#and on that note! i'm going back to bed. i'm sick as hell | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

ggukivrse · 21 days ago

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THIRD TIME'S THE CHARM | JJK

summary. when you complain to jungkook about your lack of action in the past year, you're not really asking for a solution. but when he casually offers to help, you just can't seem to bring yourself to say no.

after all, what's the worst that could happen in hooking up just this once?

pairing: jeon jungkook x f!reader

genre: friends to lovers, smut, fluff, slight angst

word count: 7.7k

warnings: swearing, they actually talk about their feelings :0, explicit sexual content, kissing, making out, hickeys, dry humping, oral (f. receiving), multiple orgasms, unprotected sex (be smarter than them pls), a bit of banter, petnames (baby), they're really fucking cute in the end it makes me sick, let me know if i missed anything!

notes: idk if this counts as my first completed series buttt... i'm gonna act like it does. thank you so so much to all the love and support you guys have given me for the past two parts, i'm genuinely so beyond grateful for it all :<< hopefully, you guys enjoy this part too!!

ps. READ PART ONE HERE & PART TWO HERE!!

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You open his chat window again like it’s muscle memory. Like your thumb don't know how to not betray you.

It’s not even about sending something. You’ve got no intention of doing that. At least, that’s what you tell yourself. But the screen is always open, staring back at you with that last unread message you sent almost a week ago — a throwaway meme you found on your lunch break. No reply. Not even a reaction.

And it hadn’t felt like a big deal in the moment. You sent it like always, light and dumb and nothing. But then the nothing kept going. No little gray typing bubble. No 'lol.' No double text. No late night 'you up?' Just this wall of silence.

You would’ve rather gotten a dry reply. Hell, even a thumbs up. Anything to prove that he saw you.

But now it’s been long enough that sending something new would feel desperate. Like you’re chasing him. Like you’re asking for something you’re not even supposed to want.

You lock your phone and throw it face down on your bed.

Then pick it back up five seconds later.

Then toss it again, harder, as if that’ll prove something.

You wish you were mad. You think you are mad — at least a little. But it’s a tangled kind of anger. One that knots itself up with embarrassment and sharp, bitter shame. You want to scream at him, yeah. But also at yourself.

Why did you let this happen?

Why did you let him blur the lines and kiss you like that and touch you like he meant it?

You were supposed to be smarter than this.

You lie back across your bed with one arm flung over your eyes. It’s stupid. You know it’s stupid. It was just sex. Just two nights. Two insanely good, dangerously close, way-too-connected nights. But still — technically just sex.

Except it wasn’t.

Not when he remembered your favourite sauce order without asking. Not when he brushed a loose strand of hair behind your ear while you ranted about work.

And especially not when he went cold the second things felt too good.

That’s what keeps twisting the knife. That shift in him. Like someone flipped a switch and rewrote the script. One minute, he was holding you like you mattered. The next, you were stepping out of his bathroom and into a stranger’s apartment.

You haven’t heard his voice since.

You bite the inside of your cheek and squeeze your eyes shut, trying to push down that lump of feeling before it rises too high.

It’s fine. You’re fine. You’re overthinking it.

Maybe he’s just going through something. Maybe he didn’t mean to shut you out. Maybe he thought you didn’t want to hear from him. Or maybe he’s just a fucking coward who got scared when the stakes changed.

But then, why didn’t you reach out?

Why didn’t you ask if he was okay, or tell him he was being weird, or demand an explanation like you’re owed one?

Because you’re afraid.

Because you don’t want the truth if the truth is that he regrets all of it.

Because deep down, you know this isn’t just a friendship anymore, and pretending it is would break you worse than silence.

Your phone buzzes once on the comforter beside you.

You freeze. Then sit up fast, breath catching halfway in your throat.

Your eyes are already scanning the screen before your brain can fully catch up.

Kook 🍜: hi

One word. Just hi. Like the last seven days didn’t happen. Like your stomach hasn’t been in knots trying to make sense of his silence. Like he didn’t vanish without warning after folding you into his sheets and leaving you to figure out what the hell it meant.

Your breath leaves you in one uneven exhale.

You blink at the message, your body locked in this strange stillness. Your thumb hovers, frozen. Part of you is tempted to stare at it until it disappears. Ignore it. Let him feel what it’s like to be the one left hanging. But your hands betray you again — just like they always do with him.

You: Radio silence for a week and all I get is a fucking hi? Wtf Jungkook

It’s not even what you really want to say, but it’s the closest thing you can manage that doesn’t sound like I missed you so much it made me sick or please don’t do this again.

Three dots appear.

Your heart squeezes like it’s caught in someone’s fist. And then the dots vanish.

Then come back.

Then vanish again.

You mutter, “Fucking say something,” to no one. It comes out too small, too desperate. You shut your eyes tight for a second like you can wring the feeling out of yourself by force.

A minute or so passes before his reply finally sends.

Kook 🍜: sorry. can i talk to you today?

You reread it so many times the text starts to lose meaning. Can I talk to you today?

You feel sick.

There’s no way you don’t know what this is. The phrasing. The tone. He wants to talk? What the fuck else could that mean, if not that he’s about to cut things off? That he’s going to hand you some polite little speech about how you’re great, but this can’t happen again. That he wants to stay friends and he doesn’t want to confuse things any more than he already has.

Or worse — he thinks you guys are better off cutting contact all together.

You bite down hard on your thumb, suddenly on the verge of tears and furious at yourself for it. You should’ve never let it get here. You should’ve drawn the line before the second time. Before the car. Before the party.

You should’ve been more careful with your heart.

But you’re here now. So far past the line you can’t even see it anymore.

You open your keyboard, then close it again. You want to ask what he wants to talk about. You want to demand answers over text so you don’t have to see his face when he says the words. But you know you won’t get anything that way.

You: Where?

Kook 🍜: i can come to yours

You sit there for a second, just breathing. You feel like you’re bracing for a crash that’s already midair.

You: What time?

Kook 🍜: i can be there in an hour?

You don’t answer. Not right away. You’re too busy staring at your reflection in the dark screen, wondering why your face looks so calm when your body feels like it’s trying to collapse in on itself.

You: Okay

You put the phone down carefully, like it might go off again, or explode, and turn your gaze to the ceiling. Every minute after this is going to stretch like it’s mocking you.

You don’t know if you’re getting closure or clarity. You don’t even know which one would hurt more.

But you know you won't cancel.

Because if this is going to end — if he’s going to say it — it has to be to your face. You need to see it.

You need to know for sure.

Jungkook is fucked.

Like, actually, cosmically, irreversibly fucked.

He stares at the elevator doors like they’re the gates to hell, and his own reflection in the brushed metal does him no favours. He looks tense. Jaw tight, shoulders hunched up high like he’s trying to fold himself into a more manageable version. Someone chill. Someone who isn’t about to shit himself over the thought of seeing you.

He rolls his shoulders back, shakes out his hands. Useless. He’s already sweating through his hoodie.

Every nerve in his body feels like it’s tuned an octave too high. Like if someone so much as breathes in his direction right now, he’ll either snap or confess something humiliating.

He wipes his palms on his jeans again. That’s the fourth time since the lobby.

The worst part is, he knows how he got here. He knows exactly when it happened, too — the moment the line moved.

It was your laugh. The tired kind, all cracked at the edges after that hellish Friday you had. You were curled up in his passenger seat, half out of it, feet tucked under you, and you’d looked over at him with that soft, worn-down smile.

And it just… hit him.

The weight of it. Of you.

He wanted to reach over and touch your face. Not to tease. Not to start something. Just to feel your skin under his fingers like it was allowed now.

And the second that thought formed — clear and blinding and way too tender — it was over. Game fucking over.

Because it wasn’t supposed to feel like that.

You’re his best friend. Have been for years. He knows how you take your coffee, how you organise your playlists by mood, how you chew on the inside of your cheek when you're anxious. You’re not just some girl he hooked up with at a party. You’re you.

And now, he’s standing in an elevator on the way to your apartment, trying not to think about how badly he messed it all up.

He hadn’t meant to ghost you. Not really. It was just — after that night, after the way you looked at him, all warm and trusting — he panicked. Full-body, brain-scrambling, total system failure. He couldn’t even look at you without feeling like he was seconds from saying something stupid like "Don’t sleep with anyone else, please," or "I think I’m in love with you."

So instead, he shut down. Did the one thing he always swore he wouldn’t do with you — he pulled away. Got weird. Avoided it. Avoided you.

And now you’re pissed.

Rightfully so.

He deserved that text you sent. Probably worse. You could’ve ignored him completely and he wouldn’t have blamed you. But you didn’t. You texted back and he’s clinging onto that like a lifeline. Because it means there’s still time. Still a chance to fix it — if he doesn’t blow it again.

He presses the heel of his hand to his chest like that might steady the erratic rhythm of his heart.

What the fuck is he even going to say?

Sorry for being an emotionally constipated idiot?

Sorry I ghosted you because I realised I’m in love with you and it short-circuited my whole fucking personality?

Sorry I thought I could fuck you and still keep pretending like you don’t mean more to me than anyone else?

The elevator dings.

Jungkook flinches like it slapped him, then scrubs a hand through his hair, lets out a tight breath, and steps through the doors before he can change his mind.

He’s here.

Fuck. He’s actually here.

Jungkook looks like he didn’t sleep last night. Hair messy, clothes a little wrinkled, eyes flicking up to meet yours for a second before they dart away again. His hands are shoved into the pockets of his jacket like he’s afraid of what they’ll do if left unsupervised.

You tell yourself not to feel relieved. Not to let it show. He didn’t cancel. He showed up. That shouldn’t mean as much as it does. It really, really shouldn’t.

But still — there’s something in your chest that unclenches when you see him standing there, real and present. Even if he does look like he’s about to apologise for burning down your house or something.

“Hey,” he says, voice quiet.

You step back from the door to let him in. Dry. Wordless. The move is automatic, but your body feels stiff with it, like your own muscles are annoyed on your behalf.

He hesitates before stepping inside, like he thinks the floor might swallow him up. You don't offer a smile. Don't even look at him once the door’s closed behind him.

You cross your arms and lean back against the edge of the kitchen counter, watching him with a blank expression that’s only half-real. The other half is tightly coiled under your skin — anger, sure, but under that, all the feelings you’ve been pretending not to have.

He does a slow, uncertain glance around your apartment like something might’ve changed since the last time he was here. But it hasn’t. It’s still your place. Same plants, same overhead light humming softly, same faint scent of laundry detergent that clings to the air.

He stands there awkwardly, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. It’s like he doesn’t know where to put his body.

You’ve never seen him like this before. Not around you. Jungkook’s always been comfortable here. The kind of comfortable that leaves shoes by the door without asking. The kind that opens your fridge like he owns a shelf. But right now, he looks like a stranger in someone else’s house.

You let the silence stretch out. You’re waiting for him to just speak, but he doesn’t

He doesn’t even try.

Eventually, your voice cuts through the air, a little too sharp. “Jungkook, you said you wanted to talk.”

His head snaps up like he forgot that was part of the deal. Like the fact that he came here at all already cost him everything he had in reserve.

“Yeah,” he says. His throat moves when he swallows. “I do.”

