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faebled-stories · 8 months ago

Text

Rumor Has it

Kinkvember Day 12: Size Queen

ITZY Lee Chaeryeong x Male reader

7k words

“I can’t believe I’m with ITZY’s Chaeryeong,” the man murmured, voice heavy with disbelief as his eyes roamed her flushed face. “You’re just so hot,” he added, the words tumbling out in a way that was meant to be flattering but only served to deepen the emptiness settling in her chest. His awe should have kindled something—pride, excitement, even a fleeting sense of satisfaction—but it barely registered.

Chaeryeong lay on the unfamiliar bed, her body half-sunken into the cushions as he moved rhythmically, each thrust marked by an urgency that lacked any real warmth. His hands skimmed over her skin with a mechanical precision, more rote than passionate, as if he were caught up in the idea of her rather than the moment they shared. His breath came in shallow, heated bursts against her collarbone, but rather than igniting any spark within her, it only deepened the creeping impatience that gnawed at her.

Detachment wrapped around her like a cold wave, numbing her senses until it felt as though she were watching herself from above, disconnected and distant. The cracked, faded ceiling above was far more familiar, more interesting than the man whose movements quickened, already nearing the climax of their encounter.

The scene was painfully predictable, an act she could have performed in her sleep. The pattern was always the same: meet a guy, revel in the spark of attraction, then watch that spark die the moment intimacy began. It wasn’t their lack of effort; many were charming, practiced, saying and doing all the right things. But beneath the flattery, the skilled movements, and the whispered praises, there was only the same worn-out script she had seen unfold too many times to count.

He caught her gaze, a confident smirk tugging at his lips. “I knew you’d be this wild,” he said, tracing a line down her side as if her silence was proof of his prowess. Chaeryeong’s lips curved into a slight, practiced smile—just enough to maintain the illusion. She knew what he was looking for: affirmation, a performance. It was easier to provide it than let him glimpse the blankness she felt inside.

“Tell me how good this feels," he whispered, voice thick with self-assured pride as he pushed forward. The words fell over her, hollow and ineffective, their intended power dissolving before it could ignite even a flicker of genuine response. She knew men like him all too well—the ones who craved validation, whose confidence was built on a steady diet of praise. They lived for these moments, hungry for reassurances that fed their ego as much as any touch or fleeting glance.

“Mm-hmm,” she murmured, carefully calibrating her voice to mimic desire. Inside, the chasm of disinterest yawned wider, swallowing any pretense of excitement. His movements grew more erratic and rushed, signaling the approach of the end. Each gasp, each strained promise of how he would make her feel, only deepened her impatience. Her eyes wandered to the wall, where the paint peeled in thin, curling strips.

“Fuck, you’re amazing,” he gasped, voice ragged as he tensed, releasing with a final, shuddering exhalation. The warmth splattered across her stomach, sudden and uncomfortable against her skin. He collapsed beside her, chest heaving, eyes closed with a self-satisfied smile curving his lips. The silence that followed pressed down on her, suffocating and familiar.

Chaeryeong stared at the ceiling, her expression unchanged, irritation simmering beneath her blank exterior. The mess was just another inconvenience, another reminder of how detached she felt from the entire experience. She sat up, reaching for the box of tissues on the bedside table, each swipe across her skin sharp with annoyance. The sticky remnants clung stubbornly, and she fought the urge to let out a sigh as she wiped it clean.

“That was amazing, you loved it, didn’t you?” he said, the lazy grin on his face matched only by the certainty in his voice. He looked up at her, eyes glinting with a kind of self-congratulation that made her jaw tighten.

“Yeah,” she said absently, the word slipping out devoid of meaning. She crumpled the tissue and tossed it into the trash with more force than necessary, already turning her attention to putting her clothes back on. The quicker she dressed, the sooner she could escape the weight of his gaze and the aftermath of a night that felt like just another checkbox ticked.

“You’re leaving?” His tone shifted, a hint of surprise breaking through his post-coital haze.

“Yeah, something came up,” she said, already buttoning her jeans and reaching for her jacket. She didn’t spare him a glance, the cool air from the hallway whispering in as she opened the door.

“Oh, well… okay. I guess I’ll see you around?” The words trailed after her, carrying the echo of confusion and a touch of disappointment.

“Maybe,” she muttered, stepping into the hallway. The door closed behind her, muffling his presence, and she let out a silent breath. The street outside stretched dark and quiet, the distant hum of traffic soothing in its consistency. With each step away, the encounter faded into the background, another scene in a cycle she was desperate to break.

-----

The next day, Chaeryeong walked into the studio, the weight of last night’s disconnection lingering around her like an unwelcome shadow. The steady thump of music in the background was a familiar comfort, its rhythmic beat grounding her as she stepped into the safe haven of dance practice. Here, she could shed the emptiness, rediscovering herself in the movements and the sweat.

As she moved down the hallway, she nearly bumped into you—a newer dancer known for your laid-back, shy demeanor that had a certain charm. The unexpected encounter made her pause, and she blinked up at you, adjusting the strap of her bag with an almost self-conscious touch.

“Oh, hey,” you said, eyes widening with surprise before a soft, genuine smile spread across your face. Your voice carried a hint of nervousness, but it was endearing, a reflection of your gentle nature.

“Hey,” she replied, her tone casual but warm. Chaeryeong had seen you before, exchanged a few words here and there, but your interactions were always routine—comfortable, familiar, but devoid of any real thrill or spark. Still, there was something grounding about your presence, an easy reliability in an industry full of fleeting faces and shallow exchanges.

“How’s it going?” you asked, shifting the strap of your own bag and glancing at her with a mix of shyness and openness.

“Good,” Chaeryeong answered with a brief look toward her makeup room. “Just getting ready for practice.”

“Same here,” you said with a small, awkward chuckle, nodding toward the practice room behind you. “Well, I’ll catch you later.”

“Yeah, see you,” she echoed, stepping past you as the moment seamlessly blended into the rest of her day.

Settling into her makeup chair, Chaeryeong projected an air of calm as the room buzzed around her with practiced chaos. Stylists moved efficiently, tugging at her hair and trimming stray ends while she scrolled through her phone, barely registering the cascade of notifications on the screen. Despite the morning’s encounter, her mind drifted back to the comforting rhythm of dance, where she could momentarily leave everything else behind.

A sudden murmur of gossip cut through the ambient chatter, the tone sharp enough to catch her attention.

“Did you hear about the new dancer?” one stylist whispered, drawing out her words as if relishing their weight.

Chaeryeong’s pulse quickened, but she kept her expression neutral, eyes glued to her phone as though she hadn’t heard.

“Oh yeah,” another stylist chimed in, her red lipstick as bold as the knowing smile she wore. “They say he’s... well, really well-endowed.” She stretched out the last words, savoring the ripple of reactions they prompted and darting her eyes around for signs of who was listening.

Heat crept up Chaeryeong’s neck, her cheeks warming despite her best attempt at indifference. In the mirror, she caught a glimpse of the stylists exchanging conspiratorial looks, their excitement palpable. She focused back on her phone, but the whispered words replayed in her mind, stubbornly refusing to fade.

“Where did you hear that?” a third stylist asked, her eyes wide as if this were the juiciest piece of news in weeks.

“Someone in the wardrobe department,” the second stylist replied, leaning in conspiratorially. “They saw him changing during a show. It was... unmistakable.”

Unmistakable. The word lodged itself in Chaeryeong’s mind. She scolded herself for the flicker of interest that sparked within her. It’s just gossip, she reminded herself. But the allure of whispered secrets had a way of sticking, no matter how much she tried to brush them off.

Chaeryeong attempted to shake off the chatter, but it clung to her thoughts, feeding her curiosity. She opened a recent group photo on her phone from a past shoot, eyes scanning your face, searching for... what, exactly? She didn’t know. The absurdity of it made her bite back a sigh.

She locked her screen and set her phone down, chastising herself. This is ridiculous, she thought, trying to push the rumor out of her mind. But it lingered at the edges, a persistent tickle she couldn’t quite dismiss.

A few days later, Chaeryeong found herself tucked into a quiet corner of a café, a rare escape from the whirlwind of studio life. The hum of coffee machines and the clinking of cups provided a soothing backdrop, calming her frayed nerves. She took a slow sip of her latte, savoring the warmth that radiated through her.

Her peace was short-lived. From a nearby table, lively voices cut through the mellow atmosphere. Natty and Julie, two bright junior members of Kiss of Life, were leaning into each other, their laughter infectiously carefree. Their energy filled the small café, vibrant and uncontainable.

Chaeryeong wasn’t trying to eavesdrop, but their excitement was impossible to ignore.

“So... have you heard about the hot topic recently?” Natty’s eyes were wide, her voice tinged with thrill.

Julie’s grin widened as she lowered her voice. “Oh my God, yes! Everyone’s talking about it. You mean... the rumor?”

Chaeryeong’s fingers drummed lightly against her mug. She’d heard variations of this story a hundred times before—momentary bursts of intrigue that swirled through the industry, more smoke than fire. Yet, there was something magnetic about the way these whispers spread. No matter how hard she tried to tune out, the animated tones and shared glances drew her in.

“Yeah, you know... the rumor,” Natty said, barely suppressing her giggles.

Julie leaned back, crossing her arms with a playful smirk. “Honestly, I kind of want to see if it’s true.”

Natty’s eyes widened, shock mixed with amusement. “Wait, what? You’re actually thinking of... finding out?”

A daring glint crossed Julie’s face. “Why not? Everyone’s acting like he’s some kind of god. He’s always so nice and friendly. It wouldn’t be that hard to get close.”

Natty shook her head, half-amused, half-incredulous. “You’re wild! What if it’s not true? Or worse, what if it is?”

Julie’s eyes sparkled mischievously. “That’s what makes it fun! I’m not just going to ask him, obviously. But if the opportunity comes up... why not?”

Chaeryeong took another sip of her coffee, pretending to focus on the view outside. The boldness of youth was something she recognized from her own early days. They were fearless, driven by curiosity and the thrill of what-ifs. But she knew better now. Rumors had a way of spiraling, turning curiosity into consequences.

Yet, their conversation lingered in her thoughts, winding its way into the quiet spaces of her mind. Could there be any truth to it? It was absurd, but the question gnawed at her. She tried to brush it off as idle curiosity, but the story held on like a stubborn melody.

With a sigh, Chaeryeong set down her mug and stood, casting a glance back at Natty and Julie. They were still deep in conversation, laughter bubbling over as they reveled in their world of daring and speculation. Their faces were bright, full of life untouched by the cynicism that came with years in the industry.

As Chaeryeong stepped into the crisp autumn air, a bemused smile tugged at her lips. Maybe, in their own ways, everyone was searching for a little excitement, a hint of truth buried in the glitz and chaos. In the unpredictable realm of K-pop, who wouldn’t want to peek behind the curtain to find out what was real?

-----

On a quiet afternoon, Chaeryeong sprawled across the cool floor of the practice room, her body still humming from hours of intense rehearsal. The mingling scents of sweat and faint traces of perfume filled the air, and the ache in her muscles was a satisfying reminder of her hard work. For a brief moment, silence settled over the room, seeping into her exhaustion and offering a rare sense of peace.

The stillness was broken by the soft, deliberate clicks of Ryujin’s phone. Every few moments, Ryujin’s lips would curl into a smirk, her eyes flickering with amusement as she scrolled through whatever had caught her attention. Chaeryeong, trying to focus on stretching out her legs, found herself drawn to the subtle shifts in Ryujin’s expression.

“What’s got you giggling?” Chaeryeong asked, her tone casual but laced with curiosity. She lifted an arm over her head, feeling the pull in her shoulder, though the stretch couldn’t quite outmatch the intrigue sparked by Ryujin’s grin.

“Oh, just some juicy gossip,” Ryujin replied, snapping her phone shut and looking up with a mischievous glint. “You’ve heard the latest about him, haven’t you?”

Chaeryeong raised an eyebrow, her heart giving a small, involuntary skip. “I’ve heard bits and pieces. What’s new?”

Ryujin leaned in, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “Well, rumor has it things have taken an… interesting turn.”

Chaeryeong found herself inching closer, her interest piqued. “Interesting how?”

“Remember that new staff member from production? Long hair, brunette, always with the clipboard?” Ryujin’s voice dropped even further as Chaeryeong nodded, recalling the confident, polished woman who’d been around the studio lately. “Apparently, she tried to hook up with him, but it didn’t go as planned.”

Chaeryeong’s eyes widened. “What do you mean?”

Ryujin savored the suspense, a smile playing on her lips. “She called it off halfway through. Said it was ‘too much’ for her.”

Chaeryeong’s mouth fell open in disbelief, a small laugh escaping before she could stop it. “You’re serious?”

Ryujin’s nod was triumphant. “Completely. She’s been avoiding him ever since.” The way Ryujin spoke made it clear she found the entire thing endlessly entertaining. “Can you imagine? She didn’t even finish!”

Chaeryeong leaned back, trying to process the bizarre twist. Until now, the rumors had been little more than idle chatter, a way to pass the time between rehearsals. But this? This felt different—specific, almost too wild to be entirely made up.

“That’s beyond crazy,” she muttered, shaking her head. “So she really just… walked away?”

Ryujin’s smile widened. “Too intense for her, apparently. Makes the rumor even juicier, right?”

Chaeryeong chuckled, fingers brushing her forehead as if to clear the strangeness from her thoughts. She’d always seen you as quiet and reserved, an enigma wrapped in an unassuming presence. You’d danced beside her, shared jokes and casual conversations, but now it felt like a veil of mystery had fallen over you, changing how she saw you.

Ryujin noticed the flicker of interest in Chaeryeong’s eyes and pounced on it. “Not curious at all?”

Chaeryeong scoffed, though a faint warmth crept up her neck. “It’s just gossip. Things like this always get exaggerated.”

Ryujin laughed knowingly. “Maybe. But admit it, there’s a part of you that wants to know. And who’s to say there isn’t some truth hidden in there?”

Chaeryeong rolled her eyes, trying to brush off Ryujin’s teasing, but a reluctant smile played on her lips. “Okay, maybe I’m a little curious,” she conceded.

“Exactly,” Ryujin said, leaning back with a victorious nod. “And who knows? You’ve worked with him more than anyone. If anyone can figure out what’s real, it’s you.”

Chaeryeong’s expression turned wary. “Are you suggesting I go looking for answers?”

“Not exactly,” Ryujin replied with a wink. “But it wouldn’t hurt to keep your eyes open. You never know what you might find.”

As Chaeryeong stood up, stretching her arms high above her head, the tension in her muscles eased, but a new kind of tension lingered in her mind. “I’m not getting caught up in this,” she said, trying to sound resolute.

Ryujin’s smirk deepened. “Sure. Just don’t blame me when you can’t stop wondering.”

