’s finally going to act on the arousal a thick cloud surrounding the both of you.

You don’t need to stretch far because he’s as drawn to you as you are to him, and he kisses you full on the mouth, hard at first, like a desperate man finally getting a taste of the nectar he’s been yearning for his entire life.

Cassian’s hands caress your face, turning you this way and that as your tongues brush in a motion that makes your mind short circuit. He steps closer and your thighs open wide for him to fit between like two perfect pieces of a puzzle.

His hand slips between your legs and you whimper with anticipation that he might touch you there, but he’s only taking your cup in hand and sliding it away so that it doesn’t fall and shatter.

There’s no time to be disappointed though because the feeling of the warmth from your mug is easily replaced by that of his cock trapped in his sleep pants, especially when his hands grab a firm hold of your ass, dragging you closer to grind against him.

“Fuck, sweetheart,” Cassian says, even though his cock twitches because you’ve captured his lower lip between your teeth and refuse to let go, knowing that he might try and push you away after so quickly giving into what he’s desperately wanted for years.

“Don’t,” you pant, burying your fingers in his hair to keep him close. If this is the only taste of Cassian that you get, you’re going to make the most of it.

He falls into you easily, and the both of you lose yourselves in each other. Your pussy is uncomfortably wet and grinding yourself against his clothed cock isn’t doing much to relieve the aching in your clit. Your whimper of frustration is swallowed greedily by the man towering over you.

“Please, Cassian,” you plead when he’s finally able to tear himself from your lips. Your fingers are fisted around the waistband of his pants so that he can’t escape. “Help me take my mind off of everything.”

He curses because it sounds fucking tempting to have you right here and now, with the moonlight washing in through the kitchen windows and spilling across the counter, your body.

The way you’re looking up at him has him fucking weak. He’d fall to his knees right now, which is exactly what happens when he sees that confidence manifest in your gaze, releasing him only to lean back and strip yourself of your night shirt, baring yourself to him completely.

Your name is a low growl from his lips. It makes your incredibly hard nipples tighten even further, and you hiss in pleasure as he flicks one of them, his gaze hot and dark and utterly consumed by you.

His palm flattens and you arch into his warmth with a soft moan. Your head rolls back on your shoulders because you’ve never had this before, never felt something so sure, something so perfect. Cassian growls at the exposure of your neck, drawn into you like a moth to a pyre, shoving his nose into your throat to catch your scent, heady for him.

“We shouldn’t,” he groans like a dying man.

“We should,” you cry at the nip of his sharp teeth, melting under the sweep of his tongue he uses to smooth the hurt. “Want you to be my first, Cass. Please!”

He freezes against you, completely ignoring the way that you’re writhing against him because all he can focus on are those few words.

“Your first?” His voice is husky, settling right between your thighs. Cassian’s gaze is enamored, desperate almost. You’ve seen that look on the battlefield once or twice, a bloodthirsty one that screams his victory. You’d shy away from its intensity if you weren’t so sure about this.

You swallow harshly. “Yes.”

“You mean that no one has touched these beautiful breasts?” He asks, dragging his large hands to where he’s mentioning. He’s completely consumed by you as he tweaks a nipple in his hands, his mouth coming down hot against the other. You nearly bite through your lip to keep from screaming, your fingers already clawing down his broad shoulders.

“No one has tasted this perfect skin,” he murmurs, mouthing down your body. It makes you want to collapse against the counter, but you need to stay sitting up, you need to see his facial expressions and what he’s doing with his hands. His breath is hot as he lowers himself to his knees before you, hooking his hands beneath your knees, dragging you forward so that your ass is nearly teetering over the edge of the counter. “That no one has tasted this pretty pussy?”

“No,” you breathe, shuddering as his knuckles brush softly across your cunt. Cassian looks like a beast untamed, no semblance of brown in his eyes anymore. They’re all pupil. “Want you to be the only one who does, Cassian.”

Your admission is his undoing. He all but tears your panties from your body and you don’t have time to properly prepare yourself before he splits your seams and drags his tongue up your cunt.

“Cassian,” you say desperately, pressing the back of your hand to keep the noises threatening to escape inside. It feels too good, the hot press of his tongue against your most intimate spot. He’s undeterred by your pleading, your nails digging into his skin. He’s finally had a taste and he’s never letting you go.

He brings you to the edge much faster than you thought was possible. You’d be embarrassed if you weren’t getting wetter by the second with his tongue fucking into you, then one finger and two, three before he’s sucking on your clit and flickering his tongue against it in a motion that sets your body on fire.

You’re a shaking mess when you come down from your high, blissed out with the cold cut of stone beneath your bare body. You shut your eyes as you try to catch your breath, only to rip them open when Cassian stands, his hands undoing the ties of his sleep pants. “You know we’re not done yet, right sweetheart?” He asks, and your jaw drops at the sight of his cock bobbing from its confines. He hadn’t been wearing underwear, and your cunt clenches, dripping when he takes himself in hand, giving himself a rough tug before he’s slotting himself between your thighs and rubbing the head of his cock through your slick. “It’s not over until my cum is painting your insides and you are officially mine.”

“Yes,” you groan, spreading yourself wider for him. You’ll take anything he gives you, everything he gives you. “Please.”

Cassian hushes you softly. He needs another taste of your lips before he takes you for the first time. You’re so perfect for him, all spread out on the counter like this, more than eager to be impaled on his cock. And no one else has experienced this, has touched you in the way that he is right now.

He doesn’t know how he’ll ever begin to thank you for this gift.

When you part, he helps guide you back onto the counter, making sure that you aren’t too uncomfortable. Your back is going to be sore tomorrow, but he’ll spend the day hiding away in your room, massaging your tight muscles before he’s easing himself back into you.

Your breath catches in your throat, and you squeeze your eyes shut at the breach of his cock in your channel. His thick fingers hadn’t quite prepared you for this. He’s fucking huge, an apologetic look on his face as he eases his way inside of you as slowly as he can manage.

“Relax, sweetheart. Yeah, that’s it. Good girl,” Cassian groans, “Almost there.”

You both share a heart stopping gasp when he’s fully sheathed inside of you. It awakens something slumbering deeply inside of you, that thing you’ve only heard stories of rousing in your chest. You swear you can see it, the thread of essence that moves from your body to Cassian’s, who’s completely enthralled by the feeling as well, eyes locked onto yours.

It’s the feeling of two souls reuniting after so long apart, here in the kitchen while he’s hip deep in your cunt.

You feel whole.

You feel settled.

You feel complete.

“Cassian?” you ask tentatively, because you’re still in shock.