You raise your eyebrows, waiting.

He opens his mouth like he’s about to start, then closes it again. Shifts his stance. Rubs the back of his neck with one hand. You catch the way his eyes flick to the floor, then back to you, then away again.

You narrow your eyes. “Well?”

He breathes out a weak, almost bitter laugh and runs both hands down his thighs, like he’s physically trying to ground himself. “I don’t know how to do this,” he mutters.

You frown, arms still crossed tight across your chest. “What? Talk?”

You hate being like this towards him — you feel like a bitch. But it’s the only way that you can stop yourself from just spilling all of your thoughts and feelings to him.

“No, I—” He breaks off, jaw flexing. “No. I mean… say the right thing. Say any of it without sounding like an idiot.”

You blink, unimpressed. “So you came here without knowing what you were gonna say.”

He looks at you then. Fully. And for the first time since he walked in, you see the real wreckage behind his eyes. There’s nothing cool or casual about it. He’s unravelling in slow motion. Everything about him is quiet desperation wrapped in someone trying really hard not to fall apart.

“I didn’t know what to say because I didn’t know what I wanted,” he says finally. “And then I figured it out, and that somehow made it worse.”

You stay silent.

He shifts closer, not by much — just a few inches. “I fucked up,” he adds, voice barely above a whisper. “I know I did. I know I disappeared. I didn’t mean to make you feel like I didn’t care. I was just—” he stops, jaw tightening again. “I got scared.”

You scoff under your breath and look away.

“I’m serious,” he says, softer now. “It freaked me out. How fast it happened. How much it changed.”

You look back at him, jaw set. “What changed?”

He swallows again. Stiff. His voice cracks a little when he speaks next.

“You,” he says again. “How I feel about you. That changed.”

Your chest tightens.

You don’t react, not visibly. You keep your face still, unreadable, even though your brain is suddenly scrambling. You’ve been yanked in too many directions this past week. You’re not going to lean into hope just because he finally decided to speak.

So you say nothing. You just hold his gaze and wait.

Jungkook takes a breath, his shoulders rising with it, then falling in a slow, deliberate exhale. The nervousness is still there — but it’s settled into something quieter now.

“I kept trying to tell myself it didn’t mean anything,” he says. “That it was just— whatever. Two friends, getting carried away. We were drunk the first time, right? It was easy to lie to myself about that. Easy to say it didn’t have to go anywhere.”

His voice is calm, but there's tension underneath it.

“But the second time?” He pauses, tongue running along the inside of his cheek, eyes still locked on yours. “That wasn’t drunk. That wasn’t casual. That was me driving us across town just to make you feel better, because I can’t stand it when you’re not okay.”

You flinch — barely — but he sees it. You know he does.

“And then it was me kissing you like I’d lose my mind if I didn’t. You think I didn’t notice how different that felt? I’ve never kissed you like that before. And I haven’t stopped thinking about it since.”

The weight of his words hangs in the air between you.

You’re still standing by the counter, arms crossed, but now your grip has loosened. You hate how much this is getting to you, how badly you want to give in, how your chest aches just hearing him say the things you’d only let yourself think when the lights were off and your phone screen was dark.

Jungkook takes another step toward you.

“When I brought you back to mine that night… when you came out of the shower, and I saw you just standing there in my space, looking at me like I was safe…” His voice catches, but not in a way that makes him crumble — just enough to show the truth of it. “I freaked the fuck out.”

You blink at him, finally speaking. “Yeah. I noticed.”

He huffs out a breath that's almost a laugh, but not quite. “I didn’t mean to shut down. I didn’t even know what I was doing in the moment. I just— everything in me wanted to pull you close, and that’s when I realised I couldn’t keep doing this the way we were doing it. Not without losing my shit every time you left.”

Your throat feels tight, but you still ask, “So you decided to ghost me instead?”

That lands. His jaw flexes, and he nods once. “Yeah. I did. I thought if I gave it space, I could go back to being normal. Go back to just being your friend. But I couldn’t. I can’t.

“I don’t want to be just your friend anymore. Not because of the sex, not because it was good— which it was, but that’s not the point. It’s you. It’s always been you. I didn’t realise how much until I almost lost it completely.”

You swallow hard. Your arms are uncrossed now. Not folded in, not defensive — just hanging at your sides like you’re too stunned to remember what to do with them.

Jungkook steps in closer. Not touching you yet. But near enough that you can smell him — faint cologne, his laundry detergent, the scent you associate with your car windows fogging up.

“I missed you,” he says, and his voice turns softer. “Every day. And it scared the shit out of me, how badly I wanted to talk to you. Touch you. Just be around you. I wasn’t ready to admit it last week, and I was a coward for that. But I’m not running anymore.”

Silence again.

Except it doesn’t feel like the ones you’ve been drowning in for a week.

“I don’t know what you’re feeling,” he says, lower now, like the words might break if he’s too loud. “And I’m not assuming anything. But if you still want me around— really want me— just say the word. I’ll figure out the rest.”

You inhale slowly, try to even out your breathing, but your chest still feels like it’s barely holding together. Your heart’s doing that thing where it thuds too hard without speeding up.

You hate that you believe him. That you always would’ve. That no matter how angry you were, no matter how cold you tried to be when he walked in — you still wanted him to explain, to prove it wasn’t what your worst thoughts told you it was.

And now he has.

He’s standing in front of you with open hands, with the words you oh so desperately wanted to hear. And for a moment, you’re not sure what to do with that.

“I hate you,” you say quietly.

It’s not true. Not even close. But it’s the first thing that leaves your mouth.

Jungkook huffs out a dry laugh, eyes dropping to the floor. “Yeah,” he murmurs, nodding. “I figured.”

You shake your head once. “No. I mean it. I fucking hate you for this. For—” You break off, because your voice is shaking now. “For making me feel like I was crazy. For not even saying goodnight after… after everything.”

His face tightens, but he doesn’t interrupt.

“You could’ve just told me,” you go on. “You could’ve said it was too much. That it got weird. That you needed time. Anything. But you disappeared. And I had to sit here wondering if I made it all up."

You pause, pressing your lips together.

“And I— I missed you too, you know,” you add, quieter this time.

His mouth opens like he might speak, but no sound comes out at first. Instead, he closes the space between you by half, slow and steady, like he’s afraid of pushing too far.

“God, you’re such an asshole,” you whisper, but your tone isn't mean. Not even close.

He laughs, soft and low. “Yeah. I know.

“You promise me you’re sure? Cause Jungkook, I will fucking cut off your dick if you pull this shit again.”

He smiles but doesn’t hesitate. “I promise. I’ve never been more sure of anything in my life.”

You stare at him.

Long enough that the air between you stretches taut, thin as thread.

His hand twitches like he wants to reach for you but still doesn’t know if he’s allowed. His jaw flexes, his chest rising and falling in uneven swells. You can tell he’s waiting — for a sign, for a go-ahead, for you.

And even though part of you still wants to be mad, still wants to make him sweat just a little longer, the rest of you aches. For his mouth. For his hands. For the solid, grounding weight of him.

So you move.

You step into the last inch of space between you and grab the front of his hoodie. He exhales like he’s been holding his breath for a year, but you don’t give him a chance to say anything.

You kiss him.

Not out of impulse. Not for show. You kiss him because you need to. Because your chest feels like it’s going to split open if you don’t.

At first, it’s quiet. Just lips pressed to lips — careful, slow. There’s a pause between each pass of your mouth over his, like you’re both trying to remember how this started. How you even got here.

But then he sighs against you — not loud, not dramatic, just a sound full of relief — and it unravels something.

His hands lift, hesitating for only half a second before they settle on your waist, fingers curling tight. You press closer, and his lips part beneath yours. The angle shifts. Your nose bumps his cheek. It’s not perfect, but it’s real, and when your tongue brushes his, everything tilts.

The sweetness melts fast.

He makes a sound low in his throat and drags you in like the distance is unbearable. Your hands slide up into his hair, fingers threading through the strands at the base of his neck, and the way he reacts — the little shiver he tries to swallow — sends heat straight down your spine.

You kiss him harder.

His body crowds yours until your back meets the wall. Not rough, not rushed. Just firm. His chest presses to yours, and you can feel the way his heart races. How your own pulse kicks up to match it.

The kiss deepens, turns messy at the edges. His teeth catch your bottom lip and your breath stutters, but you don’t pull back. You tilt your chin, chasing more, and the next time he kisses you, it’s hungrier. One of his hands slips to the small of your back, palm dragging slow and warm beneath your shirt. The skin-to-skin contact makes your whole body twitch.

You gasp into his mouth, and he swallows the sound, his hands tightening. His other arm slips around your waist completely, pulling you flush against him, and suddenly you’re not thinking anymore. You’re just feeling.

The tension that’s been bottling up between you two — the silence, the week of wondering, the ache of missing him so much it hurt — it all floods to the surface.

You fist your hands in his hoodie, yanking him impossibly closer. Your hips shift forward, just enough to brush him, and the sound he makes is sharp and involuntary, caught between a breath and a groan.

“Fuck,” he mutters, barely pulling back. His forehead presses to yours, breath ragged. “You’re driving me insane.”

You huff, lips brushing his. “That’s fair.”

Then he kisses you again. Rougher this time. Desperate in a way that makes your knees go soft.

He doesn’t stay at your mouth for long. His lips trail down — your jaw, your cheek, the shell of your ear. His breath is hot and uneven, and when he finds your neck, your whole body reacts. Your hands clutch at him, your back arches off the wall, and the soft sound that escapes your throat isn’t one you mean to make.

He feels it. Hears it. Answers it with a low, reverent sound that seems to vibrate straight through you.

His tongue traces the spot beneath your ear, slow and deliberate, and your eyes flutter shut.

Your fingers tighten in his hair, your breath catching sharp in your throat. You pull back for a second before lowering your mouth to his neck, right where the collar of his hoodie dips. He lets out a small sound, hands flexing on your waist, when your lips press there.

You start slow. You can feel his pulse under your tongue, the way his chest rises against yours, unsteady and warm. Then you part your lips and suck gently at the spot just below his jaw. His whole body stutters, hips jerking against yours before he can stop it.

Your fingers trail down his chest, tugging his hoodie collar aside for better access. His head tips back, eyes squeezed shut, lips parted.

You do it again, this time with enough pressure to leave a mark, and the sound of your mouth working against his skin is lewd.

He groans. It’s low and rough and barely held back, and the sound shoots straight between your legs. You feel him hardening now, undeniable through the fabric where he’s pressed against you.

“All mine?” you whisper, your lips brushing over the new mark you’ve left.

He doesn’t even hesitate. “All yours.”

His voice is breathless. Wrecked. And so damn certain it knocks something loose in your chest.

You pull back just enough to look at him — really look. His pupils are blown, his lips swollen, a flush climbing high on his cheeks. He looks at you like he wants to devour you. Like he would if you let him.

“I missed that mouth,” he mutters, hands gliding under your shirt again, palms broad and warm. “Missed everything.”

You kiss his throat in reply and drag your teeth across it until he swears under his breath.

His hips grind against you again, harder this time. You both feel it — the friction, the heat building between your bodies.