Chaeryeong’s gaze drifted across the empty room. Though she said nothing, her thoughts inevitably circled back to you—the unexpected center of a rumor that refused to fade. Despite herself, she couldn’t help but wonder if there was more to you than she had realized.

-----

In the days that followed, her resolve to ignore the gossip unraveled bit by bit. Every break in rehearsal, she’d catch snippets of whispered conversations, soft voices punctuated by the thrill of the latest gossip. The room seemed charged, the air thick with secrets woven together in webs of speculation, and the more she tried to tune it out, the more the curiosity gnawed at her.

It was a curious thing, the way her perception of you began to shift. In her mind, the once-awkward grin and boyish shyness you’d worn so easily took on a new, shadowed dimension. She’d always seen you as the soft-spoken one, the one who was quietly supportive, almost unassuming. But now, even a passing glance was tinged with the echo of those whispered stories, and each encounter left her feeling as if she’d glimpsed only a fraction of who you really were.

The questions pulsed in her thoughts, gaining a stubborn grip, no matter how often she told herself it was only idle gossip. What if the quiet you she’d known was only part of the story? What if there was a depth, a mystery lurking beneath the surface, a piece of you yet to be uncovered?

With every passing day, her curiosity transformed from a soft, passing thought into an itch that lingered, whispering at the back of her mind. And though she told herself to brush it aside, Chaeryeong couldn’t help but wonder. In a world built on appearances and carefully constructed images, maybe there was something real beneath all the stories. And maybe—just maybe—she’d find herself wanting to know who you truly were.

Then, one afternoon, it seemed as though fortune had finally aligned in her favor. Practice had stretched longer than usual, the group winding down and slowly dispersing in pairs or small clusters, chatter buzzing through the air. Chaeryeong, catching her breath near the edge of the practice room, happened to look up just as you turned the corner into the hallway, your figure briefly silhouetted against the light streaming in from the corridor.

Your gaze found hers, and in that brief, quiet exchange, you offered a shy, slightly lopsided smile—a familiar look that made her pulse skip, the awkward charm in it disarming and strangely magnetic. In that moment, something sparked in Chaeryeong’s chest, a flicker of boldness mixed with curiosity. Today, she insisted, I’ll find out more.

Whether it was the way you moved, calm and at ease despite the group’s lively presence, or the weight of the unanswered questions lingering in her mind, she couldn’t ignore the pull anymore. The hallway felt smaller, the walls pressing closer as she crossed the distance between you, her footsteps light but deliberate.

“Hey!” she called out, her tone casual but carrying a note of unmistakable purpose. You paused, a slight furrow of confusion forming on your brow as you turned. “Can you help me with something?�� she asked, her smile warm but with a hint of mischief that made your eyes narrow in curiosity.

“Oh, uh… sure. What do you need?” you replied, polite and almost cautious, your tone laced with that familiar modesty she had come to expect from you.

“There’s something broken in my dressing room,” she replied, her tone smooth and casual as she gestured down the hallway. Ignoring the flicker of uncertainty that crossed your face, she took a step forward, inviting you to follow her. You hesitated, but soon enough, you fell into step beside her, the two of you making your way through the quiet corridor toward her dressing room.

Her heart pounded as you neared the door, the quiet intensity of her decision hitting her as she led you inside, closing the door behind. For a moment, you looked around, a faint confusion in your expression as you glanced around the small space.

“So… what exactly is broken?” you asked, your brow lifting as you scanned the room, clearly searching for any sign of damage.

A smile crept onto her face, playful and assured. “There’s nothing broken,” she said softly, watching as the realization dawned in your expression. “I just wanted to get you alone.”

Your eyes widened, surprise and hesitation crossing your face as you struggled to find a response. “Alone? I… I don’t really…”

She reached out, placing a hand on your arm in a gentle but firm gesture, her gaze steady. “You’ve probably heard the rumors about you,” she said, her voice quiet, laced with both curiosity and determination.

Your face flushed, a deep crimson that betrayed your nervousness, and you quickly averted your gaze. “I-I don’t really pay attention to that stuff,” you stammered, shifting uncomfortably.

“Well, I do,” she replied, her voice lowering to a near-whisper, her breath warm and close. “And I’m curious.”

You blinked, taken aback, struggling to process her words. “Curious? About… about what?” Your voice was barely a murmur, your gaze flicking nervously between her face and the door.

“About whether the rumors are true,” she continued, taking a step closer, her eyes searching yours with an intensity that made the air between you both feel electric. She could feel your hesitation, but she wasn’t about to back down—not now.

Your breath hitched, and you took a small step back, the uncertainty clear in your expression. “I… I don’t think this is a good idea, Chaeryeong.”

But she only smiled, undeterred by the protest, taking the soft reluctance as a sign that she was closer to the truth than she’d expected. “I think it’s a great idea,” she said softly, her gaze steady as she leaned in, her hand tracing a slow line down your arm.

Before you could voice another word of protest, she closed the space between you, capturing your lips with her own in a kiss that was unhurried but unmistakably confident. You froze, the surprise evident as her warmth pressed against you, but after a moment, your hands found her waist, responding with an uncertainty that melted into something softer, bolder.

When she pulled back, your breath was shallow, confusion and conflict swirling in your gaze as you looked at her, trying to find the words. “Chaeryeong, I… I don’t want you to think—”

She lifted a finger to your lips, silencing you with a soft shush. “You don’t have to explain anything. I want this.”

Your expression betrayed your uncertainty, but beneath it, there was a flicker of something else—a tension, an attraction you seemed to be struggling to contain. “But… what if this isn’t—”

“Don’t overthink it,” she murmured, her voice soft as her hand found yours, guiding it gently. Her fingers brushed against your skin, warm and light, and you felt the world around you blur, the small room shrinking to just the two of you. “Just show me.”

“Show you?” you repeated, the words barely escaping your lips as you tried to steady yourself, her gaze holding yours with a quiet intensity that felt almost like a challenge.

Her smirk widened, her hand trailing downward, brushing against you with a deliberate slowness that sent a surge of heat through the quiet room. “Show me what I’ve been hearing about.”

A heavy silence fell between you, your gaze flicking toward the door, conflicted but drawn in by the certainty in her eyes. Something shifted in you then—whether it was the thrill of the moment, the pull of her confidence, or the simple desire to finally let go of your restraint, you couldn’t tell. You nodded slowly, your hands moving to the buttons of your shirt, your breath shallow as her eyes followed every motion.

As the last button fell open, Chaeryeong’s gaze grew intense, her breath catching as she took you in. For a moment, the noise and tension of the studio outside felt like a distant memory, her curiosity and excitement heightening with each second. It’s real, she thought, the truth of all the whispers and gossip settling into place, striking her with a thrill she hadn’t fully expected.

"Wow the rumors are true," she whispered, stepping closer. Her hands gently guided you to sit on the plush couch. "I've been looking for someone to be able to fulfill my needs and you are formidable" she admitted, her voice lowering to a sultry whisper.

Sitting down, your heart pounded as Chaeryeong knelt before you. There was a moment of stillness, her eyes locked with yours, before she leaned in. Her breath was warm against your member as she began, her touch sending waves of electricity through your body.

She started slowly, her lips parting to take you in, her movements deliberate and gentle. You could feel her tongue, soft and exploratory, circling the tip before she took more of you into her mouth. The warmth, the wetness, it was overwhelming.

As Chaeryeong continued, she seemed to grow more empowered with each inch she took. Her eyes, when they met yours, were filled with a proud determination. She was proving something to herself as much as she was pleasuring you.

The air was thick with anticipation and the subtle scent of her exertion. She was focused, each movement more deliberate and bold than the last. Her determination was palpable, and you could see it in the way she bit her bottom lip as she concentrated.

Her hands gripped your thighs tightly, using your body for support as she pushed herself to take more of you. With each movement, she adjusted her technique, learning as she went, adapting to the situation with a skill that only came from experience and a deep understanding of her craft.

You could feel the tension building in the room as she took more of you, sinking deeper with each thrust. Her breathing became heavier, and you could hear the soft sounds of her exertion, mingling with the sound of her lips against your skin. Her hair brushed against your thighs as she moved, a soft and sensual contrast to the firmness of her grip.

Finally, she reached the base, her lips pressed against you as she took all of you in. It was a moment of pure intimacy and connection, a testament to her skill and dedication. And as she held you there, you couldn't help but feel a deep sense of admiration and respect for the woman before you.

The feeling of your entire body being enveloped by warmth and tightness was overwhelming. You could feel the muscles of their throat contracting and relaxing around you, creating an indescribable level of pleasure that left you trembling. The sensation of being so completely encased was both thrilling and intimidating, and you couldn't help but let out a gasp of disbelief.

"No one has ever taken me so well before," you managed to say, your voice thick with emotion and desire. Your words were muffled, but still understandable, as you were still buried deep within them. You could hear the surprise and satisfaction in your own voice, and it only served to heighten your arousal.

The experience was so intense and all-consuming that you found it hard to think or speak clearly. You were lost in a sea of pleasure, your mind and body fully focused on the sensations coursing through you. You couldn't believe the level of arousal from being completely inside Chaeryeong's throat.

She paused for a brief moment, pulling back slowly with a satisfied, almost victorious smile gracing her lips. Her eyes slightly teary but gleamed with a sense of pride and accomplishment, as if she had just uncovered a hidden treasure. In a way, she had discovered exactly how to please you in a manner that was unique to her.

She plunged back down, enveloping your shaft once again with her warm, wet mouth. Her tongue danced and swirled around your member, exploring every inch with a curiosity that was both exhilarating and arousing. The rhythm she employed was methodical and precise, building up a steady momentum that left you breathless and wanting more.

Chaeryeong's technique was unlike anything you had ever experienced before. She moved with a confidence and fluidity that seemed almost otherworldly, as if she had been practicing this art for centuries. Every movement was deliberate and calculated, designed to elicit the maximum amount of pleasure from your body.

As she continued to work her magic, you could feel the tension building way too quick, like a coiled spring ready to burst. your muscles tensed and released, your breath coming in ragged gasps as you struggled to maintain control. But it was no use she had you under her spell, and there was nothing you could do but surrender to the inevitable.

Without warning, the peak arrived embarrassingly quickly, your body tensed up as you surrendered to the intense climax. A wave of pleasure washed over you from head to toe. Crying out her name, your fingers tangled in her hair, pushing her deeper as you rode out the high. Chaeryeong, who was completely dedicated to the moment, took you in as deeply as she could, her jaw stretched wide open to its maximum capacity. However, even with her best efforts, some of your release managed to escape past her lips, leaving a glistening trail that made its way down her chin. The sight of it was incredibly arousing, and it was clear that Chaeryeong had given her all to the moment, creating an unforgettable experience that would be etched in your memory for a long time.

She sat back on her heels, a look of satisfaction and slight surprise on her face as swallowed as much of your release as possible, savoring the taste as she wiped the corner of her mouth. Her chest heaved, not just from the physical exertion, but from the thrill of her achievement.

"Fuck, I cant wait to have you in my guts," she said, her voice a mix of pride and a playful challenge.

You could only nod, still reeling from the intensity, your mind buzzing with the intimacy of the moment.

As she straddled you with a grace that belied her iron will, the air around you thickened with anticipation. "I told you, I'm not like the others," she murmured, her voice a sultry blend of promise and challenge that seemed to resonate with the very walls of the room. "I'm going to take it all, every inch of you."

Chaeryeong reached down and positioned you member along her toned tummy. the outline of your shaft reaching past her belly button and the sight only seemed to heighten her arousal. She lifted herself up and placed your tip right at her entrance. As the first surge of her entry made contact, a sharp and searing connection coursed through both of you, a potent mixture of challenge and exhilaration. Ugh, finally the words echoed in her mind, a silent testament to the culmination of her relentless pursuit.

Her body's response to your formidable presence was visceral, yielding and stretching in a way that was almost overwhelming. It was a threshold moment, where the line between pleasure and pain blurred into a singular, exquisite sensation. The initial sting of the stretch was rapidly eclipsed by a rush of empowerment, a triumphant defiance that scoffed at any hint of intimidation.

As each second ticked by, she experienced a growing sense of command and authority over the situation. She welcomed the intensity, the complexity, and the overwhelming power of the experience, using it to bolster her confidence and firm her resolve.

The moment was profound for both of you, a shared experience of vulnerability and intimacy that neither had encountered before. As you moved together in a rhythm as old as time, there was a sense of exploration, a journey into the uncharted territories of each other's bodies and souls.

For you, the sensation was overwhelmingly new. The initial penetration was a revelation, the heat of her inner walls enveloped you, the tightness and the pulsating warmth bonded you to her in a way words could scarcely capture. Every inch was cradled by her as you became one. It was as if the very essence of your being was being drawn out, channeled through the physical connection that tethered you to her.

While for Chaeryeong, the experience was equally transformative. She felt a stretching, a yielding of her deepest self to accommodate your presence. The depths of her womb were stirred as if from a long slumber. It was as though ancient, primal instincts were roused, acknowledging the potential of creation that lay within the act.

Her body responded with a knowing of its own, a subtle undulation that seemed to draw you in further, inviting you to explore the innermost sanctum of her being. With each movement, she felt more alive, more in tune with the ebbs and flows of her own desire, mirroring the dance of life itself.

Her breaths grew deeper, her grasp tightened, and her spirit soared. She reveled in the realization that she was not merely a passive participant in this dance of passion—she was the masterful conductor, leading them both in this symphony of sensation and connection.

With every sinuous sway of her hips, Chaeryeong's dominance unfurled like a nocturnal bloom, each movement a testament to her unyielding control. She danced a dance of power that commanded the space around her, her body moving with a precision and intent that was nothing short of mesmerizing. Her voice, rich and velvety, wove a sultry symphony that resonated with the raw essence of confidence and command, her words hanging in the air like a seductive incantation.

"Ugh, fuck you're huge," she murmured, her breaths short and quick from the exertion of her rhythmic movements. "You'll never feel this good with anyone else." Her words, laced with a potent blend of pleasure and cunning seduction, curled into the air like tendrils of smoke, captivating the senses and ensnaring the mind. In that moment, Chaeryeong was the embodiment of dominance, her presence an indomitable force that rewrote the rules of engagement, leaving an indelible mark on the soul.

Your gaze was locked onto the vision before you—Chaeryeong's face, a canvas of pure pleasure, her body undulating with a rhythm that resonated deep within your being. A moan escaped your lips, a testament to the desire that was building like a crescendo within you.

She sensed your struggle, the battle to maintain control as you teetered on the brink of something monumental. "Look at you," she breathed, her voice a sultry whisper that seemed to caress your soul. Her fingers traced a delicate path along your jawline, a touch that was both tender and tantalizing. "I'm making you feel so good, aren't I?"

Her words were a silken web, ensnaring you in a trap of yearning from which there was no escape. "You're going to lose yourself in me, aren't you?" she continued, a hint of satisfaction threading through her tone. "After this, you won't want anyone else. You’ll be mine."