“Will you be my mate?” He blurts, and it’s when he leans in, pressing himself flush against you that you see the glittering of emotion in his eyes. His hands caress your face again, but it’s tendered this time, like he’s going to explore every part of you all over again.

“Yes,” you breathe, a grin breaking out across your face. What a night this has turned into, from your heart broken and sad to fuller than you ever thought it could be.

Cassian kisses you hard, like the emotion of the bond has him feeling completely new, needing to taste your acceptance off his lips.

It hits you when he gives a gentle grind of his hips that this bond isn’t complete until you offer your mate food.

Cassian releases you at the gentle push at his chest. His brows furrow in confusion, biting back a noise when you twist, reaching out for your abandoned mug and digging around inside.

“Here,” you offer the lemon to him and his eyes shine in amusement, even if he gives you a playful pout. He doesn’t crack a joke though, because he’d lick the dirt off your fucking feet if that was what you offered him. He takes the lemon into his mouth, rind and all, chewing thrice before swallowing it back, and it’s official.

“My mate,” he purrs and holy Gods, does that sound perfect rolling off his lips.

“My mate,” you agree, brushing a falling strand of his hair behind his ear. It soft, an intimate moment, then, “Can you please start moving now?”

Cassian’s responding chuckle makes your heart swell. “I promise to make this up to you, but I need you to know that I’m not going to last long.” You laugh and he groans at the feeling of your cunt fluttering around him, constricting his cock. You’re not going to last long either, your emotions so heightened that everything makes you feel like you’re right on the precipice of orgasm.

“Deal,” you answer, and he begins moving, pulling out before he’s pressing in again, reveling in the way that you cling to him so quickly, are a mess for him so easily.

Cassian hooks his hand under your knee and pulls it up over his shoulder, changing his angle. The noises you’re making are loud, but neither of you care because of the rawness of the mating bond, the heightened emotions, touches, everything. It’s better than they always told you it would be, not just sex itself, but finding your mate.

And you can feel just how much Cassian loves you with his sweet words, the way his grip is as harsh on you as yours is on him like you might slip away from one another if there’s a part of you that isn’t touching.

That fire builds between you, you can feel it through the bond, blurring your mind as you crash life a wave against the reef, letting your orgasm consume you.

Cassian’s mouth finds your as he plunges over the ledge himself, following you obediently into oblivion. He’s lost in the feeling of you as he fucks his cum deep into your womb. He’s going to have to take you to a healer for a tonic when tomorrow comes, if he’s done with you by then. For now, he’s going to bask in this, the feeling of you in his arms and wrapped tightly around his cock.

He's going to bring you upstairs just as soon as he can catch his breath, but with you as his mate, he doesn’t ever think he’ll be able to catch it again.

And he’s more than okay with that.

#acotar #azsazz #acomaf #acowar #cass x reader #cassian x reader #cassian smut #azsazz kinktober 2023 #cassian #cassian acotar

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literaryslapshot · 6 months ago

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"this...is the best thing i have ever tasted"

31 days of blurbs | carmen berzatto x reader | contains: reader has food allergies (gluten free girlies unite)

he was determined to find the right recipe to satisfy you. he pulled out every cookbook, both of his scales, even made several trips back to the grocery store to find the best replacements for you.

food allergies made eating out difficult for you. learning to adjust, but it still made some things hard to enjoy. but, dating a chef? that can come in handy sometimes.

after going on several dates with you to other restaurants in town, and learning that not everyone is willing to comply to your allergies, he was determined to figure out more than two or three menu options that comply. it would piss him off to look at a menu and only see two or three options for you.

"okay...this time i'm sure i got it down. try," he held the spoon up to your mouth after blowing on the hot liquid. he made chicken noodle soup with homemade gluten free pasta. simple enough, but he wanted to make sure you couldn't tell any difference.

he watched your face as you ate a spoonful, watching every eye twitch and brow crease. he pursed his lips, gripping onto the granite counter as he waited for your verbal response, but it was too long. "fuck," he sighed, "you hate it. i knew it, i put too much damn salt in it-"

"no, carmy, i don't hate it!" you giggled, "it's really good. i can't even tell a difference from regular soup." he nodded his head and took the pot off the burner. "this is the best thing i've ever tasted."

"okay, what do you want me to make for you next? pizza? pizza sounds good." you couldn't help but chuckle at his eagerness.

it was fun watching him in his element, doing what he loves most. it was like watching poetry in motion, him in the kitchen by himself. when he's with other people? not so much. typically you stay out of the kitchen when you're helping at the bear, and occasionally hear him shouting and barking orders.

but when he's by himself, you get to see the wheels turn in his brain and you can see him create some of the best things you've ever had.

"save the pizza for tomorrow, this'll be enough for tonight carm." you get another spoonful of soup out of the pot, humming in delight. "maybe you could even make me dessert?" looking up at him with doe eyes, he smirked.

"that's the best part of every meal, 'course 'm gonna make it for you. only if i get some too." he leans in and presses a wet kiss to the side of your neck, his arm wrapping around your side to pull you closer.

#j's writing #31 days of blurbs #carmen berzatto #carmen berzatto x reader #carmen berzatto imagine #carmen berzatto blurb #the bear imagine

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filthyf1 · 7 months ago

Text

A Long Short Time

pairing: Daniel Ricciardo x Reader

content warning: MINORS DNI (18+); Porn WITH Plot, cunnilingus, blowjob, unprotected sex, slightly tipsy sex?... Not entirely healthy relationship dynamics….

summary: Daniel and you broke up two months ago. He comes back to get the last of his things…. And the rest is history.

word count: 5k

author's notes: AHHHHHH this was so nerve wracking.... it's been so long since I've written anything so please let me know your thoughts!!!

____

Two months. A short time that felt like a millenia to you. The apartment felt emptier than usual. He wasn’t there often before, but it was more than never. Life felt slow and tedious, and you weren’t exactly adapting well.

It had been two months since you and Daniel broke up. That felt like such a silly and simple way to explain it, but that’s exactly what happened. It was and then it wasn’t. Four years and it was over just like that.

Daniel was let go from VCARB after the Singapore GP. The fans could tell something was wrong from his interviews, and their guesses were spot on. He’d known it was the end and given it his all, understanding that it wouldn’t be enough. His whole life came to an abrupt halt, just like that. What was the point of contracts in the first place? It felt like a crime to let him go before COTA, and yet…

Just as his career came to a screeching halt, your relationship did as well. The comfort you thought you could give was simply not enough. Nothing you could say or do could make it right. It made sense even if it hurt. What do you do when the thing you’ve worked for your whole life gets pulled out from under you? Some people cope and move on, collect the pieces and figure out how to go forward. Some people burn the rest of the world around them and crash.