His arms shift beneath you and he lifts you clean off the ground in one smooth motion, hands strong under your thighs. A startled sound escapes your throat as your legs wrap around his waist on instinct, gripping him tight.

“Fuck,” he mutters again, forehead dropping to your shoulder. “I want you so bad it’s actually stupid.”

You smile, drunk on the feel of him.

“Bedroom?” you murmur, tracing your lips over the new mark blooming against his skin.

He hums lowly, and shifts his grip on your thighs.

He carries you through the hallway and your lips never leave his skin for more than a second.

When he reaches your bedroom, he doesn’t hesitate. He steps inside and drops you onto the mattress in one fluid movement.

You barely get your bearings before he’s crawling over you, slotting his body between your legs, His mouth finds yours again, and you moan into it before you can stop yourself when his knee presses between your legs.

Your hips twitch, grinding down against the pressure, and he groans in response, the sound vibrating through your chest as his mouth moves with yours. His hand slips under your shirt again, this time bolder, fingers spanning across your ribs and inching higher until his knuckles brush the curve of your breast.

You gasp softly, and he pulls back just enough to murmur, “Off.”

You sit up just enough to grab the hem of your shirt, tugging it over your head in one smooth pull, your hair mussed from the friction. He watches the fabric fall to the floor, then looks at you.

“You’re so fucking pretty," he breathes.

You roll your eyes automatically, even though your face is already burning. “Shut up.”

“I’m serious,” he says, and his voice drops low. “You have no idea what you do to me.”

His lips part and he kisses along your sternum — slow, wet presses of his mouth that trail up and then out, over the swell of one breast, then the other.

You inhale sharply when his mouth grazes the sensitive skin beside your nipple, and his eyes flick up at the sound, pupils blown. He kisses lower, then higher again, murmuring against your skin, “Can’t believe I went a week without this.”

The vibration of his voice right against your skin makes you arch, and he meets you halfway, grinding down slow and deliberate, like he knows exactly what you’re chasing and wants to stretch it out just to watch you squirm.

Your hands curl into his shoulders, nails biting down just enough to make him grunt softly into your skin. He rolls his hips again, slow and heavy, and the pressure against your core has your breath catching in your throat.

“Koo,” you whine out.

He pulls back just enough to look at you, lips pink and wet, hair falling into his eyes. He grins, crooked and hot and deeply pleased with himself.

“Yeah, baby?” he asks, and his voice is pure sin.

You glare, but your thighs shift open under him anyway.

“Please.”

He hums, satisfied, and starts working his way lower. Every kiss is wet and unhurried. Down your chest, across your stomach. His hands follow, smoothing over your ribs, down to your hips, dragging the waistband of your pants just slightly with them. His thumbs hook in the fabric, pausing right above your pelvis.

He looks up at you, smug and dark-eyed.

“Gonna let me take these off?”

He's so annoying you're gonna kill him. “Do I look like I’m stopping you?”

“No,” he murmurs, pressing a kiss just below your navel, “but I like hearing you say it.”

You huff, fingers threading into his hair again. “Take them off, Kook.”

He eases them down slowly — too slowly — dragging the fabric down your legs while his mouth follows in a path of heat and pressure. He kisses your hipbone, your inner thigh, every patch of skin he uncovers like it’s something sacred. When your panties go next, he makes a quiet sound in the back of his throat — more reverent than smug this time.

You’re already wet, already aching, and from the way his eyes flicker as he takes you in, he fucking knows it.

“Fuck,” he mutters. “You’re soaked. You missed me that much?”

You exhale hard, cheeks hot. “Shut up and do something about it.”

He grins again, slower this time. “Anything you want.”

His hands grip your thighs and spread them further apart, and before you can say another word, his mouth is on you.

The first swipe of his tongue is long, and delibirate. You jerk at the contact, a broken sound slipping from your lips, and he groans like he’s the one falling apart. His hands tighten on your hips, holding you in place, and does it again.

Every movement of his tongue is practiced and precise. He starts slow, almost gentle, licking through your folds with a kind of focus that makes your head spin. Your thighs threaten to close around his head, but he pushes them apart with ease, never breaking rhythm.

Your hands move to the back of his head, gripping tight. His tongue circles your clit once, then again, and the third time he sucks it between his lips. You try to stifle a moan, but it slips from your lips anyway.

He pulls back just enough to speak, breath hot on your skin.

“Keep making those sounds, baby,” he murmurs, voice wrecked. “Wanna hear every fucking thing I do to you.”

He movements turn faster, his mouth messy and hot and relentless. You’re already close, the build-up sharp and climbing, and he can feel it. One of his hands slips lower, spreading you open further with his thumb, and his tongue drags in tighter circles.

You’re writhing, panting, toes curling into the sheets. Your fingers tug at his hair, your spine arching off the bed.

“Fuck— Kook—” you gasp, head thrown back.

He groans again, the sound vibrating straight through your pussy. He doubles down, mouth moving faster, and when your hips start to stutter, erratic and desperate, he presses his hand over your stomach, grounding you.

“You’re gonna come for me?” he murmurs against you, mouth slick with you. “Gonna let me taste it?”

You nod frantically, unable to speak, your whole body wound tight and ready to snap.

He presses his mouth against you again, lips sucking against your clit, and the feeling has you squirming with pleasure.

“Kook—” your voice breaks open as you come hard against his mouth.

He moans, but his movements don't stop.

Your body arches helplessly, heels digging into the bed, one hand fisted in the sheets, the other still tangled in his hair as you ride out the wave. You’re gasping, blinking hard, your heart trying to punch through your ribs.

Only when your legs start to tremble uncontrollably does he finally pull back.

His lips are slick and swollen, jaw damp, hair messy from where you’ve been gripping it. And he looks wrecked — eyes heavy-lidded, pupils blown wide, like just being between your thighs has undone something in him.

He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, then drags his lips slowly up your inner thigh, leaving lazy kisses in his wake.

You’re still catching your breath, staring at the ceiling like your soul just left your body, when he plants a final kiss on the inside of your knee and murmurs, “Yeah. I’m never ghosting you again.”

You let out a breathless laugh, too blissed out to be mad. “You better not.”

“After that?” he says, crawling back up your body, slow and unhurried. “I’d be clinically insane.”

He settles over you again, pressing a warm, open-mouthed kiss to your stomach, then another between your breasts, then finally your mouth. You taste yourself on his tongue, and when he groans against your lips, it sends a fresh jolt of heat straight through you.

His body is flush against yours, his clothed cock thick and heavy where it presses against your thigh. You let your hands trail down his chest slowly to tug at the denim loops of his jeans.

"Want these off," you mumble against his lips.

He smiles and presses one last kiss to your mouth before he leans back onto his knees. His hands go to his belt, and you watch the way his fingers fumble for just a second.

He gets the buckle undone, then the zipper, the sound louder than it should be in your quiet bedroom. You watch as he shucks them down, boxers and all, and your breath catches slightly at the sight of him — flushed and hard and achingly ready.

“Better?” he asks, voice low.

You nod, breath shallow, and he’s already crawling back over you. The heat of him sinks into your skin as his body settles between your thighs, bare now.

Your legs part without hesitation.

His weight, the press of his chest to yours, the familiar scent of him wrapped in something raw and new — it all hits at once, and your whole body shivers.

He’s warm everywhere. The kind of warmth that soaks into your bones and makes you ache for more.

His hands slide along your arms until they find yours where they’re resting above your head. He threads his fingers through yours and presses them gently into the pillow, pinning you there. His eyes search yours, and you feel the first brush of him between your legs, just the tip, teasing the edge of you.

He doesn’t move yet. Just rests there, eyes locked on yours.

“You okay?” he murmurs, voice low and thick, like he’s hanging on by a thread.

You don’t answer — not with words. You just tilt your hips up, welcoming him in with nothing but a look.

He pushes in slow — painfully slow — each inch dragging fire across your nerves as your body stretches to take him. Your mouth falls open in a silent gasp, your fingers clenching around his. When he’s fully buried inside you, he stills completely.

“Fuck,” he breathes, forehead dropping to yours. “You feel… unreal.”

You can’t speak — your body’s too full, too wrecked already — so you kiss him instead. Slow and sweet and a little desperate. Your hips rock up, seeking more.

He groans into your mouth, finally starting to move, and every thrust is so fucking deep. It’s not rushed or frantic. It’s him savouring you, like he wants to remember how this feels with every part of himself.

His hands stay tight around yours, anchoring you both to the bed, to each other.

The rhythm builds, a slow burn that spreads everywhere, and between kisses you catch the way he looks at you — like he’s seeing something he’s afraid to lose. Like there’s something he wants to say but can’t yet.

“You were supposed to beg,” you manage to murmur against his mouth, breathless. “Grovel a little.”

That crooked smile curls against your lips. “My bad, baby,” he murmurs. “You can make me beg next time.”

You raise an eyebrow. “You’re gonna regret that.”

He shifts his hips, thrusting deeper, and your breath leaves you in a ragged gasp.

“You promise?”

The challenge in his voice is smug, but his eyes are dark and glassy, his control hanging by a thread. You whimper in response, thighs tightening around his waist, and he dips his head to your throat, dragging his lips along your pulse like it’s the only thing tethering him to earth.

He starts to move with more purpose now, making you feel every second of it. His cock grinds into that spot that makes your vision blur, and your whole body tenses, fingers squeezing his like a lifeline.

The moan you let out is shameless, high and wrecked, when he tilts his hips just right — again and again, like he’s carving his name into your body from the inside.

“Right there?” he murmurs, already knowing. His hand slips between your bodies, thumb finding your clit with the kind of confidence that only comes from knowing you — every reaction, every sound. “God, you’re so fucking wet. You always get like this for me?”

“Koo—” His name slips out broken, a warning and a plea wrapped in one.

“I’ve got you,” he whispers, voice ragged, forehead pressed to yours. His thrusts get rougher now, faster, the rhythm losing polish but gaining intensity. “Let me have you, baby. Come again for me.”

The words send a bolt of heat straight to your core, your whole body winding tight. His mouth crashes against yours before you can respond, tongue tangling with yours, greedy and open and honest in all the ways his words still aren’t.

When he pulls back, he’s panting, “You feel like heaven, fuck.”

You can’t even process it — not now, not when his rhythm stutters and his hips slam harder, each thrust jolting a cry from your throat. Your legs are trembling, your grip bruising where it clings to him, and you can feel the knot in your stomach tighening.

“That’s it,” he groans, watching your face like it’s the only thing that matters. “Let go for me. Let me feel you.”

You bury your face in his shoulder, teeth catching on his skin as your orgasm crashes over you. Your body locks up, thighs clenching, and you cry out his name. His hand squeezes yours back, holding you through it.

Your walls grip him tight, and he groans loud against your skin, hips faltering. “Fuck— shit—”

He thrusts once more before spilling into you with a broken sound, voice rasping your name like a prayer.

His whole body shudders as he comes, arms locked tight around you like he needs you to stay exactly where you are — here, under him, around him, real. His forehead drops to your shoulder, damp curls brushing your skin as he exhales, long and shaky.

Neither of you move right away. The air between you is thick with heat and breath and a comforting silence.