Your grip tightened around her waist, a futile attempt to anchor yourself amidst the tumultuous sea of sensations. "I... I can't hold back much longer, Chaeryeong," you confessed, the urgency in your voice betraying your helplessness.

Her smirk was a promise of the inevitable, her movements an expertly choreographed invitation to let go. "Oh, why would you hold back? I want to feel every last bit of you inside me," she teased, her own excitement evident in the catch of her breath.

The air between you crackled with electricity, each touch, each movement fueling the fire that raged within. The rhythm of your union grew ever more insistent, a siren's call to the depths of abandon. "I won’t be able to stop," you managed to utter, a final warning as your eyes locked with hers, the last vestiges of your resolve dissolving under the weight of your need for her.

Chaeryeong's response was a whisper that scorched your ear and sent a fresh cascade of desire down your spine. "That’s exactly what I want. Show me how much you need me," she commanded, her voice a low thrum that resonated with the primal beat of your hearts.

With a renewed fervor, she moved against you, her hips a maelstrom of motion that drove you both inexorably toward the precipice. The world outside this room ceased to exist; only the two of you remained, entwined and moving as one. The couch beneath you protested faintly, its legs scraping against the floor—a mere whisper compared to the symphony of your mingled breaths and the roar of passion that enveloped you.

"Cum for me," she urged, her voice a blend of triumph and anticipation. "Show me you’re mine."

With a final, surrendering thrust, you reached the zenith of pleasure, your voice breaking in a raw, primal cry as ecstasy consumed you. "I'm cumming," you declared, your body a conduit for the overwhelming surge of release that coursed through every nerve.

The room was thick with the scent of passion, a musky perfume that clung to the air and enveloped the two entwined figures. Chaeryeong's breaths came in short, sharp gasps. Her body, slick with the exertion of their shared dance, moved with an urgency that matched the pounding of her heart, a drumbeat that seemed to echo the rhythm of their lovemaking.

As she surrendered to the waves of her climax, she found herself immersed in an ocean of bliss, her body quivering beneath the relentless surge of rapture. "Yes! I'm cumming! Fill me up" she screamed, her cries a declaration of victory.

Each pump of your seed overflowing within her propelled her to new heights, a sensation that had once been merely a fantastical dream, now vividly experienced. Her body convulsed and succumbed to the intensity, her cries intermingling with the potent atmosphere of the room, culminating in an intoxicating sensory symphony. At long last, she had discovered the pinnacle of her sexual quest, the ultimate fulfillment that had eluded her until this moment of unbridled surrender.

Her fingers, like talons, clawed at your chest, not out of aggression but from a primal need to mark you as hers. She sought to erase the boundaries between you, to blur the lines until there was no her, no you, but a singular entity caught in the throes of passion. It was as if she believed that with enough force, enough desire, she could fuse your very essences together, creating a bond that transcended the physical realm.

As the warmth of the moment settled around you both, Chaeryeong’s fingers moved with slow, intentional strokes along your collarbone, lingering as if marking her place. She traced small circles over your skin, her touch both gentle and claiming, a wordless reminder that she held a special kind of control here. Her gaze lingered on you, unwavering and filled with a spark of something deeper, a hint of possessive pride in the effect she had on you.

She leaned closer, her lips brushing against your ear, her voice low and deliberate. “You know,” she murmured, each word sinking in with quiet intensity, “no one else could ever take you like I do.” Her fingers drifted to your jawline, holding you there as she spoke, her eyes narrowing slightly, studying you in a way that felt intimate, almost territorial. “You’re mine now,” she added softly, her voice laced with a blend of warmth and certainty, as if she had no doubt of the truth in her words.

There was a satisfaction in her expression, a quiet, possessive pride that seemed to fill the space between you. Her hand found yours, and her grip tightened, an unspoken promise in the way her fingers intertwined with yours. “When you want this again”—she gave your hand a gentle squeeze—“you’ll know exactly where to find me.”

Her eyes never left yours, her gaze intense and steady as if binding you to her in an unbreakable vow. She leaned forward, her lips pressing against yours in a kiss that was slow and lingering, a deliberate, possessive mark she left there like a signature, something to remember her by.

When she finally pulled away, the warmth of her core around your shaft vanished, replaced by the cold, empty air that only made you crave her all the more. As she rose, a trace of your seed slipped down from her glistening folds. The sight stirred something primal within you—a longing that went beyond desire, a need to be inside her again, to feel that consuming warmth at all times.

Her hand lingered on your chest as she looked down at you, her gaze satisfied yet somehow gentle, as if savoring the effect she’d left on you. Her fingers traced along your jaw, her touch warm and lingering, as if marking you with the memory of her presence.

With an effortless grace, she rose to her feet and cast one last, lingering look back at you. Her gaze held a quiet dominance, an unspoken assurance that the spark between you was entirely hers to command. She dressed herself swiftly, leaving the lingering trace of your essence inside her, a mark of the connection you’d just shared. And as she slipped away, her touch, her warmth, and the faint, visceral reminder of your bond wrapped around you like an invisible tether—one you knew you’d carry long after she was gone.

#kpop fanfic #kpop fanfiction #kpop smut #girl group smut #reader insert #male reader #kinkvember #kinkvember 2024 #itzy smut #itzy #itzy chaeryeong #lee chaeryeong #chaeryeong #itzy chaeryeong smut #chaeryeong smut #lee chaeryeong smut #kpop gg #kpop

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shifuaang · 7 months ago

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Creating Maddie just to be hated by the audience and then die is extremely gross, especially in the context of her being queer. She existed for the sole reason of adding drama between Cait and Vi even though there were already chasms to be bridged in that relationship because of their origins and class difference and Cait's entire arc this season, none of which were really addressed in the end. Between this, the treatment of Isha's character, the misogynoir in both Mel and Sky's cases, the erasure of Sevika, and making Ambessa a one-dimensional villain, I'm so beyond disgusted with the writing this season.

What a disappointment, what a gut-punch, and how offensive. So much for continuing to write dynamic, fleshed-out female characters. So much for good representation.

#arcane spoilers #anti caitvi #I'm tired of this grandpa #don't even get me started on jinx that's another discussion for another day

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hoshigray · 10 months ago

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Mean sukugo smutty smut 🩷🩵

in a sukugo mood, soooo . . .

꯳⃘꤫⃛✿ contents: Sukuna + Gojo x gn! reader - explicit content; minors DNI - face-fucking - impact play (spanking) - spit-roasting + back-to-front positions - degradation + humiliation - choking - spitting - unprotected sex - creampies - pet names (crybaby, plaything, pet, sweetie) - mention of drool/spit, tears & pain.

“Suck it, pig.”

A night with Gojo and Sukuna is one you could never forget in your entire life, especially when they’re just plain ole’ nasty and mean to your poor little body. It doesn’t matter if there is a good cop or bad cop — somewhere down the line, those words will hold no meaning in that mushy, fucked-out brain of yours…

Picture it: your face smooshed to the mere pink pubes of Sukuna’s dick, forced to orally accommodate the foreign limb that invades your cavity and hits the back of your throat without your control. Not that you’d bother; your hands are already balled up into fists on the couch armrest while Gojo plows his cock into you from the back.

Your words are substituted for tone-down cries as Sukuna shoves his length to and fro from your aching lips. He pinches you by the cheek, and you howl on his member. “Dumb bitch can’t suck it right, huh? Loosen that fucking jaw,” his commands harsh yet roll off his tongue like honey. “There you go…fuck, there you go, pet.”

Another hit onto hot skin, this time from behind. “Shiiit, you get so tight when I do that!” Gojo sighs heavily after intaking a gasp at how well the walls of your entrance clamp around him from striking your butt. And, of course, he does it again. “More—tighten up more for me…!”

Good Lord, look at you. Your fuzzy eyes are locked on Sukuna, who smirks and drills himself into you. The warmth of your body spreads and amplifies throughout your face and lower half. The skin of your butts stings with the prickles of pain that befall from the onslaught of slaps Gojo puts on you, and the snow-haired man only groans lowly at the glorious sensation of your squeeze. So sweet and tender on his member, the hammer of his pelvis causing your ass to jiggle as he ventures deep into places you could never fathom and scratch spots on your walls thanks to the curve of his cock.

The pink-haired man’s pace quickens, his wet balls smacking your chin where your drool spills and drizzles down to the armrest. Your head pounds with every rut. Fuuuck, fuck…! This is too much!!

“—Hmmph, shit, stay fucking still, you fucking slut! Quit squirmin’ and cryin’.”

How could you not, though? When the back of your knees holds your legs up by Sukuns while he pistons up to your chasm filled with come, and your brain gets foggier by the second, it’s evident that you start to act in hysterics.

Your sweaty ass is inherently glued to the salmon-headed one’s thighs; Sukuna sits on the couch with you on top of him. His black-painted nails digging into your skin, adding more marks to your body to leave you sore afterward. Come from your ridge escapes with every plow, trickling past the white ring around Sukuna’s base of his dick and down to the couch seats.

Gojo – can’t forget him – wrings your neck, his pale, slender fingers constricting airways to worsen the headache. “Awww, is that tears I see?” He coos in a pleasant tone — patronizing, no doubt. “Heh, such a crybaby,” his hold narrows, pushing your head back to Sukuna’s shoulder.

“—Mmm, keheh, so tight…Like getting choked out, huh?” Sukuna cockles hoarsely, dropping your legs to grab onto your waist, same fingernails leaving lines of indented torture for you to wallow and squirm. “Hmmm…shit, look at you, twitching around me like you’re getting off to it like a real dirty bitch. Pathetic plaything.”

“Ahaha, whatcha got your mouth open for?” Gojo inquires, his grasp on your neck getting tighter forces your mouth agape. “Keep it open,” as if you have a choice in that matter, letting the tall man degrade you by spitting into your mouth. He grabs his erect dick and strokes, and then his hand covers your lips. “Now swallow.”

Moans are all that’s left of you; thinking hurts while your body is being used to please the rough men putting you through such a rush. Gojo’s hands return around your neck to choke you, your head reaching a new level of light-headedness that you can’t comprehend. And Sukuna’s fat shaft, with the merciless speed of his hips, pounds, and burrows into your inner channel that you can’t keep your eyes open. The haze is unavoidable, and the lack of oxygen has you gag.

Until Gojo removes his fingers and palms for you to cough, hacking up under strained breath as your body decides to hit you with the sharpest keen of your life, shocks coursing up your spine to your brain to leave a sting. Tears stream down a hot face while your chasm flutters around Sukuna’s length, and Gojo jerks himself in a rush, enjoying the view of your lewd appearance.

Eventually, strings of his release eject out of the urethra, hitting your tummy and sliding down to your sex, right as Sukuna lets himself loose and bursts his load to stuff inside you. And he doesn’t let you go until he’s certain every drop of him is where it’s supposed to be, pushing you off him. Semen coating your sweaty frame and hole, and all the men could do was chuckle at the crude display.

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pnutbutter-n-j-elyy · 5 months ago

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When You Call Them Clingy| Hyungline Pt2

Hyungline x Gn! Reader

(sorry this took like forever lmao ive been going through it in life unfortunately💀💀💀 )

Bangchan

The hum of the studio was still present, but now it felt different- less like a comforting embrace and more like static electricity prickling your skin.

The once-warm atmosphere had turned cold, muted, and the silence stretched like a chasm between you and Chan.

He didn’t ask if you needed anything anymore. He didn’t look at you at all.

The first hour after your slip-up had been the worst. You’d sat there, staring at the screen of your phone, scrolling aimlessly to avoid looking at him. But your thoughts betrayed you, circling back to the look on his face when you’d called him clingy- the hurt in his eyes, the faint slump of his shoulders, the way his movements slowed, as though your words had drained the energy out of him.

This is almost unbearable... You thought to yourself. I've never been uncomfortable around Chris before, rather the complete opposite...I don't like this.

You had apologized in your head a dozen times already, running over how you could bring it up without making things worse. But every time you glanced his way, you found yourself frozen, the words dying in your throat.

I was harsh...I'm feel horrible...

Chan wasn’t usually one to sulk, but this was different. He didn’t seem angry-he didn’t snap or lash out.

Although you wished he would have. It may have been better than this thick tension.

But instead of yelling or cursing, he buried himself in his work, shutting you out completely. His usual hums and absentminded muttering as he worked were nowhere to be found. The tapping of keys and the occasional adjustment of a dial were the only sounds that filled the room.

It felt unbearable.

After almost two hours of sitting in silence, the tension was too much. You shifted in your chair, swallowing the lump in your throat as you finally spoke up.

“Chan,” you said softly, your voice hesitant.

He didn’t respond immediately. His fingers paused over the keyboard, but he didn’t turn to look at you.

“Yeah?” he said, his tone neutral- too neutral.

You winced. “I didn’t mean to sound so harsh earlier. I-” You rushed out.

“It’s fine,” he cut you off, his voice tight, clipped.

But it wasn’t fine. You could hear it in the way his words came out too quickly, the way he immediately went back to typing as though he hadn’t just brushed you off.

Serves me right...

You tried again. “It’s not fine. I shouldn’t have said that.”

He let out a breath, finally turning his chair to face you. His expression was guarded, a carefully constructed mask of calm, but his eyes gave him away.

“Look,” he said, his voice soft but firm. “I get it. I was being overbearing. I just…I thought I was helping. I'll ease up from now on."

The words hit you like a punch to the chest. He wasn’t trying to defend himself- he was agreeing with you, accepting blame where there wasn’t any to take.

And you didn't want him to agree.

“You- you were helping,” you said quickly. “I was just… overwhelmed, and I didn’t think before I spoke. I-I don't want you to ease up...I love you the way you are.”

Chan nodded slowly, but the way his jaw tightened told you he wasn’t convinced.

“Sometimes I overdo it,” he said, a small, self-deprecating smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “I don’t know how to…not worry about the people I care about. Or love.”

Your heart sank. He wasn’t just talking about you. He was talking about himself, about how he carried the weight of everyone’s needs on his shoulders, even when it wasn’t his responsibility.

“And I made you feel like you couldn’t breathe,” he added, almost to himself.

“No,” you said quickly, leaning forward. “That’s not what I meant. You’re always so thoughtful, Chan. I just…” You trailed off, struggling to put your feelings into words. "I...uh...damn it..."

He tilted his head, waiting for you to continue, but there was a distance in his gaze now- an invisible barrier you hadn’t seen before.

“I don’t want you to feel like you’re doing something wrong,” you said finally, your voice trembling. “Because you’re not. I was just having a bad day, and I-”

“Don’t worry about it,” he interrupted again, standing abruptly. “It’s getting late. I should wrap this up anyway.”

You blinked, startled by the sudden shift in his tone.

It wasn’t angry, but it was dismissive.

Final.