What began as trying to comfort him turned into an all-out shouting match and ended in the door slamming behind him.

“I can’t do this! What the fuck would you do?”

“I don’t know! Lean on my friends? Family? My fucking girlfriend, maybe?”

“Well, nothing like this has happened to you. You just get to sit around and be pretty. Life is so fucking easy for you.”

That last one stung - his sharp words certainly hit their mark. You played the conversation over and over again in your head for the past 60 days, trying to think of an alternative ending.

The movers eventually came and took his things, leaving both the space and your heart wide and empty. And that was how the past two months went. Your apartment was small, but when a whole other person’s things were removed, it felt much too large.You got to see him unwind and find himself by his own posts and his friends’ on social media. The news outlets were fucking annoying. Apparently, one of the most interesting things to report on was an F1 driver’s relationship status. And the paparazzi had exactly as much sympathy as you expected. You were sure there were at least a dozen photos of you crying floating around on Twitter, Facebook, etc.

It was your turn to feel stuck. You felt like the last four years were a waste. What were you working towards? It was upended so swiftly and easily. You saw Daniel regaining the light back in his eyes while he attended sporting events and went dirt biking with his friends. You sat in your flat drinking wine and looking at the city lights contemplating what could have been.

There were things you wanted to accomplish that you put on the back burner and now regretted never pursuing. Maybe once you got your spirit back, you’d go after the fashion degree or write that book that always sat in the back of your mind. Just a little bit more groveling…

What really hurt was finding things the movers missed. Little things here and there that you knew he would miss, a helmet here, a jersey there. So instead of burning them like a lot of people might, you gathered them and put them in a box. You put your big girl pants on and sent him a text, hoping it would still go through, and let him know he could pick it up whenever he was back in the city. And to your surprise, not only did the message go through, but he answered. It was the only thing you’d heard from him since he left and unfortunately, you clung to it.

It was another Friday night that wine was your companion. Your friend had visited for a few days for some gossip and retail therapy, but unfortunately she had left earlier that day and you let the loneliness seep back in. The riesling helped dull it a little bit. You were halfway through the bottle, feeling the pleasant buzz settle into your muscles.

Music swept through your apartment while you danced and cleaned things here and there when your phone dinged on the counter, interrupting the melody you were currently feeling. Thinking it was your friend who forgot her lipstick on your counter, you swiped the message open without a second thought. Once you read it, however, the blood drained from your face and you looked on in horror.

Be there in 20 if you’re still awake.

Okay…. Okay. Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck.

You were very much not sober enough for this. The bottle of wine looked on in amusement and you glared at it, as if it wasn’t your choice to partake in the first place. That still didn’t stop you from chugging the rest of the glass in front of you. Maybe it would help you to be more relaxed or cool in his presence. You glanced at the clock on your oven.

11:20PM.

Late, but not ridiculously so. You wondered what exactly he was doing in the country. But that wasn’t really any of your business anymore.

It was fully in your right to deny him, let him know it was not a good time to stop by. Your sober self needed 3 to 5 business days to prepare for this, but your tipsy self wanted him to stop by now. Your chest ached at the thought of seeing his face again in person. You craved it desperately. Against your better judgement, your fingers sent out a quick, “Ok.”

Oh, God, what were you doing?

Simply put, you fucking missed him. There was no denying or getting around it.

“Fuck, this is happening,” you breathed to yourself. You ran a hand through your hair, a nervous mess. You ran to the bathroom to do a once over; you looked as much a mess as you expected. Hair everywhere and eyes slightly glassy from alcohol. You swallowed hard, trying to fix things, but gave up after a minute or two.

Sitting back in your kitchen, you nursed another glass of wine. There was no going back now, so you might as well commit. A knock came a few minutes later, causing you to jump in your seat.

“Fuck,” one more for the road.

You approached the door slowly like a victim in a horror movie. One last hesitation, and the door swung open and there he was.

He stood tall, not at all bowed under the pressure he had experienced so recently. His hair was longer than you remembered, the curls so perfect and tangled it hurt. They weren’t yours to run your hands through anymore. You were sure you looked sad and pathetic, and he stood in front of you looking healthy and radiant, something you hadn’t seen in a long time. He looked damn good.

A breathy, “Hi,” was all you could muster. You immediately kicked yourself internally. So much for keeping your cool. Daniel gave you a once over that made you feel hot inside and self-conscious at the same time.

“Hi,” he gave a soft smile and you nearly melted. It was such a stark difference from how your last conversation ended. You stood in silence for another few seconds, taking him in. This was how you wanted to remember him.

“Fuck, uh, sorry, I don’t have your stuff here,” you shook yourself out of the trance. “Do you… want to come in for a minute?” You weren’t sure if this was a good idea or not. You didn’t have a great track record with exes and them visiting your place of residence.

“I’ve got the time,” he said.

You’d be lying if a plethora of less than innocent thoughts were running through your head. He looked better than you remembered, and the feelings were still there, ready to be unearthed at a moment's notice.

He took everything in. The air felt heavy with unspoken tension and you wondered what he was thinking. His eyes settled on the empty wine glass and less than full bottle.

“Been drinking?” He asked and a smirk settled onto his lips. His facial hair was growing in, and you’d be lying if your mind didn’t wander. Beard burn was a hell of a drug.

“Yea,” you said sheepishly, a hand running through your hair to dispel your nerves. “There’s whiskey if you want a drink. I still have your favorite… I don’t really drink it…” You trailed off, not really expecting him to accept. You thought he would be itching to leave as soon as possible, the weight of the last conversation heavy on your mind. To your surprise, he opened the cabinet that he knew very well and grabbed the whiskey. He grabbed a glass (that cabinet never changed either) and poured himself a double.

“Cheers,” he held the cup out. You poured the rest of the wine into your stemmed glass and clinked your glass against his. You paused, watching him down the glass, his Adam's apple bobbing and a single droplet of whiskey dripping from his lips and trailing down his neck. Sinful thoughts flashed across your eyes, but long gone now were the days where you could lick it away. You averted your eyes quickly and drank your wine in one swift gulp. Anything to distract you from the images circling through your head.

“You’ve been doing well - at least from what I’ve seen,” you placed the wine glass down in the kitchen sink and Daniel followed suit. The heat of his body was heavy behind you, his arm right next to yours. You fought everything in you to fight freezing. Surely, he wasn’t doing this on purpose? You didn’t have much time to contemplate as his body was gone in the next moment.