Eventually though, he shifts just enough to press a kiss to your collarbone. Then another, softer.

His hand slides along your waist, fingertips brushing lazy patterns into your skin. You hum under your breath — not a word, just a sound — and he responds by kissing your shoulder again.

Your legs are still tangled together. His body still half-draped over yours. There’s a mess between your thighs and sweat clinging to your skin, and you should probably say something, anything — but there’s something sweet about the silence now. It’s soft. Unspoken. Peaceful, in a weirdly intimate way.

He shifts again, easing out of you with a quiet groan, and you wince a little at the loss.

“Sorry,” he murmurs, running a hand gently over your thigh like an apology.

“It’s fine,” you breathe, eyes closed, chest still rising and falling too fast.

He doesn’t go far. Just rolls to the side, still close enough that his leg stays pressed against yours, and reaches for the blanket to pull it up over you both. He tugs you into his chest like second nature, burying his nose in your hair, his hand stroking absently up and down your arm.

“You good?” he asks softly, lips brushing your temple.

“Yeah,” you say, quieter now. “You?”

He pauses. Then he nods against your skin. “Yeah. More than.”

You lay there like that for a while, heartbeats evening out. He’s still drawing shapes on your skin — fingertips slow, mindless — and you smile to yourself, warmth blooming low in your stomach.

“So,” you murmur eventually, voice still hoarse. “What now? We high-five and call it a night?”

He huffs a laugh into your hair. “I mean, I wouldn’t say no to a high-five.”

You laugh, nudging him with your shoulder. “Cocky.”

“Confident,” he corrects, grinning. “But really—” He shifts a little so he can see your face, one hand reaching up to tuck a stray strand of hair behind your ear. “If we’re doing this, I wanna do it right.”

You blink, caught off-guard by the sudden sincerity in his voice. “Do what right?”

He raises an eyebrow, like it should be obvious. “Us.”

There’s a pause. You look at him, and he looks at you, and it’s terrifying and sweet all at once.

“I really like you,” he says, quieter this time. “And I’m not just saying that because I just got laid.” He cracks a small smile. “Though, to be fair, that was mind-blowing.”

You snort. “So humble.”

“I’m serious,” he says, nudging your nose with his. “I’ll take you out. I’ll plan dumb dates. I’ll be obnoxiously charming and show up with flowers. I’ll be— like— a gentleman, or whatever.”

You give him a look. “You should’ve done all that before you fucked me.”

His grin spreads. “Yeah, well. Guess I got the order wrong. You gonna hold that against me?”

“Maybe,” you say, lips twitching.

“I’ll make it up to you,” he says, fingers brushing your cheek. “You’ll see. I’ll be so romantic it’ll make you want to punch me.”

“I already want to punch you.”

“And yet,” he says smugly, pulling you closer, “you’re still in my bed.”

“This is my bed, dumbass.”

He pauses. “Okay, fair. But I am naked in it. With you.”

You roll your eyes, but the smile on your face won’t go away. His arm tightens around your waist, and you let yourself relax into it — into him. For once, it doesn’t feel like something to second-guess.

He kisses your forehead, then your cheek, then the corner of your mouth.

You tuck your face into his neck and sigh. “You better bring the good flowers. Like the ones that don’t die in two days.”

“Oh, so now you’re picky?”

“You said dates and flowers. I’m holding you to it.”

“Noted,” he says, fingers threading into your hair. “I’m gonna be so disgustingly good to you.”

You laugh softly into his skin.

And he just holds you tighter.

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differenteagletragedy · 5 months ago

Text

Price gets shot, it's not super serious, like there's no "will he make it?" conversation, but it's bad enough for him to require surgery, which he is NOT happy about. Keeps insisting it'll be fine, he'll heal up, he always does, but when it becomes obvious that he can't just walk it off this time, he gives in and gets transported to a hospital.

And he hates it, every single second of it. Having to wear a hospital gown, laying in an uncomfortable bed, people poking and prodding at him all day. On top of it all, he's not allowed to smoke, and he ends up wishing the bullet would have just taken him out, because hell would be better than whatever this is.

But then he has the surgery, and he's taken back to his room to recover. Everything's a bit hazy from the drugs, he's trying to get his bearings, and then you come in -- a pretty little nurse he hadn't seen before. He doesn't say anything, not yet, but he notes how soft your fingers feel as you take his vitals and check his wound, and how good you smell when you lean in closer to see it.

The next day, you're back, and he's a little high on the painkillers they've been giving him, but he's more or less back to his usual self. Just a little looser with the meds, you know. He speaks a little freer.

"Haven't seen you in here before, dove," he says gruffly when you come in. "Would've remembered that fat arse."

You laugh -- it's not your first rodeo with a heavily medicated patient -- and tell him, "I was on vacation. I'm back now, so you're stuck with me during the days until you get better."

He gives you a little grin, a slight little curve of his lips behind his beard that you can't help but find a little charming, and replies, "I might end up staying sick then, if it means I get to feel your hands on me."

"You're not sick," you remind him playfully, going over his monitors. "You got shot."

"Now, now, pet, you might want to check again, I'm not so sure I haven't come down with something in here."

You roll your eyes, still grinning, and move to check his forehead with your hand to humor him. When you do, he lightly grabs your wrist, moving it to his mouth to place a soft kiss on it.

Again, this isn't the first time a patient's gotten fresh with you, and normally you'd shut it down immediately. But there's a glint in his pretty blue eyes, a softness in his touch that makes you hesitate. He sees his, and that grin widens into a real smile, one that crinkles the corners of his eyes, making him look even more handsome.

"What do you say, doll? Time for a sponge bath?"

#something about price being the skeeviest patient OOF #just a heavily medicated man getting handsy with the one hot nurse #and it's kinda gross but also kinda ....#captain john price #captain price #call of duty #call of duty price #cod john price #cod price #john price #john price x reader #john price x you #captain price x reader #captain price x you

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aninipanin1 · 3 months ago

Note

manager reader stubbornly going to work despite being sick, and the masters (+ego if possible👀👀👀) arguing over who gets to take care of reader, and an additional time too if you can😕😕💓💓🙏🙏🙏 I LOVE UR WORKS PLS DO MORE ILYYY

-I'll be "lavinho's biggest fan💯"

STUBBORN

Notes: Oof I get this a lot as someone who gets sick so easily. AND WELCOME ANON! Hope you enjoy!

Sniff

Your reflex kicked into sniff as you zoned out, staring on the walls of your small room/office in the facility. You found yourself still sitting on your bed, not finding the usual strength to immediately stand up and start the day.

You are usually the first one to wake up and move around the facility (also the last one to sleep except for Ego, but he doesn't sleep, so), however, today the usual drive to stand up a do your work is gone.

It was mainly because you had a very painful and distracting headache, along with a cold. The clogged nose, sore throat, heavy body, and headache all add up to prevent you from even standing up from your position.

"Ugh...I can't not be sitting here..."

Knowing full well that the most basic things around the facility, such as the uniforms, food machine preparations, scheduling, and other miscellaneous chores are your responsibilities and the fact that the players would probably not survive without you for a day, you forced yourself to stand up.

Putting your hair in a lazy hairstyle along with your tracksuit, you started to move around the facility and doing preparations before anyone woke up like always.

Sniff

Your nose was clogged as hell, which was uncomfortable, adding to that was the fact you had to always dig deep in your pockets to get a clean tissue was pissing you off.

Your patience was definitely shorter than normal, all because of the fact you are not feeling well. And at that, you should have known not to stand up.

"Y/n-san! Can you help me- Oh, are you okay?"

Otoya ran from the field about to take off his cleats to ask you how to fix the soles until he saw how pale and weak you looked. He stopped in his question, a little worried that you do not look like you usually do.

You were usually active and full of vigour. Running around the large facility, facing responsibilities head on with a kind countenance and a clear want for the project to succeed.

However, now you looked like a zombie arisen from the grave. Lips and skin paler than usual, eyebags very prominent, and the light in your eyes a little dimmer like you are about to fall down.

"Hm? Yes, Otoya? Do you need anything?"

"Um, no, it's fine. You should rest, Y/n-san. You don't look too good."

"Oh, no, no. I'm fine. Uh, I already drank medicine and all." You shook your head with a smile, but you can not lie. You feel so dizzy that even moving your head a bit makes you feel nauseous.

"Y/N-SAN!! YOU'RE HEREEEE!"

A familiar voice celebrated before you feel two tight arms wrapping around you, before being swayed around.

Normally, you loved Bachira's energetic personality and warm hugs. But, the movement and sudden loudness made your headache and dizziness worse, your nausea more prominent, and the fatigue in your muscles heavier.

"Bachira, I don't think-"

"Oi, blondie. Stop that."

Just as Otoya was about to reprimand the Bachira, Lavinho stepped in and dragged the boy by the collar of his overalls, his tone and face a little more serious.

He has been observing you for a while now, and seeing you near on swaying instead of walking definitely got him worried. He ran to your side, hand supporting your lower back.

"I think you should take a rest for today, cariño."

"Oh, no, no. 'M fine, Lavinho-san. No biggie!" However, your throat decided to betray you, letting out a cough, your eyes tearing up due to the impact of it.

Lavinho wrapped an arm around you before helping you wipe the tear that formed on the waterline of your eyes as gently as he can.

"You okay?"

"Yep...I'll be fine..." You managed to let out, breaking from the Spanish master's hold as you exited the field, waving them goodbye.

"I'll be at the English Stratum if you all need anything!"

"Wait-!"

But you were already gone, leaving everyone worried.

"Will she be okay?" Bachira inquired, to which everyone just shook their heads off.

"No. But you know how Y/n-san is when it comes to her work. She works hard to prove her worth to not just everybody else but to her self as well." Otoya answered.

On your way to the next stratum, you feel your vision blur even more, making your body sway even more. When the doors to the field open, you find yourself holding unto the sides of the door.

"Y/n-san!" You can hear one of the players greet you, but you could not focus on anything but the ache of your body.

Finally, as if your system wanted to spare you from the pain of everything, it finally shut down.

thud

The players all looked in shock as you suddenly fell to the ground, face first on the grassy field. Unmoving, and pale as snow.

"Y/N-SAN!!" All the players immediately ran to where you were.

"Y/n-san!! Are you okay?!" Reo said as he helped Chigiri position you better. The redhead turns you around and makes you rest your head on his lap.

"WHAT HAPPENED?!" Chris also ran to them, looking at your unconscious form. He put his hand on your forehead and recoiled it the moment he touched it.

"She's burning up!"

"We have to get her to the nurse's office then." Nagi, who was wide awake, stated as the players watch their master carry you princess style out of the field.

"I'll alert the nurse!" Agi said as he rushed off to the halls before Chris. Meanwhile, the players could not find it in themselves to continue training as they ran after them.

"W-what..."

You slowly opened your eyes, groaning and flinching a bit due to the unbearable headache and even more unbearable ache in your joints as you try to stand up from the bed.

"Don't stand up! You need to lie down and rest." You felt a hand rest on your shoulder.

"Chris-san...what...what happened to me? Where am I?" You asked the blonde striker who was sitting beside you on the bed.

"In the nurse office. You fainted earlier because of your fever."