“Chan-”

“Seriously, it’s fine,” he said, forcing a smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “You should get some rest. I’ll finish up here.”

The dismissal stung more than you expected. You stood up, hesitating for a moment, unsure if you should push further or give him space. But the way he had already turned back to his desk made the decision for you.

“Okay,” you said quietly, your voice barely audible.

You grabbed your bag and made your way to the door, glancing back one last time. Chan was hunched over his keyboard, his back to you, the soft glow of the monitor casting shadows across his face.

“Goodnight,” you murmured.

He didn’t respond.

As you headed out he called out.

"Y/N."

You turned towards him, hopeful.

"You don't have to come tomorrow. Ji...sung-ah and...Innie-ah are supposed to be here to work on something with me."

You sighed and bit the inside part of your lip. He was terrible at lying.

Then a small rush of unrighteous anger hit you.

"Thats okay, I had plans anyways." You shot back, leaving. You almost missed the surprised look as he lifted his head from his bag.

The walk home was a blur. The guilt in your chest felt heavier with every step, suffocating you until you could hardly breathe.

But now that guilt stemmed from also saying something to purposefully provoke him.

Why would I even say that? I have no reason to be mad- but he...he has all the reason to be.

You thought about texting him, but what could you say? Nothing you typed out felt like enough. Apologizing once wasn’t going to fix this.

And you were too prideful to admit your pettiness.

It's embarrassing...

When you finally got home, you dropped your bag by the door and sank onto the couch, burying your face in your hands. You replayed all the moments over and over in your head, wishing you could go back and choose different words, wishing you could make him understand how much he meant to you.

But then your anger driven words hit you. You just loved digging yourself deeper graves. So, you pulled out your phone and shot a text.

Deciding that if you were at a standstill with each other, you at least wouldn't lie to him.

——————————————————————————

Minho

The next morning, you woke up feeling a mix of guilt and lingering irritation. Sleep hadn’t come easy, your mind replaying the events from the previous night like a broken record. You had lashed out, hurt him, and now there was this gnawing uncertainty about where things stood.

You debated texting Minho to apologize, but the thought of his cold tone from last night stopped you. The memory of his quick, hollow kiss on your temple was like a dull ache in your chest- a reminder of how much damage had been done.

You sighed as you reached for your phone, jumping when you see a text from Minho.

Minho: Dori didn't even wait for me to finish preparing his breakfast before eating Soonie's. Such a menace.

You stared at the text for a long moment, unsure of what to make of it. It wasn’t unusual for him to send updates about his cats, but this felt like an attempt to return to normalcy without directly addressing what had happened.

Should I respond? Should I apologize? You wanted to, but the thought of putting your emotions into words felt daunting.

Instead, you liked the message, telling yourself you’d figure it out later. But as the day dragged on, and you found yourself unable to focus on anything. By the evening, your phone buzzed, breaking you from your thoughts.

Minho: Did you eat?

The question was simple, almost routine, but it held a strange weight. And you were unsure how to respond.

Was this his way of reaching out, or was he just trying to check a box out of habit?

You hesitated before typing back: You: Yeah. Did you?

His reply came almost immediately: Minho: Mhm. Chan-hyung made japchae. Ate while working. Minho: Also, three cups of pudding.

You couldn't help but let out a little giggle. You could picture him in his studio, his face reflected in a the mirrors, as he sat crisscross on the dance floor, scribbling choreo ideas, spoon in one hand and a cup of pudding beside him. The image tugged at your heartstrings in the way only a lover could do.

You: Busy day? Minho: Always.

You sighed and rested your head on the back of your couch.

Short. Not necessarily clipped, but there were no teasing or playful jabs. No emojis. Just facts. It felt so unlike him, and it hurt more than you wanted to admit.

You could feel the awkwardness as if he was sitting in the room with you.

You: I’m sorry about last night. You typed out a response, then deleted it, then typed it again. Finally, you settled on: You: I miss you.

The three dots signaling his response appeared, then disappeared, then reappeared. You held your breath, waiting.

Minho: Yeah...

You: I'm sorry.

Minho: It's fine.

It wasn’t fine. You knew that. The lack of warmth in his reply was enough to confirm it.

You: It doesn’t feel fine. Minho: Maybe it’s not...

There it was. The crack in the veneer. Your chest tightened as you stared at his words. You wanted to fix it, to make it right, but you didn’t know how.

You: Can we talk? Minho: Not right now. I’m tired.

The conversation ended there. You stared at the screen long after his reply, the words “I’m tired” echoing in your mind. It wasn’t just physical exhaustion he was talking about. He was emotionally drained, and you were the reason.

You: Okay, goodnight. I love you. Minho: Night. I love you too.

Over the next two weeks, things didn't get much better.

You hadn't seen him in person, and only had a few video calls where anytime you tried to bring up an apology, Minho deflected the conversation.

It felt like more of an awkward and intimate friendship interacting rather than a couple. And you needed to change that. You couldn't handle it. You missed your boyfriend.

Minho had always been steady, a constant in your life. You hadn’t realized how much of a lifeline he was until you cut it with a single careless word.

Clingy.

The way his expression had shifted when you said it- it haunted you. Minho, who rarely let his emotions crack the surface, had been hurt. You’d seen it, felt it in the way he pulled back from you. And you wanted to pull him back towards you.

That’s what brought you to his house a few nights later, your chest tight with desperation and dread. You didn’t have a plan, just a need to be near him, to try and fix what you’d broken.

The porch light cast a faint glow as you arrived, the sight of it familiar yet unsettling. You hesitated at the keypad, your fingers trembling as you entered the code. For a moment, you feared he might have changed it, but the lock clicked open with a soft, mechanical hum.

The sound felt louder than it should have in the quiet night, and your heart ached with the thought that you still knew this house so well.

You stepped inside, the warmth of the entryway doing little to ease the chill in your bones.

“Minho?” Dori was the only cat by the door, immediately rushing to you to rub up against your legs. "Min?"

Your voice was soft, tentative, as you slipped off your shoes and into slippers, but it went unanswered.

The faint murmur of voices reached you from the living room. You moved toward the sound, your footsteps hesitant.

And then you saw them.

She was sitting on the couch, her laughter carrying easily in the stillness of the house.

Minho was beside her, close enough that the space between them seemed insignificant. His expression, one that had been so cold and was open-relaxed in a way you hadn’t seen in minute.

Your stomach twisted painfully, the scene before you crashing down like a tidal wave.

You must have made a sound, because Minho’s head turned sharply in your direction. His eyes widened, surprise etched across his face.

“Y/N?”

The girl followed his gaze, her expression a mix of confusion and mild curiosity.

You froze, your pulse hammering in your ears.

“I-” The words caught in your throat, your mind scrambling to come up with an explanation for why you were here, standing uninvited in his doorway.

“Y/N-ah, wait-” He said, scrambling up from the couch, tripping over Dori who had decided to join the party.

But you were already backing away.

“I didn’t mean to interrupt,” you said quickly, your voice cracking as you stumbled toward the door. You knocked into the cats water bowl, soaking your feet. The lump in your throat threatened to choke you, but you forced the words out. “I’ll just- go.”

Minho reached for you, his movements sharp and deliberate. “Don’t-”

You didn’t wait for him to finish, pulling away. The door slammed shut behind you, the cold air biting at your skin as you stepped into the night.

You didn’t realize you were still wearing the house shoes Minho had bought for you months ago until you were halfway down the street, your steps uneven on the pavement. The absurdity of it made your throat tighten, but the tears came before the laughter could.

Your vision blurred as you walked aimlessly, the weight in your chest pressing down until it felt hard to breathe. You could still see her face, hear her laugh. It was seared into your mind.

There is no way he could have moved on in just two weeks...right?

Could he have...no. Never.

But had he?

You didn’t know either way. And you couldn’t bring yourself to stay long enough to find out.

Back at the house, Minho stood frozen by the door. Doongie let out a soft mew, as if speaking.

"I know..." Minho said to the cat.

His jaw clenched as he stared at the space where you’d been, staring at where your shoes were left, your sudden departure leaving a suffocating silence along with them.

“Minho?” the girl called hesitantly, her voice breaking through the tension.

He turned to her, his expression unreadable.

“You should go.” he said finally, his tone flat.

Her brows furrowed in confusion, but she didn’t argue. She gathered her things quickly, giving Doongie a quick scratch, the sound of her footsteps fading as the door closed behind her.

Minho sighed heavily, running a hand through his hair as he leaned against the wall. His gaze fell to the floor, and for the first time, he noticed the trail of damp footprints leading to the door- proof of your hurried escape.

You hadn’t even waited to hear him out.

He wanted to chase after you, to get an explanation for why you’d come in the first place.

But he didn’t move. Instead, he stood there in the silence, the weight of your absence pressing down on him; and he was stuck wondering how something you caused had now become a snowballed issue he needed to resolve.

——————————————————————————

Changbin

You sat there frozen, the echo of his quiet, defeated tone playing on a loop in your mind. It wasn’t like him to leave like that- without a fight, without reassurance, without trying to smooth things over. He had always been one to want to ease conflict in the calmest manner.

Your eyes drifted to the coffee table where his phone sat, screen dark and mocking in the dim light. He must’ve forgotten it in his rush to leave, and the realization sent a pang of guilt straight to your chest. You couldn’t even call him to try and make things right.

With trembling hands, you picked up his phone, turning it over in your palm. It was a small, insignificant thing, but it felt like the only connection you still had to him.

The weight of Hyunjin’s text was heavier now, replaying in your mind like a cruel taunt.

He had planned to propose tonight.

And you had ruined it.

You pressed the phone to your chest, swallowing hard against the lump in your throat. You couldn’t stop picturing the way his face had fallen, the light in his eyes dimming with every word you’d said. The warmth he carried with him, the energy that filled every room he walked into, was gone. And it made you feel terrible.

Your hands tightened around his phone as you leaned back on the couch, your thoughts spiraling. Changbin wasn’t just a boyfriend- he was your safe space, your biggest cheerleader, the person who always knew how to make you laugh when you wanted to cry.

And tonight, you had been the one to make him feel small.

You let out a shaky breath, blinking back the tears threatening to spill over. There was no way you could let things stay like this.

So, you got to work.

Changbin’s car coasted slowly down the street, the low hum of the engine the only sound in the otherwise quiet night. His mind buzzed, replaying every moment of the evening- your harsh words, the hurt in his chest, and the sudden shift in the air between you two. He could still feel the weight of your gaze, and your frustration.

He had tried so hard.

Maybe it is my fault...

He wanted to make the night perfect, make it something to remember. A sweet cute, relaxed proposal. Soft and warm and everything that represented the love he had for you.

But now he was left uncertain, second-guessing everything. The familiar streets blurred as his thoughts swirled, mixing with the disappointment and confusion still lodged in his heart. His grip tightened around the steering wheel.

As he pulled into his driveway, he killed the engine but didn’t immediately move. He sat there for a while, the headlights casting long shadows across the pavement. It was cold, but he didn’t feel it. Instead, his chest was heavy, a knot of frustration and sorrow gnawing at him.

I need to apologize. Maybe then-

Reaching for his phone, he noticed a slight tremor in his hands.

Is that the best thing to do though...what if Y/N-ie is still mad...

He spent the next couple minutes thinking about texting you- even though he hadn’t done anything inherintantly wrong.

But the thought of sending an apology and admitting to a fault he didn’t deserve seemed like the easiest way to get things back to normal.

He swiped the phone screen on, but his stomach dropped when he saw his empty hand. He reached to pat his pockets.

He didn’t have his phone with him.

He trailed his eyes at the empty seat next to him, hoping maybe it was there, as the realization hit him harder than it should’ve.

His phone was still on the couch at your place. He must’ve left it there in the rush to get away.

"Shit," he muttered under his breath, the frustration and anxiety rising again.

He shifted the car back into gear, pulling out of his driveway and heading back to your apartment. As he drove, he let out a deep sigh, trying to shake off the weight pressing on him.

He didn’t know what to expect when he saw you again. He didn’t even know what he wanted from the rest of this night.

Back at your place, you were busy, but not in the way you had planned. You paced the living room, biting your lip as you nervously looked over the decorations you had hastily thrown together. You had wanted everything to be perfect for him, the way he’d promised it would be tonight, but now… you were the one fixing things.

You were the one putting the final touches on a proposal- his proposal.

Your heart flipped over and over in your chest, as you adjusted things anxiously.

You had to scrounge through a ton of different leftover decorations from previous events and holidays; and it looked like the spirit of every celebratory occasion had thrown up over your living room.

You had tried so hard to get it right, to show him how sorry you were that your nerves and selfishness had ruined everything.

When you heard the distant rumble of his car approaching, your heart skipped a beat. You quickly fixed your hair and wiped your hands on your pants, as if trying to make up for everything all at once.

You hadn’t planned this, hadn’t thought through how you were going to apologize. You just knew you couldn’t let him walk away- couldn’t let him leave the night without fixing at least a small part of it.

The doorbell rang, and you froze, your pulse quickening in your throat.

You opened it, and there he was. Changbin. Standing there with an unreadable expression, his eyes flicking over your face before he looked down at the phone in his hand.

You didn't know if you imagined his red rimmed eyes.

“I-” he started, but the words faltered. He opened his mouth again, as if trying to say something, but nothing came out. "I left my phone."

You handed it to him, and he stood there awkwardly turning it in his hands.

"Bin, come in," you whispered, stepping aside to let him in.

He hesitated for a long moment, his feet still on the other side of the threshold, as if he were debating whether to leave or stay. You could see the tension in his shoulders, the uncertainty in his movements.

But then, with a deep sigh, he stepped inside.

You led him to the living room. His eyes stayed on the floor. He didn’t sit down, didn’t speak, just stood there.

"Y/N, I'm sor-"

"You don’t need to apologize," you said, voice barely audible as you walked toward him. You didn’t know how else to start. "I’m the one who messed up tonight. It wasn't you. It was all me."

Changbin shook his head, though it seemed like he was trying to process what he was feeling. He opened his mouth again, his voice hoarse. "No, it wasn't you. I…I didn’t mean for-"

"Changbin, don't fool yourself." You said with a sarcastic chuckle. "You know it was all my fault-"

"Y/N I was the one who was-"

"-I ruined your proposal. Of course it's my fault." You finished.

Your words stopped him. He closed his eyes for a moment, the weight of everything hanging in the air between you.

"So you knew..." he murmured, his voice cracking just slightly.

"Hyunjin texted. I saw it on your screen."

Changbin sighed and then looked around, seeing the decorations.

"What..."

"Since I ruined your proposal I thought I could fix it. As an apology."

The air between you thickened suddenly.

"I-I know it's not the best or the prettiest, but I thought—"

His voice faltered as he looked up at you, eyes filled with something unreadable. Shock, confusion… and then something softer, something heavier.

"What…what did you do?"

You froze. Your heart pounded.