He leaned against the kitchen counter - his arms propped his body up and you chose to avert your eyes from his toned form. Two months was clearly not enough time to stop those thoughts from clouding your mind. Was it you or did he just look you up and down?

“I’ve been… okay,” he didn’t elaborate, but the silence explained enough. Maybe it was easier to put on a smile for the camera.

“You still miss it,” it wasn’t a question.

“Every day,” he nearly whispered. His warm brown eyes held yours for a second too long and you wondered if you were still talking about racing. You cleared your throat, not totally sure how to address that.

“Things ended pretty poorly, huh,” you averted your eyes. Now was not the time to let your tears get the best of you. Your last argument was the elephant in the room and you’d explode if you avoided it for another second. There was a tightly wound bundle of resentment, pain, and anger in your stomach. You were mad at him for walking away. Mad that he seemed to get over things pretty damn quick while you were still fumbling for a grasp on things. Mad that he walked right back in like nothing happened.

“You could say that again,” he said simply. You went to speak again but he cut you off. “I’m sorry for the things I said.”

Your eyes shot to his. He wasn’t really one to open up and talk about things like that. He tended to take things out on the track and work through them that way. He didn’t have that anymore though, so maybe he found talking was easier these days.

“Thank you,” you said roughly. Blinking rapidly to stop tears from coming forward. What were you supposed to do now? You never stopped loving him, but you were feeling so many other conflicting feelings at the same time. Daniel made a move as if to come forward and comfort you, then thought twice about it. He was obviously feeling a lot of things too. He cleared his throat.

“So, you said you put everything in a box?” He looked around. If things were heavy before, they weighed a ton now.

“Um, yes, your stuff is in the hall closet. I put it in a box for you - I’m not sure it'll fit in whatever car you drove, but you can always send someone to pick it up for you,” you over-explained as you walked towards said storage. Were you delirious or was that his body heat on your back? This time it did not disappear.

You slowed, turning to face him. He was as close as you suspected, his strong frame standing over you. His pupils were blown, his breathing slightly accelerated. You’d be a fool to deny that his scent was intoxicating. The same cologne and musk you remembered that was distinctly Daniel made your head spin. You swallowed hard and Daniel’s eyes flickered down to your eyes then your throat.

“Daniel?”

“I’ve missed you,” he breathed out, his voice deep and husky. Your heart pounded hard in your chest. You wanted this more than anything. You wished he’d just kiss you already. Your body ached to feel his against yours again. It had been so long. You were both suspended in time, your eyes locked with each others’.

“I missed you, too,” you replied. He looked relieved at that, like he thought you had moved on. As if you’d ever be able to do that.

“Yea?” He was even quieter that time.

“So fucking much.”

“Can I kiss you?”

“I wish you would.”

Whatever dam was once there broke in an instant. Daniel surged forward and his lips enveloped yours. You couldn’t help the groan that leaked from your throat. You missed this so much it hurt. One of his hands wrapped around your waist, pulling you into him. His other hand found the back of your neck and his fingers wrapped into your hair. His body was hot against yours, your skin searing wherever it touched his. He backed you into the wall without his lips leaving yours once. You eagerly reached your hands to his hair and pulled on the curls you missed so much which earned you a groan in return. You fit together like two puzzle pieces.

You gulped in air as he moved his attention to your neck, his facial hair scratching you in the way you remembered. Words couldn’t describe how much you missed this. His leg parted yours to push against your clothed cunt and pin you to the wall. God, if he thought you were moaning like a whore now… He suckled hard on the soft skin of your collar bone and your fingers tightened in his hair.

Things were complicated, sure, but this was here and now. Right now you were feeling pretty damn good for many reasons and your present self didn’t care much about the potential consequences. Daniel was a man starved and you were an oasis in the desert.

“Take me to the fucking bedroom before I strip you here,” you barely got out.

“Can do,” he replied between pressing kisses up your neck. “Not that I would entirely mind…” His strong arms moved to loop under your thighs and lift you up easily. He took a moment to hold you against the wall and kiss you again. His need was as evident as yours; you could feel him straining against his jeans. His tongue was hot and furious against yours and you feared being fully consumed by him.

Your body temperature was running at one-thousand degrees and you felt like you were about to burst. Daniel’s tongue was wet and insistent against yours and you drank him in. Soft groans echoed from him and you could barely handle it. He carried you to your room, placing you softly onto your plush bed. His body was heavy upon yours, barely holding himself above you. You took the opportunity to roll your hips against his, eliciting a moan from both of you. You wondered if he was with anyone in your absence and then quickly pushed that thought away. It was none of your business, and you chose to believe the answer was no based on the way he was acting.

Your hands trailed around each other; you missed the feel of each others’ bodies. Something told you that neither of you would last long. Already you feel yourself soaking through your panties.

Barely able to tear himself from you, Daniel managed to rip his shirt off. He looked just as good as ever and your mouth watered at the happy trail disappearing into his pants.

“See something you like?” He grins evilly.

“Shut the fuck up and take my pants off,” you sigh. He did not need to be told twice. Your pants were removed in a flash leaving you in your underwear and shirt. The shirt was quickly removed after. Lucky for you, it was nearing laundry day which meant you had only your skimpiest and laciest underwear leftover.

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” Daniel sighed.

“I’d apologize but I’m not sorry…”

“You’re going to be the death of me,” he leaned back in and placed soft kisses down your torso. His hands pawed your chest roughly, pinching your nipples between his fingers and causing you to keen into him. He came back to place one more kiss on your lips and captured your bottom lip between his teeth to nip at the soft, swollen skin. You rolled your hips into his again but this time he caught them and pushed his own into you to fight back. Everything with him was a delicious push and pull.

He edged back down, but not without placing wet kisses along your torso on his way there. He grabbed the band of your underwear between his teeth and pulled them off. His eyes held yours as he did so and you felt the blood rush to your cheeks. The man knew how to make you blush, that was for sure. They peeled back from your dripping pussy in a way that was almost embarrassing. You didn’t miss when he took the panties and shoved them into his back pocket.

His lips ghosted over the inside of your thighs and drank you in in a way that made you light headed. You wanted nothing more than him to put his fucking mouth to work. He could sense your urgency and gave a cheeky chuckle.

“Don’t pretend you don’t want this as much as me. I’ll suck your dick if you hurry up and eat me out,” you threatened.

“You don’t have to tell me twice.”

His mouth was warm and the pleasure shot deep through your core as soon as he ran his tongue over you.