"Oh..." you muttered, playing with the fabric of the blanket. It was not surprising that you are sick, but you are a little embarassed for fainting in front of everyone and having them to help you.

"I'm sorry for the burden-"

But he put his finger on your lips before a smile appeared on his face, fixing the towel on your forehead.

"Don't be. You work too hard for all of us, rest."

"What are you doing here?"

Snuffy just heard of the commotion connected to you, and he found himself walking to the nurses office. But, he stopped the moment he stepped in an intersection, and there he met eye to eye with the other masters.

He could not help the icy cold glare that built in him, and he gave to the other masters. It was not like he was the only one doing it as Lavinho, Chris and even Noa had that look in their eyes that showed they were not happy to see the others.

"Why are you even here? The German Stratum is far from here." Chris said, trying to intimidate Noa. But the number one striker did not budge and instead just answered the question flatly.

"I'm visiting Y/n. She may need assistance." That pissed off Chris while Lavinho just laughed.

"The robot man finally seems to show care, huh? You're just going to scare her off either way, number 1." Lavinho tried to push back with words.

"You two are childish and are taking time away when it is onvious she needs help." Noa clapbacked as he just slightly glared at both Chris and Lavinho.

Mranwhile, Snuffy just went past by the three of them while chuckling.

"You three can continue arguing. I'll be the one to help Y/n instead."

That seemed to alert the two who started the fight as they raced Snuffy, who was already way ahead of them. Meanwhile, Noa just shook his head, muttering about how childish they were and just walked to the nurse's office.

When they all arrived at the same time (except Noa, who arrived a minute later), panting and ready to be the prince charming of the day to you, their eyes widened.

You were a bit surprised at the sudden ruckus at the door. You turned your head to it and found the four master strikers all at the door. A smile found your face as you greeted them as warmly as you can.

"Oh, hello! Um...what were you guys doing..?"

"Nothing!"

"Not much! Not much!" They said, embarassed while glaring at the spot beside your bed. Instead of it being empty like they hoped it was, it was already occupied by a certain glasses wearing bowl cut director of Blue Lock.

Ego heard of you being sick from Anri. And the moment he heard it, he heaved a sigh and just walked out from his room, which surprised Anri but just shook it off, a mischievous smile on her face.

Currently, he was the one who cooked you a warm bowl or ramen (he staved off from putting anything unhealthy in it and put eggs instead) as well as a fresh and washed bowl of fruits from the canteen.

He may be a little grumpy when you sheepishly ask him of something, but he was kind enough (surprisingly) to do it. He had even replaced the rag on your forehead with another one, as well as help you sit up on the bed to eat.

"What is he doing here?" Snuffy asked with a strained smile, as his eyes sharpened at Ego who did not seem to care at all, just adjusting his square shaped glasses.

"Oh, Ego-san was kind enough to visit me and help me get the things I need to be! He said he can work from here for a few days, and Anri-san will work out the rest around the facility!" You said, voice still rough and fatigued.

"So rest, you idiot. Your overworking is not helping your damn case. Who in the hell starts work at 5 AM and finishes at 12 AM, you stupid girl." Ego exasperated before flicking your nose with his long fingers which made you flinch.

After that, Ego turned to the four masters and glared at them.

"You four can get back to those kids. I can handle things from here." He said, as his cold eyes did not seem to match the small, cheshire like grin on his face as if he was mocking them.

'I win this time.'

ADDITIONAL TIME:

BASTARD MUNCHEN

"And there he goes again." Yukimiya commented as everyone's eyes watched Noa exit the field to head off somewhere.

"He's probably visiting Y/n-san again." Hiori snickered, remembering that the masters (as well as Ego) made a pact to separate the time on who will nurse you until you got better.

"It's kind of surprising to see him invested in this thing. He's usually just like this with football." Kaiser rolled his eyes at the master, finding him pathetic for seemingly groveling to someone. And even more pathetic for thinking he can EVER match with someone like you.

"The nurses can't even do her damn job because of those five." Hiori remembered visiting you. And the poor nurse was just off to the side, sweatdropping as Chris Prince fed you with your lunch when it was obviously her job to take care of anyone sick in the facility.

"Hey. She can't complain. At least she gets paid without having to actually work." Isagi added, sitting beside them and sipping on his tumbler. It was a bit of a struggle to have to refill their water bottles themselves since you were not available. But, hey. At least you are getting your well deserved rest!

"Of course you would say that, Yoichi. You sound like a manipulative bastard." Kaiser commented with a haughty laugh before walking off, which pissed the raven haired striker.

"Come say that to my face, you asshole!"

BARCHA

"NO! I'LL TAKE CARE OF HER!"

"TOO LATE BLONDIE!" Lavinho laughed as the door automatically slum shut on Bachira's face as the master ran off to the nurse's office.

What were they doing? Well, Bachira was less than happy to find out it was the masters taking care of you instead of the nurse. So, he would always argue with the old man to leave you alone and that he will take care of you instead.

But the master has already learned the art of escaping from the boy and will always succeed in running off to you, much to Bachira's chagrin.

"It's kinda funny how pathetic they all are for Y/n-san." Otoya snickered like a gossip girl. It was always entertaining to watch the masters act like protective boyfriends to you as if they think it will make you less oblivious and it will make you like one of them more than the others.

"Well, I guess they would not beat the allegations just yet of Y/n-san having them as a harem." Kitsunezato shrugged before returning to practice.

MANSHINE CITY

"I swear, that guy can be irresponsible and unpredictable at times." Chigiri rolled his eyes as he, Reo, and Nagi watched from the cafeteria Chris, who ran past the doors to head to you as if he was not just complaining about being hungry earlier.

"Leave him be. That's the only way he can compete with the other masters anyway when it comes to romance. Eat your food, Nagi." Reo sweatdropped at the white-haired striker that refused to eat.

"Mm...do you really not have any trust on our master to win Y/n-san? I mean...he is succesful and not bad looking." Nagi muttered, lazily opening his mouth to eat a piece of steak. Chigiri laughed at the question while Reo just looked on unimpressed.

"Well, Noa is the number one striker in the world which counts for something, and he is smart and logical to a fault, which is good in a guy. Snuffy is kind and approachable and has that paternal energy that girls love. Lavinho is very popular with the fan girls with his attitude and wild looks. What does Chris have?"

"I swear, you have to be Chris' number one hater." The redhead rolled his eyes while eating his food, a little unsurprised since the beginning, he was always the one opposing any relationship between you and any of the masters, especially his own.

"Puhlease. I just want the best and perfect guy for Y/n-san. A woman like her deserves one who will care and love her unconditionally, none of the immature celebrity bs I hear from the news and see when I am in rich people events."

UBERS

"Never mind, he's just as worst as all of them." Barou commented after Snuffy just left the field to head to the nurse's office. Aiku laughed at this and just shrugged.

"Hey, a man in love does not care about how pathetic he looks."

"What do you know about being in love, you asshole of a playboy?" Niko commented savagely, not even sparing a glance at Aiku who held his chest as if a hypothetical arrow hit his heart at the remark.

"Hey! I can love too. What do you think of me, a robot?"

"Nope, just a ruthless bastard." Niko retorted.

"A disrespectful jerk to woman." Barou added.

"Hey! Can you two stop bullying me." Aiku said, a little bit offended. Barou just sighed and turn his face away back to the door.

"Hey! It doesn't matter... I will give all my teeth to Ms. Y/n if I could to show my gratitude hehe~ I have never seen Snuffy that alive before!" Lorenzo laughed like a maniac, twisting his body like a snake at the grumpy Barou.

"Get your disgusting chompers away from Y/n-san, you disgusting rat."

PXG

"I feel kinda left out and not at the same time." Loki said with a confused smile when he finally found out the reason why there are times where some of the other masters were not around was because for the past few days they have been taking care of you.

"Don't be! It's better to watch as an audience than participate." Charles laughed like a giddy teen who is involved in a gossip session.

"I know. Kinda funny how pathetic those grown men can be." Julian just shrugged.

"Hey! They're old men about to expire. they're desperate for love." Shidou laughed alongside Charles. Loki knew that although it could be true, it was not the reason why they acted that way. He genuinely thinks that they feel deeper than attraction nor a necessity to find love soon.

He had interacted with them before, and they were never like this, certainly. So they definitely feel something for you if they act like this.

"Who cares anyways? They have to try their damn hardest to even qualify for Y/n-san." Rin said, before walking away to the showers. Loki just laughed at the comment before nodding his head.

"Yeah... they really do."

Blue Lock is WRITTEN by Kaneshiro Muneyuki and ILLUSTRATED by Nomura Yusuke. All credits to the both of them.

#aninipanin1 #blue lock #bllk #bllk x reader #blue lock x manager!reader #blue lock x reader #bluelockxreader #lavinho x reader #marc snuffy x reader #lavinho #marc snuffy #noel noa x reader #noel noa #chris prince #chris prince x reader #ego jinpachi #ego x reader

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scorpioriesling · 4 months ago

Note

i need some smut with liam mairi. specifically maybe based to the concept of bed chem by sabrina carpenter 👀 we know he’s the cute guy with the wide blue eyes and the big bad mmm 🫠

I Bet We'd Have Really Good...

･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *

Pairing(s): Liam x reader

Warning(s): 18+, mdni, nsfw, sex, p in v, fingering

Summary: Everyone knew how threshing typically went; however, no one could have prepared you for how it would actually go this time around.

SR’s Note: Not me LITERALLY planning to use this for Kinktober -- LOL. I was going to use Lucien, though. Nonetheless, I believe Liam is quite literally the perfect candidate for this type of story. Enjoy!!

Tags: @mellowmusings @rcarbo1 @lilah-asteria @kitsunetori @velarisdusk @nctsawrus (inbox me or comment if you'd like to be added!)

･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *

Initiation was rough.

The parapet? Hell.

The first few months of challenges? Hell.

Training? Hell.

However... there was an entire new Hell, meant to scare and inspire riders during the hardest challenge they'd face yet.

Threshing.

"We haven't even met all of our yearmates yet," your new friend Malea mutters, crossing her arms over her chest. "How do they expect us to meet and bond with a dragon? A mere stranger to us?"

You sigh, looking out across the quad full of other riders.

"I mean... at least we've met some of them, right?" You shrug. "There's Violet, and Ridoc, remember him? Funny guy?"

Malea chuckles, her eyes locking on the brunette across the way.

"Yeah, real funny."

You bump her shoulder and she looks to you.

"Met me too, right?" You raise your eyebrows. She rolls her eyes.

"Yesssss," she groans, shaking her head. "I suppose you're right."

You shrug. "So I guess bonding a dragon won't be that hard, right?"

* ✧･ﾟ: *

The following morning, you followed routine as usual.

Get up.

Shower.

Brush teeth.

Ponytail.

I was in a cheer dress, the day that we met

We were both in a rush, we talked for a sec

You're friending me up, so we could connect

You nod along with the newest Sabrina Carpenter song playing from your phone, brushing back the last few flyaways up into your ponytail.

And what are the odds? You send me a text

And now the next, thing I know I'm like

Manifest that you're oversized

You click the pause button as Malea bangs her fist on your shared bathroom door, and look yourself over one last time.