He was staring at everything—the decorations, the candles, the careful details meant for him to present to you.

"I thought… I'd throw something together," you repeated, your voice small. "To fix your proposal."

"Fix it?"

And in that moment, you realized just how wrong that had sounded.

"N-No! I meant fix the night. Not your proposal—nothing was wrong, I just—I ruined the moment, and—"

You were scrambling, desperate to explain.

"Binnie, I—"

"I understand, Y/N."

His quiet chuckle sent a chill through you. It wasn't warm, wasn't teasing. It was sad.

"You made another opportunity," he said, his voice steady but distant. "You set up a proposal."

"Yes! An opportunity, not-" But then you saw it. The rapid blinking, the slight shift in his expression. The way he swallowed hard, as if forcing down words he wouldn't let himself say.

And suddenly, it clicked.

He wasn't upset about your wording. He wasn't even upset that you'd tried to make things right. He was upset because you'd taken this from him. Because he had wanted to be the one to do this for you.

When you had called him clingy earlier, you had let your stressors guide you to insult what you loved most about him.

How he wanted to do everything for you.

His love language towards you always tended to be acts of service.

And while a proposal wasn't necessarily though, it made sense that he wanted to do this for you. One of the biggest acts of your two lives.

He wanted to gift it to you, and you took it away.

For a long, suffocating moment, neither of you spoke.

Then, without another word, he stepped back. His hands curled into fists, then relaxed. He exhaled, gaze flickering between you and the scene you'd set. And then he turned.

You barely processed it as he walked past you, his presence fading with each step toward the door.

"Binnie, wait-"

But he didn't stop. The door opened, and before you could find the right words, the ones that wouldn't make everything worse—

It clicked shut.

——————————————————————————

Hyunjin

The moment Hyunjin you shut the door, you felt a wave of regret crash over you. You stewed in your regret for a while before you succumbed to it.

You couldn't stand it.

You rushed out the door, hoping to catch up; even if it had already a bit since his departure. But you knew him, and he probably hadn't made it far, taking his long legs for granted and dragging out his journey.

You wanted to stop him, to explain, to make him see what you couldn't say- but your pride had already built a wall too high. The words you had snapped at him stung, but there was a fear settling deep within you, too. Fear of rejection, fear of the misunderstanding spiraling out of control.

Fear of losing him from a quick yet grave mistake.

The street was quiet, and your footsteps echoed in the empty space. You turned the corner, but in your rush, you hadn't paid attention to where you were going.

It seemed you had taken one wrong turn after another, and suddenly the comforting glow of the familiar streetlights was replaced with unfamiliar darkness.

Panic rose in your chest. Your phone buzzed in your pocket, and you fumbled to pull it out, only for it to die before you could see.

You cursed under your breath. Of course, it died. Why wouldn't it? Your mind was foggy, and you could barely focus on anything, let alone figure out where you were. The tightness in your chest felt suffocating, but you pushed through it.

You wandered a little until you found a cute little convenience store, stepping inside, letting the warmth encapsulate you. You decided to grab a snack while you charged your phone, the clerk so graciously allowing you to charge it behind the desk.

You figured while you ate you could figure out what to say to Hyunjin, to mend whatever crack you had caused.

Meanwhile, Hyunjin still felt the sting of your words settled deep in his chest. His jaw clenched as he shoved his hands into his pockets, walking briskly down the street.

It wasn’t fair. He had done nothing wrong, yet you had pushed him away like he was too much. Like his affection- his need to be close to you- was suffocating.

Me? Too much- HAH. As if.

You were just being bratty because you were in a bad mood...right?

I'm not actually too much am I?

And maybe it was dramatic, maybe it was childish, but he wanted you to chase after him. To call out his name, to grab his sleeve, to do something to prove you cared as much as he did.

But the street behind him remained quiet.

His throat tightened. His steps slowed.

You weren’t coming.

Hyunjin scoffed, shaking his head. Fine. If you weren’t going to run after him, then you could suffer.

He would make you grovel, make you look at him with those wide, guilty eyes and apologize.

Beg a little. Then - only then - he’d pull you into his arms, stroke your hair, kiss your forehead, and tell you it was okay.

Because at the end of the day, that’s all he wanted.

To make things okay again.

With a sigh, he turned back around, heading toward your apartment, already playing out how he’d drag this out just enough to make you squirm before giving in.

But when he got to your door, his smirk faltered.

The lights were off, but the door was cracked.

His brows knitted together as he stepped into a completely empty home.

You were supposed to be here. You were supposed to be sitting inside, stewing in guilt, waiting for him to come back so you could apologize properly.

His fingers twitched as he opened your bedroom door. He went to the bathroom and knocked.

No answer.

He knocked, a little harder this time.

Still nothing.

A flicker of unease crept up his spine. He pulled out his phone and called. It rang twice before going straight to voicemail.

Hyunjin swallowed. His throat was dry.

His mind raced through every possibility. Maybe you just went out for air. Maybe you ran to the convenience store. Maybe-

But his gut told him otherwise.

His gut told him something was wrong.

His fingers curled around his phone, knuckles white as he sucked in a sharp breath. His frustration, his plan to make you beg, his need to be dramatic- all of it evaporated, replaced by one single, overwhelming thought.

He needed to find you.

Now.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

@abovenyx @wolfs-archive @oddracha @iyeeeverydee @parisanmorovati @seungmincenteric @panbish-1209 @fxiry-vtt @sseawavee @shuporanporang @amarecerasus @softkisshyunjin @whoa-jo @meanergreener @rikibun @ayyonoona @shinywombatcrusade @y4yayael @skzstan12345 @mariteez @allys-reads @jazziwritesthings @skzstannie @yongbokkiesworld @kkkeopi @neverendingstay @moony-9 @minsungsthirdwheel @everlastingspring143 @joyofbebbanburg @leezanetheofficial @tr-mha-fan @bubbly-moon @night-storm7 @missmajdastark @axel-skz @rockstarkkami @emilyywhyy

taglist specific:

@darling-imobsessed @changbinismymuscledaddy @artist2181 @minniesverse @monbrigh @20staaa @aeri-skzver @noannah @skysole @chanssmiles @depressedarlling @

#skz imagines #skz stay #skz x reader #stray kids reactions #stray kids #skz fluff #skz reactions #skz #christopher bang #skz angst #lee minho #seo changbin #hwang hyunjin #skz hyung line #pnutbutternjelyy

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puckingeccedentesiast · 9 months ago

Text

Cradle Me

Father!Quinn x Son & Wife!Reader. Word Count: 1,1k Authorial Note: My next voted WIP! I hope you enjoy this fic as much as I did while writing it! Don’t know if it’s my best piece then. Warnings: Swearing, mentions of birth.

Elliot Samuel Hughes came screaming into the world at 4:12 p.m., Quinn only knew his son for a matter of awed, breathless moments before the world sharpened—and chaos erupted.

Nurses swarmed you, dabbing and cleaning with sodden warm towels. A warm, slimy bundle of swaddle-blanket and baby reached your chest as the obstetrician stepped back from your glistening body. Quinn's reddened hand slipped from your grip, instinctively cradling the baby to your chest. His other hand, shaking slightly, gripped the bed's plastic rail. Leaning forward, he rested his right arm limply across your shoulder, his forehead gently touching yours as the two of you gazed down at your son.

"How’re you doing, Dad?" the obstetrician asked from the sink as he scrubbed his hands clean.

Quinn blinked, a goofy grin spreading across his face. "I feel sick... but in a good way." He laughed softly, joy plastered permanently on his face. "We created a human... that's fucking scary but awesome at the same time."

Even in your post-birth haze, a smile graced your lips. It was an awesome thing indeed. This was your person now, a culmination of Quinn and your love. Despite this baby being considered a gift, he clearly was sent to test you and Quinn’s love for each other. No parenting class could have prepared you for the unfolding chaos that was leaving the hospital and heading home. The first day at the hospital was incredible, the nurses gently guided you and Quinn in the ways of parenting. But once you left and arrived home, the learning curve turned into an aggressive crash course.

Emotions ran high for every family member. Every nap missed, messy feed, spit-up, or nappy mess that needed cleaning up frayed the string further. Quinn and you had been remarkably naïve to think that this journey would be easy, even though you’d been dreaming collectively of this moment for years.

Quinn, along with self-proclaimed uncles Elias, Brock, and JT, spent hours working on the perfect nursery for baby boy Hughes. From wall decorations to the crib and changing table—which you insisted had to be powder blue with clouds and a grassy field with cows in it—the boys poured their hearts into it. Once they had finished assembling the room and you'd let it air out due to your hatred of the smell of fresh paint, you added the final details: books, blankets, nappies, and wipes, along with baby clothes hanging neatly on tiny coat hangers.

The first night home from the hospital was powered purely by adrenaline. You and Quinn took shifts with baby boy—changing, feeding, and sometimes just comforting him to sleep. By the second and third nights, the exhaustion set in. Leaving the warmth of the bed became a Herculean effort, especially for you. The physical toll of birth weighed heavily on your body, and sustaining new life felt overwhelming.

Quinn tried his hardest to take the load off, seeing how hard you were working to make the transition smooth, though it felt futile. His patience held up remarkably well for the first four days, but by the fourth night, tension crept in. Snappish words replaced your usual playful banter, and the distance between you felt like a growing chasm. Quinn’s touch, once so comforting, now felt foreign. Exhaustion tangled both your nerves, and intimacy between the two of you became a distant memory.

That night, an abrupt “goodnight” was shared, accompanied by a peck on the cheek. You both lay there in the dark, separated by a wall of fatigue, each praying for sleep that never came, as baby boy woke again at distasteful hours of the night.

Night five was the killer. Some ungodly hour like 1:03 a.m. glared back at you from the microwave as you ambled around the kitchen for the second time that night. You’d fed him twice now, but much of the milk had come back up in spit-up. Quinn had changed baby once and had checked on him again 45 minutes earlier.

There was one distinct problem: the baby only slept when he was held. You could do as many laps around the kitchen as you wanted, Quinn could rock him for hours, but as soon as baby landed on the bassinet’s mattress, it was like laying him on lava.

"Still no luck, darlin’?" Quinn’s voice came quietly from the doorway, his tired form silhouetted by the dim light of the stairs. He met you halfway, his brow furrowed with concern.

You let out a soft, frustrated sigh. "Every time I put him down, he cries," you whispered, blinking back tears. "I’m so tired, Quinn."

He stepped closer, reaching for your hand and pressing a kiss to your knuckles. "C’mon, let’s go back to bed," he murmured, leading you gently up the stairs. Exhaustion had blurred the edges of your world, and you forced a tired smile as he kissed your hand again.

"He’s just going to cry when I put him down, Quinn," you stated tiredly as he threw back the covers for you. The softness of the bed felt like heaven against your aching body, and you settled in without a second thought.

Quinn, now shirtless, pulled baby from your arms and nestled him gently on his chest, holding him snugly as he propped himself up with pillows. He tucked you in under his arm, pulling the blankets over both of you.

"Sleep now, darlin’," he whispered, kissing the top of your head. Baby wriggled slightly in his swaddle but quickly relaxed against Quinn's warmth. "If this is how we have to do it from now on, fine."

Quinn sighed, his grip tightening around both of you. "At least we have good chiros at the rink."

#risen rambles :d #luke hughes #jack hughes #quinn hughes #quinn hughes fanfiction #quinn hughes blurb #dad quinn hughes #quinn hughes imagine #quinn hughes x reader #quinn hughes one shot #canucks #canucks hockey #hughes brothers #vancouver canucks #quinn hughes fic #quinn hughes 43 #quinn hughes x y/n #qh43

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bluemerakis · 8 months ago

Text

┌── ˚*❀*̥˚ ─── ˚*̥❀*˚ ──┐

✐ᝰ bluemerakis

┗━━• ❃ ° •° ❀ °• ° ❃ •━━┛

❝ Scout’s Honour ❞

⤷ Word count: a lot

!! 18+ ONLY !!

Pls imagine he has his sexy beard in these gifs

═════════════════

WARNINGS:

Billy x fem!reader, cussing, very mild angst, smut, fingering, oral f receiving, unprotected sex p in v (wrap it pls), cock-warming, lmk if I forgot any

SYNOPSIS:

Billy slips into the apartment in the early hours of a new day, after having abandoned you for a few nights in order to tend to business. You never minded a busy schedule, so as long as the time spent at your side balanced it out. However, he’s been slacking in his efforts, and you’re not one to be brushed aside whenever things got inconvenient.

He attempts to curb your anger with his god-given charm and bedroom generosity, and you’re almost tempted to forgive him—almost. But after a very generous, very convincing tongue to your cunt, and a good few of his inches stuck within you, you’re eventually compelled to give him another chance.

═════════════════

The creak of the apartment door plucked your consciousness from the chasm of sleep. Your eyes split open without a breath to spare, your body still fuelled by the pent up adrenaline of the past shit-filled week. The door made a muffled click of closure before a sequence of heavy thuds pulled forth from you a more urgent sense of alertness. You lifted your head in a swift motion to spare a groggy glance over your shoulder, your agitation laid to rest by the scene of your beloved intruder traipsing across the dim, open-plan apartment—but the annoyance surrounding his prolonged absence quickly took its stead.

What was usually a temporary work setback that would only keep Billy away for a night or two had turned into a painfully drawn out week of his absence—without the courtesy of a notice, might you add. Not that you’d ever admit it to the bugger, but the atmosphere of his apartment had been unbearably dull without his effortless, colourful charisma, and his endearment for the word cunt.

You hadn’t minded that Billy was a busy man, and in any case, you’d made no official obligations to one another that would warrant your feelings. However, the bastard’s pattern of disappearances and reappearances without an explanation had started to wear you thin, and quite frankly, you’d started to feel like cheap company.

You birthed a groan at your premature departure from sleep and turned your head away from Billy’s wandering figure—you’d begrudgingly missed him, but you could hardly be arsed to entertain the questions of his whereabouts when exhaustion so perilously perched itself on your eyelids and burnt your eyes teary for as long as they remained open. This was one of very few occasions where sleep really could solve the problem, so you manoeuvred your body between the sheets and wrapped your arms around your pillow, trapping it against your cheek—a forceful plea to indulge your need for a longer rest.

Your eyes fluttered closed, not needing much prompting, especially with the added bonus of ignoring Billy’s presence entirely. But the voice you’d violently craved throughout your desolate nights traversed the room as a deep echo, plucking forward your consciousness once more.

“D’I wake ya, Love?”

You burrowed your face into the pillow and heaved a frustrated sigh. “It’s either that or you’re talking to a bloody ghost,” you pushed out groggily, your voice rough—breached by the night’s sleep—and muffled by the satin pillowcase.