“Fuck,” you barely managed. Your head hit the mattress - Daniel held you tight and didn’t allow an inch for you to squirm. Your legs draped over his shoulders and your toes curled as he worked on you. The wet sounds that came from your cunt were sinful; when Daniel paused for air and to smile at you, you could see his chin glistening. He was relentless, moaning into your folds and your head started swirling. “Daniel,” you gasped and one hand clawed at his shoulder while the other held tightly to his hair. “I’m not gonna last - if you keep doing that I’m gonna come.”

“Good,” he barely pulled back. Now that he had that information, he didn’t hold back and within a minute you were writhing and moaning underneath him as white hot pleasure coursed through you. He alternated between sucking and swirling his tongue around your clit. His strong arms barely flexed to hold you down as your hips rolled against his tongue. He only relented when your hips stuttered as you became overstimulated. You were gasping and swearing. It was way too long since you’d felt like this. He pulled back, but only far enough to place more open-mouthed, sloppy kisses along your thighs. He let you recover and kissed his way back up your body on your hips, your stomach, your breasts, and finally your collarbones and neck.

“Sooooo, you said something about getting my dick sucked?” He asked and completely evaporated the heavy mood. You couldn’t help the laugh that exploded from you and you hit his shoulder weakly. He fell back dramatically on the bed, holding his shoulder in mock pain. “You wound me, woman!”

The light humor was nice, but it made your heart ache. You missed this so much and you realized that this ended with Daniel walking out the door. This was all a moment of passion after time apart. He’d take the rest of his things and go back to his life and you’d go back to yours. Instead of wallowing, you chose to shove it to the back of your mind and enjoy the moment that was happening in front of you. You put the smile back on your face and turned your attention back to Daniel. You kissed him deeply and softly once and ignored the slightly confused look on his face.

You pushed him back into the bed and he propped his head up by putting his hands behind his head, and you swallowed hard at his flexing biceps. He still wore his jeans so you palmed him roughly through the thick fabric which earned you a look that could kill. You licked a stripe over the coarse hair that sprouted up his stomach. He was hot and salty with sweat and you craved to take him into your mouth.

Removing his belt slowly, you teased him; how much could he take? To your surprise, he was exceedingly patient and looked down at you with a disgusting smirk. You pulled down his jeans and wiped said smirk off his face by placing a feather light kiss over his clothed cock. He smelled hot and musky, and you couldn’t wait to strip him completely. The pants and boxer briefs came off together and got tossed somewhere along the rest of the clothes on the floor.

He was just as you remembered. You suppressed the whine that built in your throat. He was already cocky enough; he didn’t need to know you missed sucking him off. You took as much of him in your mouth as you could, the rest taken care of by your hands. Another thing he didn’t need to add to his ego was his size. He was heavy and warm on your tongue with the sting of bitter saltiness from the precum that leaked from his swollen, red tip. A deep groan came from him and you looked up to see his head thrown back and his bottom lips caught between his teeth. A small ego boost for you too.

You dragged your tongue from his base to his tip. Following the thick vein that ran up his length, you took him in again and hollowed your cheeks. He couldn’t control the groans and moans that spilled from him and one of his hands came down to wind through your hair and hold it up.

“Look at me,” he commanded. Bold of him, but you had to admit you missed this possessive side of him. You obliged him and looked him dead in the eyes but did not pause your ministrations. You let him push his hips into your mouth to fuck your throat. You were out of practice and gagged once before holding it back. Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes and you loved it. You swallowed around his length and his hand tightened painfully in your hair. His hips thrusted against his own will and his eyes squeezed shut. “Okay… okay, stop, or I’m not gonna make it to the main event,” he breathed heavily. Still got it, you thought smugly. You released him but not before placing one last kiss on the crevice between his crotch and his thigh which earned you a satisfying twitch.

You climbed up, settling yourself on his lower stomach. This was one of both of your favorite positions. Daniel loved seeing you above him, riding his cock and finding the exact right spot that got you off. It was a position that allowed you both some control and he liked being able to see your face. You scooted back and grabbed his length, ready to position him and sink down when he halted you by catching your hips in both of his hands.

“Fuck, I didn't bring a condom,” he sighed and paused. You almost lost your mind.

“I don't fucking care,” you moaned and pushed against him. “And I'm still on the pill.”

“You didn't stop it?”

“Just be glad I didn't and fuck me already, Daniel,” you whined. You knew adding his name would be the cherry on top of a cake he couldn't deny. He took the head of his leaking cock, swiping it through your folds to collect the excessive wetness there, and pressed himself into you slowly. The stretch ached deliciously. It had definitely been awhile. Daniel hissed between his teeth as you sunk down on his length inch by agonizing inch.

When he was fully inside of you, you took a moment to adjust. You steadied yourself with your hands on Daniel’s chest, and he grabbed your wrists to pull you back down to him. Your lips met his in a surprisingly tender kiss that stirred things in your chest that you were having trouble keeping buried. You blinked away tears for the second time that night, but this time a warm hand came to cup your cheek and stroke the skin there.

Whatever happened tonight, you hoped you and Daniel talked after this. He brought you so much joy and comfort. His warm brown eyes held yours as if to say everything would be okay.

“Okay, I’m fine. You can start moving,” you breathed out and began rocking your hips. He listened and held your hips to guide you up and down on his cock. He felt just as good as you remembered. Maybe better. The room was filled with the harmony of your moans and the wet, rhythmic slaps of your hips meeting each other. There was no sweeter sound.

“Fuck, you feel so good, baby,” he moaned. “So fucking good for me. So tight and fucking soaking. All for me,” his hips snapped to meet your movements. Him calling you baby lit a spark in your belly and spurred you on.

“Faster. Fuck me faster, Daniel,” you whined, desperately chasing your high. He complied and moved faster and harder. He stuck his two forefingers in your mouth and you sucked on them, your tongue swirling around the digits. You looked at him through your lashes and he groaned deeply. You felt deeply in your soul that only you two could have this effect on each other. His thrusts became more erratic, his breathing deeper and faster, and you knew he was nearing the edge. You decided to spur him on, wanting to hear his sweet sounds and see the beautiful face he made when he reached it. You beared down on him, squeezing him and matching his rhythm.

“You’re so good, Danny. You make me feel so good,” you could barely get the words out.

His eyes squeezed shut as he tried to maintain his composure. Sweat beaded on his brow and shined on his chest. One hand left your hip to rub quick circles on your clit to give it right back to you. You were so sensitive from earlier that the effect was immediate. One hand flew to muffle the sounds coming out of you, but Daniel ripped it away. He wanted to hear every sound uninhibited.