"Y/N! C'mon, its almost ten -- we need to be down there!"

You loose a breath, reaching for the doorhandle. Tugging it open, you look into her worried hazel eyes. She places a tentative hand on your shoulder, faking a reassuring smile.

"We'll both bond dragons, the strongest there are." She affirms. "C'mon, say it with me."

You take a deep breath, trying hard to repress the fear clawing at you from the inside.

"We'll both bond dragons," you repeat. "Strongest there are."

* ✧･ﾟ: *

The flight field was full of eager riders, all dressed in black. The stark contrast of color against the lush green grass, the early sun making the air around you more energized than ever.

You gulped. This was it, this was truly it. You'd either bond a dragon today, or you wouldn't.

I digress, got me scrolling like

Out of breath, got me going like

Oooh

Silly song, clouding your thoughts. You literally flinch when Malea places an excited hand on your forearm.

"Hey! Just think, after we bond our dragons, we get to go to that really sick party tonight," she bounces with excitement. You look incredulously at her. You were literally about to go through Threshing, and all she could think about was the party tonight?

"Yeah, uh, I don't know if I'll go to that, Lea," you say with uncertainty. Out of the corner of your eye, you see a flash of green among the nearly trees. Malea sighs, chattering behind you.

You look closer toward the trees, the shimmering scales among them catching the light again. Your eyes widen, and you take a small step toward the forrest.

"Y/N, c'mon you know it'll be so fun, we can meet all the other first years like you said..."

Her voice faded out as you continued on your path, venturing closer toward the treeline. You squinted, peering in as much as you could but finding nothing.

Step. Step. Step.

Who's the cute boy

With the white jacket

And the thick accent? Like,

You hum as you venture further, the song still playing through your mind.

Ooh

Maybe it's all in my head, but-

Your breath catches, the tune halting in your mind. You inch closer to one of the trees, trying to calm the racing of your heart.

You peer between two thick oaks, watching as a shimmer of orange stalks nearer.

No, no no.

Your blodd pumps fast, making it hard to hear. You strain to listen, but the sound of crunching grass beneath the huge beast's claws is unmistakeable. You bite your lip, fear wrapping its razor sharp claws around your heart.

Taking a daring glance around the tree, you freeze.

Its eyes lock onto yours.

You let out a single breath.

The huge dragon blows out a stream of fire, its mouth curling upward as though it is smirking at you. Your breaths come out short, ragged even.

It charges.

You inhale as quickly as you can, running as fast as you can away from the huge creature. You're on a path, running running running...

Deeper into the forrest.

Oh, shit.

Heat blasts behind you, and you don't dare to turn back. You know that the orange is still chasing you, which only propels you further. The beast roars behind you, and you squeak in fear. How would anyone find you out here, alone in the woods?

Burned to a crisp, likely.

You pass tree after tree, continuing on as the ground shakes. He's getting closer, and your heart lurches when your foot catches on a thick root. You are sent flying, crashing to the dirt path.

You gasp, the wind completely knocked from you. When you push yourself up, you wince at the searing pain blooming across your cheek. There's no time to dwell on it -- quickly flipping over, your vision fills with the image of the feisty orange charging you.

You scramble back, kicking against the dirty moss-ridden ground in a flightless attempt to get away. You squeeze your eyes shut, preparing for the worst, when suddenly...

"Back! Stay the Hell back!"

Your eyes widen, the rush of adrenaline spearing through you as you scramble to your feet. The orange's eyes are no longer focused on you, but rather the blonde male before it, weilding a rather sharp sword.

"Don't make me use this," he shouts, and the dragon breathes out a short spurt of fire. The blonde swings the blade, nearly slashing the beast's neck. It rears its head, preparing for another blast before-

It starts slowly backing away.

You finally release the breath you'd been holding, watching it's retreating form through the trees. It seemed to focus on something behind you, something... else.

You turn, breathing coming more and more shallow before you spot it.

A large, red dragon. It slowly stalked closer to you.

You yelped, stumbling back once more and finding yourself yet again, on the ground. Backing up against a tree, you clamp a hand over your mouth.

But, the red daggertail walks right past you.

The blonde finally turns, and you catch a glimpse of his face.

His, handsome, face, that is.

His gaze focuses squarely on the approaching being, his shoulders rising and falling before he sheathes his sword across his back. You'd half expected him to keep it out, considering what just happened, but instead... he smiles.

You completely ignore the tingle in your tummy as you watch the red dragon walk to him, bowing his head in greeting. The handsome man laughs, full and hearty as he reaches for it, extending a hand to brush kindly over his nose.

Your heart warms at the sight -- so this is bonding. You can't help the small smile on your face, watching a fellow rider find it's match.

When it has been a few minutes too long, you feel like you're intruding, you brace your hands on the ground. Preparing to stand, you jump when a voice is heard just before you.

"You alright?"

You gasp, your gaze jerking up to meet the most gorgeous, icy blue one you'd ever seen. The blonde had walked to you, back turned to his newly bonded dragon. Nodding, he extends a hand to you.

"Good," he continues. "I'm Liam. Mairi."

You work to control your breathing, your voice coming out shakier than you'd like.

"Y/N," you offer, and take his hand firmly in yours. Expecting a handshake, you grip tight -- however, he holds your fingers in his lightly, turning your palm to the ground as he brings the back of your hand to his lips.

The blush spreading across your face is downright shameful.

"Y/N," he repeats, dropping your hand and looking you in the eyes. "I don't think we've met."

You shake your head slowly, your gaze lost in his endless ocean of a stare. He chuckles, flashing his brilliant smile -- and the tingles in your tummy return.

"Have you... bonded, yet?" He asks. You straighten, the tingling sensation gone again as you recall what you were actually supposed to be doing out here.

"N-no," you stammer, embarassment heating your skin. Liam only shrugs, placing a guiding hand on your lower back as he steps toward the path once more.

"Don't worry," he encourages. "I'm sure you'll find one -- maybe not all the way out here, but." He grins, and you look up at him. He gives you a reassuring smile, walking alongside you as his dragon trails behind.

"Might have a better chance out in the open, ya know. On the flight feild?" You huff, and he looks down to you. "What were you doin' all the way out here, anyways?"

You recount the events that had led up to you being so far in the forrest, and as you retell it... you can't help but feel the pang of disappointment. Telling this handsome, fearless male about your encounter with a dragon -- and running from it?

Your stomach churned.

"That's when you came along," you finish the retelling. "Thank you, by the way." You look to the ground, and Liam's steps slow.

"We're almost to the edge of the forrest," he says, looking between you and the treeline. "Are you ready?"

You loose a long breath, the small of your back still ablaze where his hand had rested.

"Ready as ever."

He flashed you one more look of reassurance, before stepping out into the sunlight. You followed, your gaze catching on the tones muscles concealed beneath his black tee.

In that moment, you could only think about one thing.

I bet we'd have really good bed chem.

* ✧･ﾟ: *

"Yeah, and he totally wasn't interested at first, but all I had to do was flash these guys and Aotrom totally wanted me!"

You chuckled as you chewed on your straw, listening to Ridoc's retelling of his threshing experience. You watch as he flexes his muscles, and girls near him laugh. Out of the corner of your eye you saw Malea roll her eyes, bringing her cup to her lips and taking a long sip.

Chatter continued around you, busybodies interacting with one another under the neon lights of the club. Mostly first years had come, but you'd spotted a few second and even thirds mingling with the crowd.

How you pick me up, pull 'em down, turn me 'round, oh, it just makes sense

How you talk so sweet when you're doing bad things

That's bed chem

How you're looking at me yeah I know what that means and

I'm obsessed

Are you free next week?

I bet we'd have really good...

You nod along as the speakers blast your favorite song, and Malea leans in close to shout in your ear.

"Hey! I think I see that guy you were telling me about earlier," she yells, and your head swivels in the direction of her line of sight. "Is that him?"

The blonde hair. Radiant smile. Overjoyous laugh at something his friend just said.

Yeah. It's him.

"That's... yeah, uh..." You trail off. His arms bulge beneath the black longsleeve he wears -- a nod to how muscular he is. His cargo pants sit perfectly on his hips, and your eyes track his movements as he runs a hand through his hair...

"Whatcha thinkin' about?" Malea teases.

Come right on me

I mean-

"Camraderie," you chuckle nervously. “You know… friendship and all that.” She raises an eyebrow at you, and you take a large gulp of your drink.

"Sure." She shrugs, and you shake the thoughts from your head. Ridoc makes his way toward the two of you, his gaze mainly focused on your red-head counterpart.

Said you’re not in my time zone but you wanna be

"Oh, where art though? Why not uponeth me?" He teases, earning himself yet another Malea-famous eyeroll.

"In your dreams, Ridoc." She sighs, looking up at him. "I only date second years."

You frown at her. That was downright untrue.

Ridoc laughs, leaning in to speak directly to her.

"Well good thing I fuck like a third."

You giggle as her cheeks pinken, her wide-eyed gaze up at your yearmate.

"I see it in my mind, Malea -- c'mon, lets fulfil the prophecy." He winks at her, and she shakes her head, tipping her cup back once more. Ridoc makes to depart, but you catch his forearm before he can make it too far.

"Hey, maybe you know... who's the cute guy, with the wide blue eyes?" You ask him, pointing to Liam across the way. And the big bad mmm...

Stop.

"Oh, Liam?" He says, catching sight of the other male across the way. "Yeah, his family was part of the rebellion or something. I know he's like, best friends with our Wingleader, but. Yeah. Cool dude, I guess." He shrugs. "Beat the shit out of me at challenges, if I'm honest."

"I know I sound a bit redundant, but," you continue. "Is he... single?"

Ridoc laughs, side-eyeing you. "Why don't you go find out yourself? I think after a successful day of bonding a dragon, the least you could do is chat the guy up."

That's exactly. What you were afraid of.

* ✧･ﾟ: *

Another hour and three more drinks in, you were ready to call it quits. However, finding Malea on the dance floor was not as simple a task as one may think.

You searched as best as you could, that is while stumbling through the crowd. It seemed everywhere you looked, she just wasn't there. Your eyes began to blur as you took in each and every face around you -- some familiar, some not. The more and more you weaved and turned on the dance floor...

"Woah there! You alright?"

Your stomach lurched as the familiar voice sounded behind you. Two strong arms gently wrapped around your waist holding you upright, and you couldn't help but lean into the culprit.

"I believe you already asked me that today."

Liam laughs, his chest rising and falling against your back. He leans in, pulling a strand of hair from your forehead and tucking it behind your ear.

"Cute and funny -- I like it," he says. You crane your neck to look at him, a dumb smile overtaking your face. His cheeks are redder than they were a few hours ago, but you notice the absence of a drink in his hand.

"You don't drink?"

He shrugs.

"Not regularly, but seeing as its nearly midnight, my Wingleader stepped in and suggested the cutoff." He jabs his thumb over his shoulder in Xaden's direction. The third year doesn't notice; he's too caught up in the silver-haired girl in front of him.

"Do you drink?"

You continue your smiling, turning to face him fully.

"Tonight I do."

He chuckles, his grip releasing a bit around your waist. You frown, your hands reaching for his forearms to put them back.