You heard Billy chuckle half-heartedly from across the room. “D’ya sleep all right?” He asked—an attempt to brush off your foul mood. On a good day, which were most days, he could easily drink up and reciprocate your wit. Clearly, whatever he’d abandoned the bed—and you—for had taken its toll. You didn’t know whether he’d slept at all, when he was out doing whatever it was he so often left to do.

The initial agreement of your whole relationship—if you could call it that—with Billy, was never to ask questions about what he did, where he did them, and why he’s doing them. I don’t want nobody perched on me fuckin’ shoulder, houndin’ me around and playin’ devil’s advocate all bloody day until me head is done in. No babysittin’, no collar round me neck, no fuckin’ fuss, eh? Those were more or less the terms Billy had set forward, but your relationship had evolved since that point. The more nights your bodies had spent entangled, there came a mutual realisation that the company you both provided one another had become more like a deep-rooted, carnal need, rather than a impish way to pass time. Billy was pretty good in getting his cut of it from you, but had been failing to reciprocate the effort on his side. It felt like exploitation, and you’d just about had enough of that.

You came to it eventually, shrugging off the chain of thought that had shackled your brain. “Haven’t slept nearly enough,” you offered curtly.

There was a brief pause from Billy’s side, before he asked, “somethin’ been keepin’ yer up?” Your attention latched onto the hesitant undertone of his voice—barely noticeable, but undeniably there. He was far too good at his reserved facade, but you’d long since trained your ear to tell the truth men just like him would not. “Bet both me bollocks it’s tha’ cooing shit machine tha’ done set up base on the window outside. Annoying li’l fucker—you give me the word, Love, and I’ll evict the plumy wanker.”

His avoidant rambling triggered an involuntary clench of your jaw; you could almost envision the smug, lopsided smirk hitching up the corner of his lips. The moment of silence that had preceded his words made perfect sense—it was an acknowledgement of the truth he refused to directly admit; a rhetorical question he very much knew the answer to. He was no dumb man; he knew he’d gotten his stylish boots stuck ankle-deep in a fat pile of shit with you.

You weren’t nearly sleep-sober enough to entertain his bold query, so in an attempt to purge your exhaustion, you peeled back the comforters and finally sat yourself up to face him. Billy’s head tilted as he drank in your appearance, his expression glazed with the apartment’s dawn gloom, but you could make out the ruffled, jagged peaks of the hair crowning the top of his head—clearly ploughed through by one too many stressed hands.

“And there’s me dashin’ lady. Sincerest top o’ the mornin’ to you, Love,” he said, inching a few steps closer to your corner of the apartment. He hesitated beside the dining room table when his words didn’t enlighten your expression and hummed dramatically. “Knackered, are we?”

Around you, the warm glow of dawn began to creep its way through the crevices of the curtained windows, casting the apartment with an ethereal glow that almost made Billy’s figure appear angelic from where he stood at the other end of the modest quarters. The burly shape of his black-coated silhouette was traced with a line of liquid fire, perfectly encapsulating the true beauty of his essence when he was vulnerable enough to show it—and a beautiful soul he was, minus his impulsive need to play the absentee partner.

You leaned your back against the headboard of the bed, your knees retracting into your abdomen while your arms wrapped around them to trap them against you. “I am knackered,” you mocked matter-of-a-factly. “What was that you asked earlier—has something been keeping me up? Boy, what a question that is, Billy,” you said thinly, and Billy’s eyes narrowed in preparation as the nonchalant smirk was plucked from his lips.

“Well, for starters, these last few nights, the bed has been unbearably cold and empty. Now, I used to share it with a man to keep me all warm and toasty, but that same man? He’s one heck of a busy fucker. He’s always goddamn working—says he’s got his own little enterprise going on, but I’m not allowed to know the first thing about that—so who knows if it’s at all true? He could be out getting a full-course serving of pussy for all I know, while I’m left behind to keep his bed warm until he’s had his external fill of it and comes running back.”

Your convicted man hovered about, the usual furrow in his expression no deeper than usual, but you could tell by the faint tilt of his head that he’d been listening to your rant intently, and the squirming motion of his lower lip implied a tense biting. You squinted your eyes at one of his eyebrows that seemed to be thickened at the arch; you didn’t doubt that it was from the mean kiss of a fist, since he tended to collect enemies and wounds like medals.

“Not to mention the countless times he’s crawled into bed with unexplainable injured littered across his body, and I’m to pretend they’re not existent as I run my hands over them,” you added pointedly. “He’s a strange, mysterious man, and he’s gotten far too comfortable leaving me alone for nights on end and demanding everything his way the moment he returns.” Your brows furrowed sarcastically. “Now, what do you suppose I do about a dick like that?”

“Ya ought to give it a good ol’ wank and a tickle o’ the balls, and just before his shit hits the ceiling, yer give the tip o’ his knackers a diabolical twisty,” Billy suggested flippantly, his hands raised to mimic the theoretical scene.

“Cut the Billy-bullshit,” you snapped. “It’s bloody well been a week since I last saw you—and the shit you do is so goddamn sketchy, I had no fucking idea if you were even still alive. You couldn’t have even said goodbye, or, I don’t know, told me where the hell you were going to fuck off to?”

Billy’s hands were spread open into a scoff of a gesture. “Oi, gimme a bit ‘o credit there, will yer, Love? No Supe cunt has managed to put me in a grave for a good kip just yet.” He torqued his chin in that characteristic manner of his. “And I ain’t goin’ out without a nuclear bang; you’d have seen me face all over that shite news channel with me bloody arm stuck half way up that Homelander’s Comp V arsehole—like a good ol’ rectal exam.”

Confusion took the stead of annoyance at his mention of Comp V, but you were far more interested in the mention of Supes and the Homelander himself. This was the first time Billy had ever let on a fraction of information about who he was routinely involved with every time he disappeared—a royal fuckup, no doubt. You’d always been a determined girl with a knack for satisfying your curious itch, and that combination didn’t bode well for Billy’s need of discretion.

You’d have been a slow fool to question who Homelander was. While you’d never personally taken interest in the leader of the so-called gifted band of heroes who practically governed the state, you’d heard of enough incidents to know that The Seven were far from do-gooders. So, just what the hell would a man like Billy be doing with them? He was no angel—gods, you knew that, but he was not nearly tainted enough to sit and share bread at the table of the Superheros. Comp V, however? That term didn’t place among your knowledge. You wanted to—needed to know more.

You leant away from the bed frame and tilted your head with blunt scrutiny. “What business do you have with a freaky man-Supe like Homelander?” You asked sceptically. “Have you got friends up in higher places that I don’t know about? And what the hell is Comp V?”

Billy’s expression seem to buffer over your words, his shoulders lightly tilting from side to side as his brain took to working around his apparent slip up. “Ne’ermind you that, Love,” he averted eventually, reaching up a hand to swipe a quick scratch across his bearded chin. “Nothin’ to pick yer pretty li’l brain ‘bout, eh? Now, ya fancy a nosh? Me appetite’s just ‘bout burned through me stomach wall.”

You ignored his divergence, your expression hardening with warning. “You’re going to play games with me at this very early hour of the day, William?”

The use of his full name made Billy’s head tilt back in the slightest manner, his chin lifting with a notion of denial, then acceptance. You watched him furrow his thick brows and offer a low grunt before his head dropped to shrug off the weight of your accusing stare. His gaze remained averted as he rolled his shoulders to shed his signature black coat, and with that, his hard-ass facade he so often paraded under the public’s eye. In here—around you, he was afforded to step out of that role every once in a while.

The forsaken coat made for a gracious reveal of Billy’s fine-toned pair of biceps, the very set that had pinned you against this bed on far too many occasions. But you didn’t allow yourself to entertain those lustful memories for too long, knowing the power they possessed in their ability to completely eradicate any ill-will you currently bore him.

You followed the whisk of his arms as he moved to drape the coat across the nearest chair that bordered the circumference of the circular dining table, then watched as reached across to snatch a half-drained bottle of whiskey from its surface. A low fuckin’ hell split his lips as he sank himself down into the coat-crowed chair, his figure perfectly positioned to oppose you. You heard the whiskey bottle gurgle as he titled the nozzle into his mouth and eagerly began draining the beverage.

You squinted at the nerve of his nonchalance, then pushed on more pettily. “What, nothing to say at all?” You scoffed. “Never could get you to shut up, and now when you talking would actually offer something valuable, you choose to bite your tongue?”

Billy’s adam’s apple dipped with a large gulp before he lowered the whiskey bottle and dragged a brisk thumb across his froth-kissed beard, his hand falling away to offer a lopsided smirk. “I meant what I said when we first started this sweet, little rendezvous o’ ours, Love—no hounding me on me own fuckin’ business,” he warned. “That were our deal, weren’t it?

“Yeah, well , I’m no business man,” you retorted. “But by all means, continue with your shady shit. All I’m saying is give a girl a warning or two from time to time instead of pulling a hit and run in the middle of the night like some prepubescent asshole.”

Not sparing him the luxury of a back and fourth bicker, you sank yourself back into the centre of the bed and laid your head onto the pillow—deliberately facing yourself away from him. You didn’t even care to wrap yourself back underneath the comfort of the sheets, you just needed to shrink away from this conversation.

“Just do what you do best—leave and let me get some sleep, please,” was all you murmured.

“All right, don’t get yer pretty knickers ina twist, now,” Billy soothed.

You heard the distant rustle of fabric, followed by a grunt of effort, before the thump of his boots escalated toward you and then ceased to exist entirely. The clank of the whiskey bottle settled on the bedside table at your head, and a few seconds later, you felt his knuckles graze a light trail from your exposed shoulder down to your elbow—a beckon for your attention, but when you stubbornly kept your head turned the opposite way, his hand retreated.

“Oi, would you just look at me, Love?”

“Can’t,” you said curtly, eyes forcibly screwed shut. “Sleeping. Now, shut your trap.”

You thought that the last of it, until the mattress at your back suddenly gave slight way and Billy sat himself down beside you. His arm reached across your thigh, his hand finding sanctuary at your knee, which was tucked into yourself as you laid in foetus formation. You tried hard to ignore his imposition, but all hope at fashioning that mask began to crumple as his thumb began wiping aimlessly along your skin—a rhythmic back and fourth motion that was oddly soothing to your stress-riddled, exhausted body.

“Look,” he began—it was a tone far more genuine than you’d ever thought him capable of, and it piqued your interest enough to open your eyes. “I know I been doin’ a mighty shite job at stayin’ around here—bein’ with you and all tha’. I ain’t exactly fuckin’ Romeo with a loyal pair o’ bollocks when it comes to relationships, but tell yer what—” he paused to boldly trail his knuckle down your thigh. “I’ll try and do better by yer—I mean tha’, even if I’m a ripe, stinkin’ cunt at times.”

You listened keenly to Billy’s words, but his lack of a clear apology still leered at some petty part of you. The sensational line that he began to draw down the skin of your thigh was an unexpected and very difficult arousal to suppress, your legs subtly drawing together to safeguard the root of all lustful feelings, which began to brew with the threat of bubbling over should he continue his actions. You made the conscious decision not to give into his ministrations so easily, so you pushed aside your growing arousal and decided to focus on the fat lump of unresolved anger still wedged in your throat—a hard pill to swallow.

“Is that supposed to be an apology?” You asked, your field of vision falling into obscurity as you focused on nothing in particular. You could see Billy shift in the very edge of your periphery, the hand tracing patterns on your thigh removed to welcome the cool air of the morning. That same hand didn’t forsake you for long. Within a few seconds, he had a grip on your jaw, his thumb and index finger gently, yet firmly bracketing your chin.

“Spare me a look-see,” he mocked gently, your head forcibly turned up to him. Obliged beyond choice, you allowed yourself a closeup of the man you’d so dearly missed, shifting onto your back to better your view of him.

There was a lot to appreciate about Billy’s face, but for once, it wasn’t the bedroom eyes or the devilish smirk that captured your attention off the bat. Instead, your eyes flickered about the red lines etched across his face—markings that had not been there only a few nights ago, when you’d littered kisses all along the contours of his face. These cuts were fresh, the blood in the trenches of flesh still clotting and very shy of a scab. The discovery caused annoyance to prick at your chest, but you’d long since forsaken anger. If you’d ever managed to successfully talk Billy out of a fight, you’d have cracked a billion dollar contract by now.

“I look dashin’, don’t I?” He poked at your mindless glaring, then his expression softened as he drank in yours—reserved, save the unimpressed scowl. “Me face looks like a slapped arse, I know—bet yer half wishin’ to add another spank to this shitshow, eh?” He chuckled.

“Don’t temp me,” you scoffed, jutting your chin to the side to dislodge his hold on you. “God, did the other guy stick you through a paper shredder?” You shot, then added, “you look like absolute shit, I’m almost starting to believe you get off on a good beating.”

Billy Butcher was a man infamous for modelling a face of cuts and bruises, always managing to enlist a fist to the face through one interaction or the other. He wasn’t a particularly adored man, but you’d never found fault with that—it only meant more him for you, after all. You’d have appreciated that fact more if he’d been around enough.

“Oh, come off it,” he scoffed. The hand that had been robbed of your jaw now moved to swipe an aimless scratch across his beard, his gaze averting to the other end of the apartment with a forlorn expression. You recognised the turmoil in his features as an attempt to find the right words to express his more mushy feelings—not an easy feat for the asture, balls-of-steel Butcher.

“Look, I’ve been a plus-sized arse, I know that. I warned ya, ladies like you don’t stick around men like me for too long. The shit I do? Diabolical stuff, Love. Trust me, yer better off left behind in this bed where none o’ that can pucker up to yer arsehole like a good, mean case of diarrhoea.” He paused to soften his expression. “Just tryin’ to protect ya, is all,” he added softly.

You sniffled softly as you held his earnest stare, then forced yourself to sit up, while Billy simultaneously shifted to give you space. You searched his features for a few seconds and only saw sincerity—an eerily, misplaced emotion on his brute features, so the lump in your throat began to loosen an inch, permitting you swallow with more natural ease.

“Fine,” you relented softly, allowing the tension moulding your features to soften. “All will be forgiven, Billy Butcher—only if you start making an effort to treat me like less of a stress-reliever, and more like a person who wants a genuine connection with you.”

He gave a cheeky cock of his head. “Wha’, ya don’t like the way I blow off steam? Yer cunt ain’t ever said the same thing.”

“Classy,” you scoffed. But not wrong. Billy sniggered with his all-knowing grin.

You shifted yourself onto your knees as you began to make your way across the mattress and towards him. He watched you through a calculating look, his attention making a mischievous dip toward your thighs, so perfectly displayed in your finely cut pyjama shorts. You ignored the innuendo in his wandering eyes, reaching out an arm to clasp his shoulder for support. You leaned onto his broad frame as you meandered your way onto his lap, and his hands found grip at your hips as he aided your movement to straddle his thighs, his eyes hounding your every move.

“Makin’ yerself right at home, eh?” He remarked suggestively.