He held on until your orgasm crashed over you. You hoped you wouldn’t be receiving a noise complaint from your neighbors the next day, but would understand why if you did. Your thighs shook and you couldn’t control how you rutted against Daniel like a crazed person. That was all he could take and his hands tightened painfully into your soft skin. He bit his lips hard and his eyes screwed shut. His hips hit once, twice more before slowing. Was that a whine coming from him? God, that sound alone could make you cum again. You reveled in the bliss, slowly moving your hips to ride it out.

The room was quiet for a few minutes after, save the heaving breathing coming from both of you. Finally, you pulled yourself from Daniel, a soft sigh coming from him. You were battling yourself on what to do next. Now that it was over… What came next? Maybe you would take a hot shower and then he’d be gone with his things when you emerged. That was usually how this kind of story went, right? At least he wouldn’t be around to see you fall apart.

You made a start to get off the bed, but a warm hand wrapped around your wrist. You were pulled back down. Warm arms wrapped around you and then you were laying against his overheated body, your legs draped over his like nothing had ever changed.

“Don’t go,” he said into the top of your head.

#daniel ricciardo x you #daniel ricciardo x reader #formula one #formula 1 x reader #f1 x reader #formula 1 smut #daniel ricciardo smut #f1 #f1 fanfic #f1 smut #f1 fic

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yeoldenews · 6 months ago

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Can you shed any light on how Santa came to give naughty children coal, when coal used to be a reasonably useful present?? I tried googling it but nothing that came up seemed researched better than folk wisdom, or modern-day people trying to make it make sense.

Considering that the holiday has come to dominate upwards of 1/12 of the cultural calendar every year in much of the world - there has been shockingly little academic research done on the history of Christmas and Christmas traditions. So unfortunately folk wisdom is kind of all we have on this subject.

Coal has long been associated with various cultural figures who fall under the "winter gift-bringer" archetype. The Italian witch-like figure Befana brings coal or ashes to bad children, and the Basque Olentzero was traditionally a charcoal burner by profession. However, as most folk-lore consists mainly of unwritten cultural tradition, it is very difficult to determine exactly when and how these figures developed, and what, if any, influence they had on one another.

(For the duration of this I'm going to dub any item brought by Santa as a punishment as an 'anti-gift' for a lack of a better term. Also, the following information is specific to the continental US, as that's the area I most focus on.)

To begin with - coal, in the anti-gift sense, does not necessarily refer to valuable high-grade anthracite. It could just as easily refer to low-grade industrial coal or even charcoal. It was also given in such small quantities (small enough to fit in a child's sock, as that's what stockings were originally) as to be worth almost nothing, no matter the quality.

I actually tend to agree with what most modern articles written on this subject theorize - which is that coal was just a conveniently located item that every household had. Stockings were traditionally hung on the mantle or around the stove, so the coal scuttle was right there for any disgruntled parents looking to punish their child's misbehavior.

This theory seems to be supported by other anti-gifts I've come across in Dear Santa letters which appear to be overwhelmingly fireplace related - ashes, sticks, sand (commonly used in fire buckets) and once even buffalo chips.

Ashes in particular were a very common anti-gift in much of the US in the late 19th/early 20th century. Though often the belief was that Santa would throw ashes in your eyes if you peek at him, rather than leave them in your stocking for bad behavior.

By far the most common non-fireplace-related anti-gift I come across in Dear Santa letters is switches (as in branches/rods used for corporal punishment). I've only done the scantest of formal documentation on the subject but, just given my general observations, - I'd say that switches were just as common of an anti-gift as coal, if not more so, up until the mid-20th century when corporal punishment/spanking began becoming less culturally acceptable. I have also noted that switches were noticeably more common in the Southern US, where it is not uncommon to see them mentioned in Dear Santa letters well into the 21st century (though my attempts to document any very recent data on this has been somewhat complicated by the introduction of the Nintendo Switch.)

Coal being a relatively useful and valuable item seems to have been a joke for as long as it has been a tradition, and it is not at all uncommon to see adults pointing out that fact - especially during strikes and shortages.

Even in times of scarcity, I suspect most stocking coal ended up right back in the coal bucket, as I can't imagine most children were interesting in keeping it - thus costing the parents (or Santa) absolutely nothing.

Was coal the traditional anti-gift where any of you grew up, or was it something else?

#sorry for the late response #I accidentally put this in my drafts instead of my queue #christmas #traditions #history #coal #dear santa #asks #long post

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carolmunson · 1 year ago

Text

the boy is mine (carol's edition)

you know i had to do it to 'em. if you'd like to take a crack at the 'the boy is mine' writing challenge, you can check it out here. you can also see the masterlist of everyone's works here. a/n: for me, how eddie was fleshed out in FOI has always been how i see him. hurting, but goofy, but snarky, but sweet, but loving, but scared, but all that. eddie 'has taken care of himself since third grade' munson just makes sense to me. in this ficlet, our romantic night in gets muddled when eddie doesn't know how to just let someone love him right. i've also always have written eddie as older than he actually is, so here -- he's 25. argue with the wall. tw: 18+, angst, hurt/comfort, some smutty references but no smut, references to smoking and drinking. some arguing but nothing crazy.

The day was hard on his shoulders and back, no one should be hunched over the hood of a car for this long -- and even being young isn't saving him from the grimace he makes every time he gets out of his bed with a decades old mattresss. Eddie cracks his neck each way while he chugs down the road leading to Forest Hills, slick and shiny with rain from the afternoon. The orangey yellow headlights on his beat up '71 Chevrolet bounce cheerily off the darkened asphalt, but the scrape, clatter, and growl of his engine and whatever else was a stark reminder that this van was on it's last leg. As bright as the headlights were, the gloomy purpled evening sky was a perfect match to his mood.

Today is Eddie Munson's birthday.

For the past few years, Eddie has spent his birthday working double shifts at the auto shop and then meeting the guys at the Hideout to get so drunk he can't see. Can't be sad about your birthday if you're too drunk to think about how your mama's dead and your dad won't call. Can't be sad about how you won't ever get to hear her sing you happy birthday, or put on a record, or dance with you in the living room. Or have your dad make dinner and put the six pack away if only for that night. To not run out on 'a job' or 'work a late shift' where he won't come back for days afterward.

He'd drink and drink until you had to hold him up to get him out of the bar, piling him into the back seat and having the guys follow you home to help load him into bed. He always looked forward to the greasy diner hangover breakfast in the morning where it could be just the two of you, and not his birthday, and not all the awful things he thinks he is.