"Waitttt," you whine, and his brows raise in amusement. "I like them there."

His grin turns into something... darker, a flicker of something more than attraction passing over his features. You bite your bottom lip, pressing against his chest once more.

He not so subtly glances down at the neckline of your dress -- and, like you'd hoped, a moment later his hard-on is pressing against your stomach.

You wind your arms around his neck, tugging him close so you can whisper in his ear.

"Can I tell you something?"

"Of course."

You giggle. "I bet we'd have really good bed chem."

He sucks in a breath through clenched teeth, pulling back only slightly as his grip on your waist tightens.

"Oooh... you have no idea what you just got yourself into."

* ✧･ﾟ: *

How you pick me up, pull 'em down, turn me 'round, oh, it just makes sense

How you talk so sweet when you're doing bad things

The song continued replaying in your mind as you walked back to your dorm. You'd agreed to meet Liam in 30 minutes, and your dorm being at the very end of the hallway certainly didn't help.

That's bed chem

How you're looking at me yeah I know what that means and

I'm obsessed

Are you free next week?

I bet we'd have really good...

When you finally reached your dorm, you all but texted your friend goodnight before racing around the small joint like a racehorse. She wouldn't see it anyway, she left the club with Ridoc... and you knew what that meant.

The mental checklist ticked off with every task you completed; the cutest lingerie, running a brush through your hair, retouching your makeup...

Not that it mattered. You hoped it'd get ruined anyway.

One spritz of perfume later, and you were out the door, racing down the hall once more.

* ✧･ﾟ: *

You all but skipped to the boy's dorms, delusionally betting that you and him would arrive at the same time. Would his room be hot? Freezing cold? You paused in thought; maybe, he'd set it the perfect temp: 69.

You rounded the corner, finding dorm 15 and taking a deep breath. You really hoped this wouldn't only be better inside your head--

The chuckle you let out surprised you. It was Liam Mairi; surely, whatever happened would be perfect.

His door opened as soon as you walked up to it, and he leaned against the doorway with a lazy smile. He'd already done the honor of removing his shirt; and in your state of mind, your gaze roved over his ripping abs unashamedly.

"Stop oogling me and c'mere already," his voice came out deeper than when you heard it last, and a rush of heat went straight to your core. He reached out, his hand wrapping around your wrist and pulling you inside.

How you pick me up, pull 'em down, turn me 'round, oh, it just makes sense

The room was dark, and sure enough; the perfect temperature. You giggled as he pulled you against him, his hands immediately finding your ass before squeezing.

You squeaked as he walked you to the bed, pushing you down upon it and leaning in to smash his lips onto yours. You groaned, your fingers tangling in his hair as his mouth moved against yours.

He broke away moments later, his fingers finding the hem of your dress and shoving it up to your waist. He sucked in a breath, his gaze lingering on the crotchless panties you so kindly wore for him.

How you talk so sweet when you're doing bad things

"Fuck, baby..." he groaned, his fore and middle fingers parting the lacy garment in search. "Already so wet for me, aren't you, gorgeous?"

That's bed chem

You blushed, though you doubted he could see it in the moonlight. His fingers sank inside of you, so slowly... you moaned in satisfaction. He withdrew them, shoving them back in only a moment later.

"That's a good girl," he cooed, and you bit your bottom lip hard to surpress a moan threatening to break free. He leaned in, his idle thumb swiping across your lower lip before kissing you again. This time, he was more forceful, sliding his tongue in to explore your mouth with intrigue.

You had your own ideas though, as your fingers dipped below his waistband in search of his cock.

Your eyes nearly bulged out of your head when you found it.

"Oh Gods Liam... you're so big-"

He hissed when you started tugging on his length, his head thrown back at the sensation. After a few strokes he looked down at you again, hungrier than ever.

How you're looking at me yeah I know what that means and

I'm obsessed

His hand yanked your fingers off of him, and he slid his from you. In an instant, you were flipped onto your tummy, his fingers yanking your ass into the air. You felt his velvety skin against yours, his own hand fisting his cock a few times as he prepared to fuck you.

"You sure you still want this?"

You nodded, responding quietly.

"Please, Liam. Fuck me good."

He needed no more encouragement.

His long, thick cock thrust into you, so deep that you could only gasp at the feeling. Your pussy was instantly stretched to accomodate his size, and he loosed a breath at the sight before him.

Pulling out halfway, he rammed himself back in -- and again, and again. Small pants erupted from you, your forearms barely holding you upright on the mattress as he continued pounding mercilessly into you.

You arched your back, giving him a new angle to hit and he groaned. His fingers gripped your ass so hard you knew there would be bruises -- but, you didn't quite care.

"Fuck... this pussy was made for me, Y/N," he gritted out, his hips snapping against your ass at a quicker pace. "Fuckin' love how you feel."

You could only gurgle a response as one of his hands reached around your throat, giving a slight squeeze -- just enough that you saw stars.

"Oh God -- Liam, I'm gonna cum--"

You squeezed your eyes shut as pleasure-filled tears slipped out, the sensation of your pussy being absolutely wrecked guiding you to the edge faster than ever before.

"Fuck... oh fuck-"

He yanked his cock out of you, his cum spurting from it only a second later. Your walls clenched and released, the empty feeling inside no match for the orgasm rolling through you. Hot ropes of cum decorated your panties and ass, and Liam stared as he caught his breath behind you.

When you turned to face him, he was reaching for a towel on the floor. You turned back to face the sheets, your chest still rapidly rising and falling. He gently ran the fabric over you, cleaning up the remnants of your prior activities before chucking it to the floor once more.

"As much as I'd love for you to stay just like that," he begins, chuckling. "I think we should probably get some rest."

You giggle, turning to sit on the mattress properly as he got on beside you. He relaxed against the cushion, kicking off the heavy blanket and pulling the sheet up to his chin. He gave you a wide-eyed, sad puppy look before motioning for you to join him.

Who would you be if you didn't oblige?

You crawled beneath the sheets beside him, your head resting against his arm as he snuggled you close. You gazed right up into those beautiful blue eyes, sleep threatening to soon take you.

"Was that... did you..."

He grins, placing a kiss to the tip of your nose.

"I guess you were right, Y/N. We really do have good bed chem."

You chuckled, the laughter soon turning into a yawn. Liam followed with one of his own, his eyes closing as he spoke again.

"And, you? Any thoughts?"

You grinned, closing your eyes as well.

"Just one... are you free next week?"

* ✧･ﾟ: *

#liam mairi x you #liam mairi smut #liam mairi imagine #liam mairi x reader #liam mairi #fourth wing smut #fourth wing #the empyrean #iron flame imagine #iron flame #onyx storm #smut #read more

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rencantstopfalling · 7 months ago

Text

Jschlatt Boyfriend HC

Jschlatt x gn!reader

Cw: NSFW MDNI 18+

Sfw:

-He outwardly says he doesn't like your dog but constantly gets caught cuddling the thing, and giving it's treats all the time

-if you work, he will get up with you and make you coffee and a bagel so you have breakfast on your way to work

- on that's same sentiment, if he isn't to busy, he will bring you lunch, either homemade or takeout

-Pretends to be grumpy when he has ro get you period products but he actually doesn't mind, he has all your favorite products written in his notes app with pictures

-absolutely adores when you take interest in his favorite shows or games. Loves to play DayZ with you and do that's stupid podcast

-he's the little spoon, ALWAYS. I'm sorry I can't think of a world where this man doesn't just want to be held and praised. Running your hands through he hair as he lays on your chest

-Spoils the hell out of you. It's actually hello shopping with him cause everything you touch, look to long at or express any type of interest in he's throwing in the cart. YOU NEVER PAY FOR ANYTHING

-Doesn't like you driving. Your his lovey your to delicate to drive. He wants you all nice and pretty as his passenger princess/prince (i also hc he drives like a maniac so sorry if you get motion sick.) It's always a fight when it's time to go out

-Learns to cook just to try and impress you

-tells you you don't have to work cause he's able to support the two of you, wants you to just pursue hobbies and he wants to fund them.

-Always takes you on vacation! Not just to japan, but anywhere you wanna go.

Nsfw:

-He curves to the left. Nothing else for me to say on that

-Definitely owns a few toys for himself, from before you guys started dating, like a flashlight, and cockring

-this guys loves missionary, loves to see your fucked out face and chest, loves to mark you

-hes not a rough guy, those most rough je will be is some deep thrusts, and maybe light chocking if you ask

-gets hard over literally everything, and is always ready to to

-loves to go down on you whether you got a pussy or cock he is down there ALL THE TIME, often wakes you up with it

-loves getting his hair pulled like a slut

-I wouldn't say he's a bottom but maybe a service top

-hates degrading you but will do it a little if you beg him, like a few dirty sluts but not much more

- however he likes to be degraded, call him all type of names, he is your much, he is your little man slut, your whore

-falls asleep right after sex, this dude just collapses on top of you, still in you. You gotta push the beast off of you in order to just breathe

- Although he doesn't like being to rough, give him a few swigs of whiskey and he will do anything you ask of him. You want him to absolutely destroy you, slap you, call you all types of names, get him drunk

-its because when he isn't drunk he severely overthinks everything and gets in his head that he won't be able to hold himself back and he will seriously hurt you, but once he is a little loose all those thoughts go away

-while he was drunk, you guys have definitely broken the bed...

#jschlatt x reader #jschlatt #jschlatt x y/n #jschlatt smut #schlatt #schlatt x reader #schlatt smut

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x-prettyboy-x · 1 month ago

Text

Clean you up

Established relationship! Erik × reader

Hello again, I felt bad for what I did to you guys in the first one, so i wrote an alternative version💕again, I am not a writer, so forgive me for how bad this is🫶🏻

Pairing: Erik Campbell x reader

Warnings: mentions of injuries and blood, obviously spoilers

No gendered language used:)

851 words

Masterlist

Erik was never the type to show he was in pain, when he'd come home from his shift at the tattoo shop and casually mentioned the fire and the fact he'd been branded and you know.. almost died, talking as if it was nothing, you freaked out. He'd grabbed your face with the most gentle care he could manage- you took note of his shaking hands- and whispered reassurances to you.

"Baby, I'm fine, I kicked deaths ass. Maybe I'm just invincible, huh? And the brand is pretty fuckin sick" He'd laughed, and that laugh is what managed to calm you down.

You'd been pacing back and forth in the living room when everyone came back from the hospital, Stefani and Charlie first, then their mom and Bobby, then Erik. Looking more terrified than you'd ever seen him. His entire body shaking, blood trailing down his nose and mouth and staining the front of his shirt.

Stefani quickly walked over and grabbed your shoulders carefully, knowing you were seconds from a full on mental breakdown.

"Hes okay. We cheated death. We're all safe, we cleared the list. It was a.. beyond stupid idea but Erik managed to kill Bobby and bring him back. He got.. hurt in the process but its nothing deadly, okay? He refused help at the hospital. He just wanted you."

You wanted nothing more than to ask what the hell she meant by he killed Bobby, but seeing yours boyfriend's face, you'd have to wait to be curious.