Once you settled in position, his hands trailed up to your waist to deliver a light squeeze to your neglected body, his palms then settling flat against the exposed stretch of skin deserted by the length of your cropped tank. His touch was warm—almost too warm, like he had something to prove following your very dramatic claim of the cold, lonely nights you’d endured. His hands began dragging a sensual pathway along your frame before settling at the small of your back, where he held you firmly against him—you wouldn’t be shunning him again anytime too soon, as fortified by his hold on you.

You curled your one hand around the nape of Billy’s neck, the other moving to frame the side of his head. “You look worse than a bruised prune,” you said, making a point to press your thumb across the fresh cut forming a vicious, bloodied trough through the arch of his brow. It was almost nasty enough to rival the scar tracing the opposite end of his forehead.

“Oi!” Billy protested, his head momentarily tilting away from you. “Yer got a bloody thumb on ya, fuckin’ hell. Save yer fingering for the little miss cunt down there.”

“Oh trust me, I have,” you retorted, to which a meld of surprise and admiration hitched his brows. You returned your finger to the cut in his brow, more tenderly this time as you felt across the surrounding blotchy purple-yellow bruise and then flitted to caress another cut along his cheek and the opposite temple. “After all, somebody’s got to keep me satisfied when you’re not around, and be thankful it was myself, you dick.”

“All right,” he said. “Fair enough, but I ain’t been dipping me wick in another woman’s wax, Love, so how’s ‘bout we lay off the poncy pouting—make no further delay in the inevitable amalgamation o’ pleasure the both of us are ‘bout to be?” The hands at your back burrowed under the waistband of your shorts and underwear with slick ease—a far too rehearsed and perfected performance. The way his large palms spanned a considerable area of your buttocks never failed to get the groin going; he knew that.

“You’ve got a lot to atone for before you get a good milking,” you warned, hand falling away from his face. Though, Billy’s grip on your ass began to tighten persuasively, and you thought that he could potentially work a few, unfair angles in order to knock off a good amount days from that sex-deprived sentence.

You partially turned your torso to reach for the whiskey bottle he’d set on the bedside table, snatching up the beverage at the neck of the glass. You turned back to him, and his eyes lowered to the drink with a cheeky gleam.

“Fancying a swig at the peek o’ dawn?” he poked. “Been learnin’ a thing or two from me, it seems.”

“It’s for you, obviously,” you said, lifting the nozzle to the wound in his brow. “A toast to your idiocy—cheers.” You tilted the bottle to free the whiskey, and the beverage formed a bubbly waterfall as it cascaded through the reddened cleft in his brow. The amber liquid slithered down his cheek and through the wilderness of hair framing his jaw, then reappeared at the base of his neck to seep into the collar of his floral shirt.

You never did miss the glint of the chain always wrapped around Billy’s neck like a lifelong claim of ownership, adorned with a St Christopher medal—an oath of some sort—which dangled from the steel-linked wreath. And it didn’t escape your notice now as a few of the silver links gleamed with rogue beads of whiskey. It must’ve been a keepsake from a past relationship that had meant a large deal to Billy, but the mystery of its continued existence around his neck was a secret barred from your common knowledge. If it had been a gift from somebody who meant a lot to him, it was a rather odd one—he didn’t particularly strike you as a man who dabbled in religious beliefs of protective saints. Then again, how much did you really know about Billy Butcher?

Either way, Billy had never once spoken about it, despite the many times you’d openly assaulted it’s presence with curious eyes. And there were some things you just would not push, despite your tendency to get brash. So, you’d made peace with the fact that perhaps he would never grant you the key to that particular cell of memories, but you couldn’t honestly say that the implied emotional ties of it all didn’t bother you—and more so, how that influenced his regard for you.

You were plucked from your gnawing thoughts at the sound of Billy sucking air. His teeth were bared as he stifled a guttural wince, and his eye had collapsed closed under the assaulting burn of the whiskey.

“Bloody fuckin’ hell!” he barked, his hands shifting up their position on your arse to rest on the upper curves, gripping them tightly like they were a lifeline for support. “Stings like the kiss of a bloody bee’s arse.”

“Always a pleasure enlisting your colourful poetry.” You retreated with the bottle and burrowed the glass body between your thighs, your hand then returning to aid his face. You swiped your thumb across his closed eye and along his half-drenched face eradicate the film of whiskey. “The prick did a number on you,” you remarked.

Billy tilted his head away from your prying thumb, “Yeah, well, that wanker takes the win on this one,” he insisted. “His lips done looked like a fat cunt by the time I finished him.”

You hummed absentmindedly in response, then felt as one of his hands abandoned the seize on your buttocks to capture your hand at the wrist. He lifted it up into the space between your torsos, his head slightly tilted to fix you with an unwavering stare as he released your wrist and his fingertips began a soft, upward trajectory along the tender skin. Your attention lowered to the work of his fingers as they passed into the gentle rise and hollow of your palm, before each digit diverged to claim a spot between your own fingers, and there they interlocked with near-perfect harmony.

Billy often reminded you that hands were meant to exist in pairs other than your own two when he performed gestures like these. It made sense, really, considering how perfectly fingers could interlink with one another—as though intimacy had always been engraved into the DNA of their skeleton.

He made a gentle twist of his wrist to expose the backside of your hand to his exploitation, and he lowered his lips in an antagonisingly slow manner to press a kiss to your knuckles, all while drinking in the look on your face.

You savoured the warm and gentle flush of his breath against your skin while it lasted; it reinforced the truth of his return and his presence right here before you. The loneliness had gotten overwhelming—a thought that scared you. The moment you admitted that Billy’s absence had an effect on the daily flow of events in your life, you’d have to admit that you’d gotten far too attached to an inevitably temporary situation.

You’d always been vulnerable to emotional investment, forming attachments with anybody you’d been afforded the opportunity to properly flesh out your five senses with; the prolonged touch of handholding, a connecting glance, being adorned with a cologne-scented clothing item of theirs, the sound of their laugh in response to a poorly made joke, or the taste of a shared kiss. It was a gift to love somebody the way you could love, but a curse when cast upon a man like Billy Butcher.

“Oi, Love,” he beckoned to you, the remaining hand on your ass squeezing lightly. You averted your gaze from your intertwined hands to glance at him, his head was slightly tilted as if to gauge a better understanding of the thoughts holding your speech hostage. “S’a weekend, so tell tha’ busy brain o’ yers to take a bloody day off, eh?”

You lifted your chin lightly, your nostrils flaring with a breath to reset your thoughts. “There’s been a lot going on lately, all right?” You said, wriggling your hand within Billy’s in an attempt to shake his hold, but his grip on you only tightened, so you accepted defeat and allowed your hand to fall limp.

He tucked your conjoined hands into the warmth of your thighs, careful not to knock the whiskey bottle. “Got places to be?” He asked insincerely, a mischievous grin peaking through.

“Apparently not,” you answered with a beleaguered sigh.

“Atta girl—right ya are!” Billy praised, then leant his head forward in an attempt to press a kiss to your lips. Your other hand that you had comfortably nestled atop his shoulder moved to intercept the action with an index finger to his lips, which left him with a frown of disappointment.

You pressed your finger into his lips slightly harder than necessary before sliding your fingertip down into the bearded divot of his chin, adorned with the moisture of whiskey. There, you prodded him away meanly, his chin jutting into himself with the motion.

His eyes drooped with disappointment. “Clenchin’ the arsehole outta spite, are we?” He said snarkily because Billy Butcher didn’t like, nor tolerate rejection. You knew that his ego had taken the front-seat, now.

As much as you’d have loved to further emasculate him with some petty banter, you merely reached for the whiskey bottle trapped between your thighs and eagerly brought the liquor to your lips. You managed a few, generous swigs as you held Billy’s stare—a mixture of surprise and respect dancing in his hazel depths. You felt a stray line of whiskey escape your swallow at the corner of your lip, slinking down the side of your jaw. You also noted the way Billy’s attention lowered to that same escapee bead of liquor, his eyes narrowing as though entertaining some internal thoughts of his.

Once you’d decidedly had enough of the whiskey, you lowered the bottle with a hearty swallow and held it out before you to see how much of the drink still remained. There was a decent amount of it left—enough to fill a glass and a half. Satisfied, you brought it back up to hover it over Billy’s head with a sarcastic smile.

“Bottoms up,” you cheered.

“Don’t ya fuckin’—” he was silenced by the stream of whiskey being inevitably poured onto his head and he dropped his chin to avoid a direct assault on his eyes—his generous and voluminous field of hair took the brunt of the force and flattened under the foamy weight of it all. Very little strands of hair were left unmarred by wetness, and the floral patterns in shirt had darkened considerably, mostly at the base of his neck. He released his grip on your hand and ass to run a hand through his hair and across his face. “Fuckin’ son o’ cunt,” he spat, his lashes fluttering with a strained attempt to open his eyes.

You tossed the empty whiskey bottle across the bed, watching as Billy managed to lift his head and part his screwed eyes at last. He was still dripping at the brow, and upon making eye contact with you, he passed an angry swipe of his tongue across his lips with the intent to scold you—but you didn’t give him the chance to fume as you gripped either side of his jaw and forcibly pushed your lips against his.

He made a noise halfway between a grunt and a moan in response to your imposition, but shortly returned the kiss with an aggressive push of his own lips. You lapped up the amalgamation of whiskey and cigar smoke that basted his tongue like a starved street mutt while his large hands came down harshly on your ass—the reprimand that he hadn’t verbally been able to deliver, but you had a feeling that this was only the beginning, and that he’d have well made his point by the end of this heated, physical debate.

You felt the twinge of his nails even through the fabric of your shorts as he gripped you there and pressed your pelvis into him, the act so possessive you felt as though there were an unspoken presence in this room that Billy had a point to prove to. But his hold on you hadn’t come to a standstill—instead, he began to forcibly guide your lower half into a rhythmic dance akin to the waves of the ocean, to and fro, riding the shore of his ever-growing erection. His steering of your hips was godsent, the angle just right enough to provide sensory input to your own sensitive mound. Billy might’ve been self-serving in the pursuit of pleasure when it came to the bedroom, but he never neglected your own needs.

You bit your tongue to stifle the moans threatening to flee your lips. The last thing you needed was for your musical pleasure to whisper directly into Billy’s ear, cooing to his erection. Although you’d already given him exactly what he’d wanted by initiating this steaming mess, you wouldn’t make the entire process that easy for him.

As you were forcibly ground against Billy’s manhood, his kisses grew more impatient and sloppy, his teeth periodically seizing your lips somewhere in the mix. Your hands trailed down his bearded neck—further smearing the whiskey—to take grip at his shoulders before running your hands over the defined muscles, flexed while he worked at kneading your hips, waist and ass in an erratic, patternless desperation. The added stimulation of your skin-on-skin contact with his shoulders seemed to spur him on, his throat reverberating with a gruff moan that you instantly plucked from your shared kiss and shamelessly drank up.

Billy’s one hand shifted from his grip on your ass up to the small of your back; you felt the way his fingertips had grown sticky with the whiskey, puckering your skin every time he made contact and then abruptly moved away. Without warning, his palm curled supportively around your waist and he effortlessly hoisted your body against his navel, the other hand curling across your bottom. He pulled away from the kiss, his thick brows furrowed with focused intent as his eyes flickered all across your features.

“Yer a bleedin’ pain in me arse, y’know tha’?” Billy said in rough, breathy syllables. He then stole one last kiss to silence the stinging retort that was sure to accompany the indignant twist in your expression, and in an effortless motion, he had you on your back in less than a second.

“You aren’t exactly all sunshine and rainbows, either,” you countered through a huff, hands wrapping supportively around the nape of his neck as you suspended yourself from his overhanging frame. Your expression turned challenging. “Besides, you seem to enjoy pain,” you say pointedly, eyes flickering to the gash in his brow. “So I’m actually quite on-brand company, don’t you think?”

He gave a relenting torque of his chin, charming smirk plastered to his lips. “S’pose yer right. Must be why I fancy ya, then, eh?” He straightened up onto the support of his knees, his hands shifting to find place at your waist before he slid them up your frame to peel back the tank top concealing his desired view. “Now, lemme see me neglected pair o’ girls,” he demanded in an impatient grunt. “Tell ‘em daddy’s home.”

You grimaced lightly at Billy. “Don’t be gross,” you told him, hands falling away from his shoulders to aid his stripping of your torso.

“Bollocks,” he replied almost instantly, “yer love it.” You did—deep down, you devoured his crass attention. He had no difficulty sliding the tank over your head and raised arms, instantly chucking the clothing to some other end of the apartment.

Your hands flew to cover your exposed breasts, your expression alight with cheek as you flashed Billy a toothy grin. He leered you over, an approving smirk on his lips before his hands made an advance towards you. You almost thought he’d make a move to pull back the curtains on your breasts, but instead, his hands cupped your waist.

“All right,” he began—an entertained air about him. “You play it tha’ way.” His hands dipped into the waistband of your shorts, his calloused fingertips teasing at the skin of your back before they found the seem of your underwear and began stripping away the last of your clothed dignity. “Shit’s always arse about face with yer—ne’er the easy way.”

“Easy’s boring,” you told him. He tugged harshly at your shorts & underwear, managing to strip it from your lower half without a struggle. You watched as he shimmied the clothing items down the expanse of your legs, pausing half way to press a greedy kiss to your thigh.

Your legs instinctively squeezed together as the arousal between them became unbearable. Your feet were lifted from the comfort of the bed as Billy stripped the last of your clothing and bundled it aside.

“There we are,” he said with an undertone of accomplishment, his hands moving to curl under your thighs and take steady grip at the skin. Without warning, he tugged you a short length down the bed toward him. You gave a small yelp at being whisked across the sheets, the friction providing a momentary warmth that soothed the skin of your bare back.

“What you say we get the ball runnin’ on this thing, eh?” Billy remarked, and you felt as he encouraged widening of one of your thighs, his other hand making a motion towards your heated mound. You burrowed the back of your head into the sheets almost instantly as his fingers rudely acquainted your folds, teasing at the area that had grown slick with his mere presence.

“Blimey,” he said—an action that made you a tad bit self-conscious. It hadn’t been too long since he’d last seen you down there, but the conditions had already started to become less kept. He’d never been the one to judge, though. He was man enough to be unbothered by trivial matters of body hair. “D’ya have a good weep down here? It done look like a bloody water slide, and I ain’t barely laid a hand on ya,” he said amazedly, fingers grabbing ahold of your clit to deliver a brash squeeze.

Your lower body tensed with the jolt of stimulation his action elicited, and you lifted your head to glare at him. “I almost forgot what an absolute ass of a tease you are,” you told him with the beginning of a frustrated frown.