The gravel groans and crunches when he pulls in at the side of the trailer he used to share with Wayne. With another roll of his head and shoulders he kills the ignition, hopping out of the van and leaning over to grab his bag. It's only when he slings it over his shoulder that he notices the warm glow of the kitchen light on, passing muted through the small curtains. He hip checks the door shut and makes his way up the steps that need repairing -- another thing to add to the list for 'Spring Cleaning' in a couple weeks that he knows he'll forget to do until you remind him or one of the boards rots out. Eddie's ring tap against the metal handle and he braces for the screech of the door, only to be met with the cozy blend of garlic, onion, and rosemary hitting his nose first. He swallows while he kicks off his work boots, turning the corner to see you in the kitchenette, putting the lid back onto the one large pasta pot he has and turning the burner off. "Oh!" you jump when you see him, shock turning into a smile, "You're earlier than I thought you'd be. Hold on!"

"What're y--" He's interrupted by you hurrying into the fridge, glass clinking when you pull out a Mionetto bottle that was already opened to reveal the cork.

"Surprise!" you ring out, popping the bottle with a little flourish, "Happy birthday!" He stands there, unsure at first what he's looking at, trying to take it all in. You in the kitchen with an apron on, the table set nice, a cake set on the counter to cool with a covered bowl of what looks like home made vanilla frosting next to it. To the side, a familiar small notebook lays opened to a buttercream recipe -- his mom's buttercream recipe, still scrawled in her loopy handwriting on yellowing pages with fading blue ink.

"Melvald's didn't have any like, nice cups," you say with a scrunch of your nose as you pour two glasses of prosecco into flimsy plastic flutes, "Is that okay?" "Uh..." he snaps back to reality when you hand him the cup, "Y-yeah that's okay." "Happy birthday, handsome," you smile, raising your drink before you take a sip, he follows suit.

"What is all this?" he asks, voice sounding like it's coming from someone else. Objectively, he should be falling to his knees right now, crying with adoration for you. Sobbing over the clear effort you've put in for a romantic night together at the trailer. "Um," you suck in your lips quickly, and release them, eyes lowering to the scuffed linoleum, "I uh, I made braised short rib and mashed potatoes, some broccoli. Wayne told me that um, that your dad used to smoke them for your birthday but we don't have a smoker so..."

"Why?" The swell in his heart builds from genuine affection to suspicious bitterness, this was way too much.

"Did you not check the calendar today or something? It's kind of a big day," you try to lighten the mood with a laugh, taking the apron off and hanging it on the hook by the hallway, "Sit, sit." He follows your direction, sitting at the table where the place setting is the best it can be with what you have. You even folded up the paper towels nicely. He silently sips on the bubbles, uncomfortable on the makeshift throw pillow cushion on the chair, while you take the plate in front of him and begin serving.

"I should um," he starts, voice gravelly, "I should wash my hands and uh, and change or..." "Yeah," you nod, voice higher pitched than expected, "Go, go ahead. It'll all be ready when you're done washing up." He leaves the glass behind, thudding into the bedroom where he notices a Frederick's of Hollywood bag sitting at the end of the bed. A small pile of gifts in shiny blue paper lay stacked up pretty on his dresser -- a card front in center 'Eddie My Love' - you write it in the same way you sing it to him absentmindedly every now and again. Flipping the lyrics every time. He swallows again, pulling in his cheeks and biting down while he peels off his coveralls and slips into what he was planning to wear to drinks later -- a band tee and some worn jeans. It feels cheap to wear this now, now that you've put in all this effort. Now that you're looking all sweet and put together in the kitchen for him. He rolls his shoulders again, trying to stretch the frustration out. He doesn't wanna be mad at you, you didn't do anything wrong. He doesn't wanan feel so sick in his chest over it -- but he does. All this work for what? Eddie takes his rings off to wash his hands, using the same Dove bar soap to wash the remaining grime off his face from work. Big inhale, big exhale into the towel on the door before making it back to the kitchen where the dinette table was ready for dinner, two tapered candles lit in old holders on the side. He sits across from you, your eyes glittering in the light of the flame.

"You didn't have to do this," he says quietly. Your lips twitch into a half smile, head cocking slightly to the side. "I know, but it's your day...it's a big one, too. The big two-five," your voice doing its best to soothe, "Can't just, I dunno -- get plastered at The Hideout every year..."

"Sure I can," he shrugs with a quirk of his brows, pushing the mashed potatoes around with his fork. He watches the melty pat of butter ooze off one of the edges like a volcano, pooling in next to the broccoli. "And you like that? That's fun for you?" you chuckle before noticing he's just playing with his food, "You gonna eat?"

"Getting plastered at The Hideout is like, tradition," he mutters, looking at the clock over the cabinets, "And we're gonna be late meeting the guys."

"Ed..." you say, a vapor of disappointment floating through his name when you say it. He winces.

"Like I said, babe," he says, "You didn't have to do all this -- y'know, spend all this extra cash on dinner and --"

"I know I didn't have to, but I wanted to -- I wanted to do something nice so that your birthday could be sp -- " "Okay, well I don't need my birthday to be special, it never is," he snaps, he doesn't mean to, "I didn't ask you to do this for me." You hold your soft gaze at him, shoulders round down while you rest a cheek on your palm. If Eddie's mama was still alive, she'd tell you to get your elbows off the table.

In the flame, your glittering eyes turn glassy. You let a soft breath out through your nose, a sulk clear in your posture. "You're right," you mumble, a soft squeak of a sound while you slowly stand, shaking your head, "You're right, you didn't ask. I shouldn't have assumed that you..."

You trail off while you flick the lights on in the kitchen, leaning forward to gently blow out the taper candles. Your hand swishes away the smoke and soot, pushing out out of the cracked kitchen window before the smoke detector catches it. The cabinets creak while you take out some Tupperware from the top shelves, the good stuff that the ladies in the park sold Wayne back in the 70s. They click and clack as the bowls and trays and their tops hit the formica counter top.

"Well--well, wait -- you don't have to pack it up, babe," he says, sitting up a little taller in the chair. When he hears the shudder in your breath he stands, "You don't have to put it away."

"No, it's fine," you assure, a small strain coming through from your chest, "It'll be like -- you'll be so excited when you get home and there's all this food. I just gotta call the guys and tell them to just go to the bar instead of coming here."

"Whaddayou mean, coming here?"

You turn around, eyes wet now but not crying, a tug on your brow and taughtness in your jaw from where you try to hold it back.

"It was supposed to be a surprise," you shrug, "But like, it's not important. Lemme just pack this up and I'll get it figured out." "What's the surprise?" he asks, tilting his head to get a better look at you. "Well I..." you let out another breath, lower lip wobbling; an action your stop with a sharp inhale through the nose. "Well I thought it would be fun if the guys came over and did a birthday oneshot campaign with you. I helped Gare and Jeff write it and Jeff was gonna DM," you let out in one breath, "And it was gonna be like, a silly drinking game version." "You were gonna play?" he asks meekly. You nod. You rarely play, always watch. Always make snacks or help him clean up the trailer, always order the pizza because Eddie forgets to. Always add extra mushrooms on one because Richie likes extra mushrooms. Always make sure to get one with white sauce cause red cause doesn't sit great with Dustin.

"Did a, um, did a character sheet and whatever," you say, defeated, while you open the utensil drawer to pull out an extra pair of tongs and a serving spoon, "Drew her -- it's in your card."

You start to pack up the food and the tears start up again, welling in your eyes but still not spilling over. Eddie steps forward, getting between you and the pots and pans on the stove.

"Hey, wait," his voice bare audible, "Babe, don't."

"It's okay," you sniffle, "I just have to call them."

"No -- baby, stop," there's an edge now, ring hand falling on your wrist, "Stop packing it up."

"It's fine--"

A waltz between you, him, and the tupperware on the counter.

"Don't make me..." he huffs, trying to maneuver the tongs out of your hand, "If you don't stop, we're gonna have a pr--"

"Ed, enough! We will go to the bar, it's fine," you urge, anxiety heightening in your chest where it bursts, you start to cry, "Please, let me put it away. It's fine. I just -- fuck --"

"I feel like such an asshole," you sigh, breaking. You relent, letting go of the tongs where he takes them and leaves them between the burners on the yellowed stove.

"Don't be like that, you're not," he soothes, closing in on you against the counters edge, "You're not, I'm sorry."

"I really just wanted your birthday to be special," you weakly murmur, wiping at your eyes.

"You know how I get," he says, rough hands coming up to cup your face where he leaves a soft kiss to your cheek, "M'just not great at bein' fussed over."

"You deserve to be fussed over, doofus," you garble out, his thumbs replacing your fingers to catch the tears as they fall.

"It's hard, babe," he nods, "You knows it's hard for me. Y'know with my mom's stuff gone and my dad being...who fuckin' -- who fuckin' knows. The Hideout just makes sense. That's y'know -- that's what I deserve."

"That's not even true," you shake your head, "Don't be stupid."

"Well, I barely graduated so," he offers you a peck to each salty, wet cheek, "Stupid's my middle name." "Don't cry, sweetheart," he breathes, leaning in with a slow kiss. A kiss drenched in apologies and thank yous, breaks away just to kiss again. And again, and again, and again until you're both breathless under the sickly yellow green glow of the overhead kitchen light. "How about I change into something nicer than this, and we'll pop these plates in the microwave and start over," he asks, a smile toying on his full lips, "'Kay?"

You nod back, getting another peck stolen from you, and following him down the hall. "Oh, yes, yes, allow me to slip into something more..." he announces with flourish, posing half sexily half awkwardly in the doorway to his bedroom, "Uncomfortable." You snort, giggling while you follow in after him, settling on the end of his bed, "You don't have to dress up fancy." "'Course I do," he tsks, brows furrowing, "M'going to a five star restaurant doll, I can't look like a slob." He pulls out a pair of slacks from a funeral he went to two years ago, discarding his jeans and sliding them up over his pale legs. To your dismay, he plucks the t-shirt with a screen print of a tux out of his closet, and exchanges the worn Dio tee with that. You'll always prefer the Dio tee. "Classy," you tease. He winks, and that's enough to make you okay with the tux shirt. His fingers trail over the stack of presents and land on the envelope.

"Can I open the card?"

"Sure."

"Am I gonna cry over it?" he asks, looking at you over the dull paper when he flicks open the top.

You shake your head, "Nah, it's not sappy. You're the sappy card writer."

"I'm so sappy," he agrees, pulling out the card, "I gotta work on that, huh?"

"No, I like when you're sappy, ya sap." You watch him read the card, blush evident in the warm wash of gold from his bedside lamp. You're not a sappy card writer, but you always know how to make him feel like a kid with a crush. When he opens up your character sheet his bottom lip tucks between his teeth. "Shit," he grins, "Rogue tiefling, huh? You tryna kill me?"

"I thought it could be fun," you titter, standing up to look at the pages next to him, "Chaotic evil. Look at me."

"Ugh, baby's first villain," he gushes, "I love it."

"Look at the picture," you bounce on the balls of your feet while he goes to the next page. A much quieter 'shit' falls from his mouth. It was not a drawing that was for the rest of the guys to see, a sketch of a tiefling version of you in an outfit meant for his eyes only. "So you are trying to kill me," he asks, fingers tracing the curve of 'your' hip on the page where the outfit digs into the fat of 'your' hips.

"No, that'll be later," you smirk.

"Hm?' his brows raise.

"What do you think is in the Frederick's bag?" you ask, faux innocence smattering into your tone.

"Ah, you put a little costume together for me?" Eddie's mouth waters at the thought, brain fuzzy as he looks at the picture and then at you.

"Something like that," you tease, making your way back out into the hallway. "Something like that?!" he repeats back, hurrying back out to pull you into a searing kiss before you can make it back into the kitchen. The kind from the movies where he dips you down toward the faded carpet. As he pulls away, he nuzzles your nose against his, staring at you through lowered lids, "Thank you."

"You're very welcome," you nod, both of you making it back to full height, "Happy birthday."

You relight the candles on the table and nuke the plates of food, topping off each others plastic flutes with the left over Prosecco. There's three cases of beer in the fridge and you know Gareth is bringing Absinthe and it's something you pray doesn't mess your boyfriend up too much.

Dinner is the best meal Eddie's had in years, unable to keep his eyes off of you in between bites while you rehash your day and him, his. You're picking up the dishes off the table when the boys show up and they deliver. Taking the heat off you, they provide the snacks and even more extra booze. Jeff passes out party hats that make you all look ridiculous -- Eddie can remember laughing this much on his birthday, not even when he was a kid. Not even when his mama was alive.

After the oneshot completes and everyone is ankles deep in a tipsy haze and the smoke from a few joints lingers in the air, you walk in with the cake that is finally frosted -- the 2 and 5 confetti colored candles dancing in front of him while the rest sparkle in the middle of the coffee table. He makes one thousand wishes that he knows will come true because his friends are all still there with him and so are you. You're one room right over, cutting the cake and plating it up, and you'll be there when the boys leave in your skimpy nerdy costume that you bought just for him. And you'll be there while he sleeps and you'll be there when he wakes up. You'll be there across from him the next morning when he feeds you fries dipped in chocolate shake at the diner.

Today is Eddie Munson's birthday. And his mother's buttercream frosting is the sweetest it's ever tasted.

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