Billy thumbed an almost apologetic, circular motion around your sensitive area, flashing you a thin-lipped smirk. “Ease off the stick in yer ass, Love, s’all part of the process. Now, you just lay that head o’ yers back like a prissy li’l pillow princess and let good ol’ Billy take care o’ the brunt of things goin’ on down here, all right?”

You didn’t verbally scoff, but the flick of your eyes conveyed the gesture well enough. The hands on your breasts fell away to prop up your torso as you told him, “I’m not a pillow princess. You’re just a greedy—borderline control freak bastard that wants everything his way.”

Billy’s eyes dipped to your exposed chest, and you knew your words had escaped his notice entirely. “Ah, there’s me cheerleaders—come to give me a word of encouragement, have they? Always did love a good audience.” His hand continued to work at your sensitive areas as he brought himself up to your face, other forearm planted supportively beside your head as he leaned over and pressed a firm kiss to your lips.

You kissed him back eagerly, letting yourself fall back against the mattress as you took grip at the base of his neck before blindly reaching down for the buttons of his shirt. You felt the cold pendant of his necklace tease at your neck as he leaned deeper into the abyss of your lips, grunting at your efforts to undo his shirt. You felt his fingers grow impatient between your folds, making a sheer dip into your entrance—and it invited him in without a hassle. You broke off the kiss and sucked air through your teeth at his sudden intrusion, your lower half reflexively tensing with suspense and desire all at once.

“Relax, Love, s’just me—nothin’ new,” Billy murmured breathily against your lips. “Just like we done a thousand times, eh?”

You nodded wordlessly, lips brushing against his—it was well within Billy’s talents to ease the freedom of speech right on out of you, especially with a bedroom talent as skilled as his. You tried consciously to relax your muscles, and Billy had slowed his pace only momentarily to augment your efforts. The success of your attempt was confirmed by his fingers reaching a deeper, warmer depth with each continued thrust, and it wasn’t long before he began to brutalise his pace once more. You gulped hazily, hands hesitating against the fabric of his shirt as his work within you became too much to bear.

“Tha’s a good girl—swallowing me hand whole,” he husked against your jaw. “I know tha’ greedy li’l cunt o’ yers is havin’ a rave down there, but put them hands to work and take me shirt off, will ya, Love?”

Moans of pleasure began to stew in your throat as Billy curled his fingers into you—a foul move when you were already grappling with the near-debilitating euphoria of his lesser ministrations. You tried your best to make headway at undoing the buttons of his shirt as he patiently hovered over you, his kneading of your insides beckoning forth the familiar knot within your core. Once the last button relented, you slid your hands under the middle part of the fabric, palms sliding up his ribcage and across his hairy chest, then toward his shoulders where you tugged the sleeves down his forearms.

The hand buried snugly within your entrance took an abrupt leave as Billy straightened himself and manoeuvred his arms to shed his shirt. He dived back down almost instantly, as though not wanting to lose momentum on the events playing out, both of his hands taking grip at your waist. You felt the slick and warmth of the fingers he’d burrowed within you claw hungrily at your skin, then your attention drew to the upward trail his nose drew between your cleavage, where his lips dawdled greedily.

Your head sank further into the depth of the mattress as you allowed his skilful lips to dance across your skin, his tongue playing fair as he took turns twirling with each of your nipples. Occasionally, he’d deliver a cheeky bite to the sensitive bud, coupled by a husky chuckle when you’d release a wince of pleasure. Your hands took root in his full head of hair, fingers intertwining with the luscious locs and yanking them meanly to even out the playing field of Billy’s work on your breasts. His fingers began to grip harder at your waist, thumb pressing divots into your abdomen, only adding to the pressure that had long since amassed at your core.

“Fucking hell,” you breathed out as Billy’s tongue dragged a warm snail trail down your stomach and across your navel where he settled just shy of your mound with teasing, bordering kisses.

“Fuckin’ hell, indeed,” Billy echoed busily, palms flattened as he grazed them down either side of your hips. He ghosted over your thighs before reaching for your calves and pushing them upward in a gesture to prop up your knees. Once you lifted your legs from the bed, his arms diverged between your legs and curled around them, where he found grip at your inner thighs.

You propped yourself onto your elbows to glimpse your lower half now perfectly presented to Billy, who met your gaze with that scheming smirk of his. “Brace yerself, Love, I’m ‘bout to make a lovely nosh o’ yer cunt,” he warned before his head dipped into your yearning core.

The first greeting of his mouth came as a gaping hole, swallowing your entire being whole. With each lap of his tongue, his sharp nose prodded at your clit, which caused your core to bloom with debilitating pleasure. You tossed your head back, lower lip hauled into the firm clench of your teeth as you drowned the moans attempting to escape the depths of your throat. Straddled at your sides, your fingers furled into the disrupted duvet, ferociously groping the fabric as though it were the tether keeping you from getting swept up into the whirlwind of endorphins.

You adored the way Billy’s beard chafed your folds—coarse hair grating against pliable flesh, and you sought out the stimulation with such eagerness that you began to lift your pelvis deeper into his wet warmth. But the broad hands curled around your thighs proved their strength in the way that Billy kept you pressed against the bed, fingers melding into the flesh of your inner thighs as a feat of authority—control. His jaw began to swivel erratically as his tongue picked up the pace, swirling around, above and below your mound—even making a momentary dip into your slicked entrance. That action plucked an unorthodox moan from your chest, your hand flying to take grip at Billy’s hair.

“Oh, fuck me!” You exclaimed breathlessly, toes beginning to curl against the sheets as his tongue carried you to your climax.

“Tha’s well the plan, innit, Love?” Billy murmured against you, hand patting against your thigh as a teasing gesture of reassurance.

He went on and on, as unrelenting and greedy as the beginning, and the anticipation ricocheting about your lower extremities began to draw into a closely-knitted ball of stimulation just waiting to implode on itself. Your breathing shallowed, your fingers in his hair tightened, your shy noises became more boisterous, but Billy’s tongue pulled away from you, and with it, he quelled the ball of fire he’d lit in the first place.

Your expression furrowed with a mixture of disappointment and exhaustion as you sank back defeatedly into the mattress, the hand in his hair falling onto the sheets as you took a moment to replenish the stock of your lungs. “Asshole,” you huffed—barely audible.

“Oi, shut yer gob and gape yer cunt, ‘cause I ain’t finished with you just yet,” Billy said gruffly, hand reaching for yours. His fingers wrapped around your forearm and tugged suggestively.

Too tired to resist, you curled your fingers around his arm, and you were pulled up effortlessly from the mattress and into his frame. His hands came to rest at your waist, his lips finding yours in a desperate brawl. Your hands cupped his chest, ready to settle in their position as you intended to get lost in his overwhelming presence, but the kiss was abrupt as Billy pulled away to find your neck. He gave your collar bone a little nip, then eased the sting with a kiss before the hands on your hips turned you around and pushed you stomach-first into the mattress.

You gave a light yelp, but his tough fondling of you wasn’t a foreign practice, so you succumbed to his flow. You felt the cool metal of his chain graze up your back as he leant over you, his arm popping into your view as he reached for the pillow and snatched it up. He retreated and withdrew his frame, hand curling under your lower stomach and making the motion to lift you from the bed. You obliged and lifted your hips, to which Billy slid the cushion beneath your lower stomach, and you gladly settled back down into the cushioned support.

“There we are, all prepped for a good poundin’,” he remarked, the sound of his dropped zipper coming shortly after. You cast a glance over your shoulder just in time to witness Billy discarding his jeans and boxers to reveal the buoyancy of his hard-on—a view that you gladly drank up.

“Somebody’s missed me,” you poked.

Billy flashed you a grin, his hand moving to prep his hard-on with a good few strokes. “‘Course,” he said. “Been deprived o’ all worldly pleasures for a whole, bleedin’ week.” He released his manhood and shifted closer to your sprawled frame, hands reaching for your ass. “And yer cunt’s missed me, too.”

“I guess you could say that,” you sighed dramatically, fully aware of the self-forged dam between your legs. You flashed a cheeky grin before turning your head forward, crossing your arms and laying yourself into the support. “Well, have at it, then.”

You felt Billy’s palms caress the curve of your cheeks before he hooked his fingers below your pelvis and pulled your arse into an upward position. “C’mon, up we get. Ain’t s’pose to tell yer what to do—yer a right expert by now.”

You were—it was the same damn position every single time. Billy had a knack for seeing you bent over below him, face down and arse up as you lay all bare and presented for his very generous exploitation. “I’m just making you work for it, for once,” you said.

“Ne’er minded a job,” he answered, hand dipping into your slicked cunt, where he manoeuvred his fingers through the area and gathered and distributed enough of your slick to aid an easy insertion—and it wasn’t long before you felt his length insert into you with a slow and controlled ease.

A deep, hearty grunt of appreciation spewed from Billy’s lips, a low fuckin’ hell thrown somewhere into the mix. You mouth parted with a moan as you felt his girth ascend your entrance, glad for the gracious accommodation of your walls that practically welcomed him with open arms. Your eyes fluttered closed as you bathed in the initial bliss of his penetration, and you purposely perked your arse to deepen the sensation—and to spur him on.

Billy’s hands found a sturdy grip at your ass as his pelvis began to shift against you, the length within you retreating and returning with a steady pace. He held that speed for a good few minutes, feeling out the limits of your entrance, and once he’d reached a decent depth within you, he began to accelerate his movements. A hand slithered up to burrow into the small of your back, your abdomen pushed into the cushion below.

“Fuck, Billy,” you breathed out, pressing your face into the cushion as your arms strangled the feathered mass—his thrusts becoming too much to bear. You’d already endured his fingers & lips, and now the actual prize of the evening was proving too much of a mouthful—perhaps you’d bitten off more than you could chew, but it was far too late to spit out this particular morsel.

“Lovely arch you’ve got here—a bloody gymnast’s dream, that,” Billy teased, palm pressing harder into the small of your back, stomach further buried into the pillow—placed at your navel for the support he’d very much intended you to use. “Doing so well, Love, hang on f’me just a li’l longer, yeah?”

Blissful moans marinated within your throat, the sound hitched rhythmically by the slam of his pelvis against you. The bed rocked and creaked with the commotion, your propped lower half beginning to sag with exhaustion to the point where your entire weight was supported in Billy’s grip. You gnawed at your lip as his thrusts got harsher, faster��a means to an end.

The hand on your back moved to wrap within your hair. “Go on, use yer lungs, Love,” Billy demanded in a breathless grunt, using the hair he’d seized into his hand as leverage to hoist your head from the muffled comfort of the pillow.

Your head snapped into full extension, forcing you to take in the view of the pristine white ceiling overhead, not that the flecks of white dancing across your field of view allowed for much appreciation on your end. The compliance came like a reflex, shameless noises of pleasure streaming from your gaped jaw.

“Yeah, tha’s it,” he praised gruffly, his movements growing erratic. He paused his thrusts only to fold himself over you, his chest pressed against your back and his pelvis flattening your own against the mattress. He resumed his brutish movements, plunging your bodies with a motive that felt akin to reaching the depths of hell. His lips brushed against your ear, exhaustion latched onto his voice. “What you say we fill ‘er up, eh? Ya want that?”

His hand in your hair tightened, your neck further craning with the motion. “Need it,” you muttered thinly, your eyes growing watery with the overwhelming sensations flitting all about your being. “Please.”

“‘Cause yer asked so nicely,” Billy grunted into your head, then pressed a kiss to your temple. With a last bout of rocking, he delivered one last thrust that struck your core with all the pressure it needed to implode.

Your hair was released from his grip and your head fell into the crook of your folded arms, chest heaving as you fought to cling to the little sense you still possessed. Billy’s figure loitered on top of you, and you felt the way his own chest mirrored your exhaustion—if not worse. You sometimes forgot that he was riddled with a good few years of life, but he very rarely let that on in the bedroom.

The warmth of your shared arousal trickled from your entrance and watered the sheets below, but Billy stayed burrowed within you as you both laid motionless on the mattress. You didn’t mind it, though.

“Fuuuckin’ hell,” Billy groaned hoarsely, eventually slipping from your proximity and shifting onto the mattress beside you. He wasted no time in wrapping an arm across your back, hand tugging to pull your back into his chest so that you were comfortably spooned within his broad frame.

You melded yourself into his body, his arm sliding beneath your neck to offer your head some support while his other hand curled over your waist. His lips brushed against your shoulder, where he pressed a few, tender kisses—as if to compensate for his lack of playing nice for the entirety of the morning. You offered a light noise of contentment, a soft smile spreading your lips as your eyes fluttered closed.

All your worries? Forgotten as of now. Nothing mattered for the time being—you just needed to melt away into Billy’s presence. You knew he likely felt the same—a silent ghost whose hand on your waist dragged sensual lines across the skin, his breathing slowed as his jaw rested against your head.

“An Eggs Benedict would complete this morning,” you eventually spoke up, craning your head to glance at him with a suggestive hitch of your brows.

Billy grunted, his chin jutting in defeat. “Yeah, yeah, let a man catch ‘is breath first, then I’ll tend to me lady’s needs. Deal?”

You grinned with a sense of accomplishment. “Deal,” you replied, puckering your lips for a kiss. He leant over to press his lips against yours, and you turned away with a cheeky grin. “Old man,” you murmured cheekily.

“Oi,” he warned, hand on your waist delivering a light squeeze. “This old man fucks yer better than any other cunt ever did, innit?”

You shrugged dramatically. “All right, Billy, whatever you say.”

He scoffed with amused defeat. “Like I said,” he began, “yer a bleedin’ pain in me arse.”

“And don’t you forget it.” You bit the inside of your cheek, mind wandering back to the events of the morning. You had to admit that the anger you’d been harbouring towards Billy had long since eased away—might have very well been fucked right on out of you. If he could keep up this newfound apologetic package of his, you’d happily forgive any of his future shortcomings.

“Wha’s on yer mind?” Billy asked.

“I forgive you.”

“Well,” he remarked smugly. “Ain’t ya adorable?”

“Yes,” you answered instantly. “I am—so don’t fuck it up.”

“Don’t intend to, Love,” he said, pulling you closer against him. “Ain’t got the universe on me side next time yer work up a storm about all me shit. I’ll do right by yer, like I said.”

You turned to face him, your expression earnest as you gazed up at him. “Promise?”

Billy mirrored your stare with a soft smile. “Scout’s honour,” he said. “And yer give me a bloody ear if I break it, all right?”

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Thank you for reading!

I’m literally so sick of this piece I just want it out of my drafts 😭 apologies for any typos, it’s not entirely proof read towards the end. I hope y’all enjoyed it regardless!

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Other Billy Butcher / Karl Urban works:

I M A G I N E S

Carnival for Kisses

Lover Boy Butcher

S M A U s

Pov you hardlaunch your relationship with Karl Urban

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Tags: @violent-darkness @gibson-g1rl @shirley-girly @kus-babygirl @internetitgirl17 @dwinchesterspie1967 @babyfri3dric3

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