You were hesitant as you walked over and grabbed Erik's hand, like he was a wounded deer that would get up and run away at any sudden movement. You'd carefully pulled him into his room and set him on the bed, grabbing the first aid kit from his closet- your idea, not his. You'd demanded it after the fire- and moving to sit next to him to address what was wrong.

"You wanna tell me what hurts?" You'd whispered, your voice shaking. You didnt wanna cry, didnt wanna make him anymore distressed.

He didnt reply, just pulled off his shirt and tossed it aside. You looked him over and noticed his ears first, the rings missing and the lobes ripped in half, then his nose, then his nipples. You winced under your breath and just silently started to clean the wounds you could see.

"I thought.. I was gonna die. I was gonna die and Bobby would die because of me. It was my idea, I made him eat the stupid fuckin peanut butter cup and took his epi pen. I promised I'd bring him back. He almost died because of me." His words were so quiet they were almost inaudible.

So that's what Stefani meant. It still didnt explain how he ended up hurt, clearly more had happened than he would say. But you won't push, not rightnow.

You cleaned up the wounds the best you could and set the first aid kit aside, sighing shakily as you looked him over. "Kiki, you need to go to the hospital, let them stich you up. It shouldn't be too bad since the wounds are small, but you need to-"

"No hospitals. I don't wanna step foot in another hospital. Not now." He was quick to cut you off, and you fell silent.

He pulled you into his lap before the silence went onto too long and you froze, looking down at him.

"I'll worry about it later.. Just want you. Bobby almost died because of me and I was close to never seeing you again."

You sighed and ran a hand through his hair carefully. Erik took a deep breath and just rested his head on your chest, listening to your heartbeat.

"Tell me what happened, baby.. please."

You listened carefully as he explained everything, Iris's friend telling them the only way to survive this was to die and come back, or to kill someone and take the years they had left. He told you the plan he'd come up with. He told you about how the mri machine had ripped out his piercings, how he'd been pulled into it, how a nurse had rushed in to turn the machine off just in time. He told you how the only thing he could think about was Bobby suffocating next to him, while he could do nothing about it.

Even now, he was more upset about the fact Bobby was in danger, he couldn't care less about his own pain, about how he almost died. Again.

"This isn't your fault, you did it, right? Bobbys fine.. everyone's fine, thanks to you. You saved everyone left on the list. You kicked deaths ass again.." you'd said the words with a small smile on your face, hesitant as you added, "And at least you got to keep your favorite piercing"

You were trying to lighten the mood a little, hopefully make him feel even just a little better. And it'd worked. You'd felt him let out a small laugh from where he was laying on your chest. And like before, that's all it took to finally calm you.

#emson writes♡#erik campbell x reader #erik campbell #final destination #final destination bloodlines

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sqgeism · 1 month ago

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based on your most recent anaxa post... would he be sad if he found reader's journal entries, full of their misery but unwilling love for him, and in the last one they just write: "he is the knife i turn inside myself." and stop there

(anaxa mental breakdown?)

love mail — 🍒 ⨾ IT MAKES ME SO HAPPY WHEN PEOPLE READ THAT HC POST AND ASK ME TO ELABORATE FURTHER ON IT! not exactly the request but i still feel like it's gut wrenching,, this was acc v personal to me cause that diary entry came from my own poetry lol

after another late night, anaxagoras is finally walking out of the jail cell that is his lab. he wasn't doing anything interesting either, just grading a couple of papers, which brings more dread as he comes to a conclusion that some of his students will definitely be seeing him over the summer break.

but nevermind that, he just wants to be in bed, and by your side. because if he stands for any longer or has to think about another grammatical error, he's going to start pulling his hair out. and at this rate he really doesn't want to die young, and also bald.

as he opens the door, he calls out to you. "dove?" he also just wants to see if you're awake, and considering the fact it's 3am, he's glad to not get a response. quietly walking into the room and towards the closet, he passes by your desk that still has the lamp on and an open notebook. noting that it's probably research or something personal, he makes sure to close it after changing.

when he had already slipped into much comfier clothing, anaxa walks back to flip off the light, when a page from the notebook caught his attention.

the handwriting is messier, seemingly written during an unfocused state of mind. but then he notices his name, and how it seems to be a diary entry written about him.

the date of entry catches his eye and makes him shiver, this was written three years ago. and to sugarcoat it with a bucket of sucrose, anaxa was not a good man. hell, he could barely consider himself one for how he treated you. he was immature, cruel, and worst of all—undeserving. he didn't deserve your kindness or patience with him, for all the nights he knew you cried as you slept alone in a cold, empty bed.

the curiosity is eating away at him, you had forgiven him for his horrible attitude and he had learned to forgive himself, but he just.. he can't explain it. to understand just how much he hurt you will feel like the punishment he deserves, and so he brings the diary close and begins to read.

"ask me about anaxagoras and i'll tell you that the very same lips that kiss my head goodnight would argue with me for hours, that his hatred for the world ran deeper than the love he had for me—that the person he chose, he wouldn't dare to lay in the same bed with.

ask me about anaxagoras and i'll tell you that I know he can be good, that I can see the love he tries to bury so deep inside. but then he'll blow up, his anger gets the better of him, and suddenly we are strangers again. that our time together, our progress, becomes nothing. and his need to be right consumes the caring, loving part of him. even if he doesn't think it's there, i see it. but i'm starting to think that our conversations don't work because he's just a nicer person in my head.

but if you asked me to truly be honest about him, i would say he is the knife that i turn inside myself. i deeply crave his love, but the closer i try to get, the further the blade pierces through my heart.

i admit that i'm soft, but i don't want to have to bleed in order to love you. i need you to admit that you're too rough."

the room is quiet, and anaxa turns to your sleeping form with tears in his eyes. you were always so much stronger than him, and would say you are more deserving of the flamechaser title but he would never want you to suffer the fate he will.

to think that he could have died making you feel so unloved, it makes him sick. though he knows that you, in all your kindness, had forgiven him completely.

but how many nights have you cried for arms that never held you? how many conversations became simple exchanges of hello because you could never speak to him?

how much guilt must he carry for it to purify him?

and so he walks to the bed, quietly. he can't wake you now, not after he's done enough wrongdoings.

"my sweet dove." he mumbles, barely above a whisper. "please do not wake, don't stir. just sleep and let me carry the weight of the world for you for once."

he cups your face into his hands and press gentle kisses to your temple, your nose, your cheeks, the corners of your lips—muttering promises and apologies that you deserve to hear, but have also heard a thousand times.

he must reassure himself quietly, that his hatred will not last forever. that he is above the high that comes in indulging in these bad habits.

and that you will still be there when he comes back down.

#ㅤ 𐔌᭥ᩙ༉ㅤnew flower bloomed ! :ೃ࿔𔓘 #honkai star rail x reader #hsr x reader #hsr x you #honkai star rail x you #anaxagoras x reader #anaxa x reader #anaxagoras x you #anaxa x you #anaxagoras hsr #anaxa #anaxa hsr

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allpiesforourown · 9 months ago

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I have such intense feelings for your bingyuan roommate au, it’s unreal. Binghe would be the BIGGEST green tea bitch/pick me girl but only towards sy, no one else. encountering lbh in the wild first and then experiencing him next to sy would be a fever dream of epic proportions. actual dozens of women would want to behead him and rip out his guts. bc lbh would ditch them on their birthday, an actual medical emergency, or anything critical at all just bc sy vaguely implied he was hungry (lbh now HAS to cook for him, it is not a want, it is a NEED)

And sy would be worse then evvvver, lol. “That’s my little didi binghe, he’s so sweet and sensitive, girls are always breaking his heart :((( If I were his girlfriend I’d get married to him next week and bounce on him silly style. Too bad no one will ever appreciate binghe like I do :(((((” and it is only after MANY of those thoughts that he realizes that he might not feel all that brotherly towards lbh

on a hornier note, I’m at a toss up between thinking that lbh would bring his hookups/girlfriends back to his and sy’s home and fucking them there (bc in lbh’s mind he can’t cum right without the reminder of his gege… and what if gege walked in 🤤… maybe lbh can get him to join…) or him absolutely refusing to let any of them so much as glance at his gege (no one should look at sy except him)

EXACTLY EXACTLY EXACTLY you get it anon.

It's literally like

Woman: let's have a threesome with your friend

Binghe: the idea sounds so appealing but I don't want some stranger getting his hands on him! I don't want to share him with someone who doesn't show him the love he needs. I'm the only one who knows him well enough to be in a threesome with shen yuan

Woman: thats sex. You're just describing regular two people sex. You want to fuck your best friend.

In my head for this au I imagine them as long time friends.. shen yuan found binghe getting bullied at a park or something when they were kids and told his bullies to fuck off. Then he listened to binghe cry about how he's so worried about his sick mom being overworked and begged his parents to hire binghes mom. With way better pay, hours, and work environment, her health improved a lot and she's good friends with shen yuans parents.

Binghe tells himself he acts like shen yuans guard dog because he'll always be grateful for what he's done for his family, but really, he fell in love with his Yuan ge at first sight the second he saw a boy standing up for him instead of ignoring his bullying.

Someone: say something nice about your best friend

Binghe: oh I have so much to say! He's so sweet and intelligent and adorably nerdy ! He saved me and my mom and-

Someone: say something nice about your girlfriend

Binghe: um..... uh ...... well.... sometimes she... hmm......

The poor women he dates. They'd go through SO much suffering trying to "fix" him and then when they finally give up after going through hell itself, they see bingge and shen yuan get together and suddenly the most negligent terrible boyfriend in the world is buying flowers and posting corny pictures on Instagram and proposing a few months into the relationship.

Shen yuan: I can't believe I managed to bag someone as handsome beautiful and loving as binghe. He wakes up at 6am every morning to get started on breakfast so he can feed me in bed. He's so attentive I worry I'm taking advantage of him. How did he get broken up with so often? No one appreciates people like binghe

Everyone else binghe has ever dated: I told him I got stabbed and he left me on read

#what should i tag this au as #asshole roommate bingge au #svsss #shen yuan #luo bingge #binggeyuan

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grayandthyme · 1 month ago

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Pleaseeee, i'm begging, give this man a child (in response to the reader and Tommy's Christmas dinner fic)

i think we have much more love to give ;

part 1 here

Synopsis: Being the busiest couple in Jackson isn't always for the weak. Especially when your own problems arise. Warnings: Pregnancy. Slight Angst. Super fluff. Domestic Tommy & Reader. Lots of dialogue.

♫ meet me in the woods - lord huron

authors note: hehe thank u for the request.. this was so fun..

The end of summer in Jackson wasn’t just hot.

It was relentless—a thick, suffocating heat that settled deep in your bones, like the kind of warmth that didn’t let go.

The kind of heat that clings to your skin, sticky and stubborn, crawling under your clothes and into your lungs, making every breath heavy and slow.

August had a way of stretching itself long and loud in this town, and with it came the parties—endless, unyielding, and noisy.

They were fun, sure, in that wild, untamed way that made you forget the weight of the world for a little while.

But damn, there were so many.

Every evening, like clockwork, neighbors would wander by with beers in hand or a bag of venison fresh from the hunt, waving you over with that easy, worn-down grin.

It was their way of saying, 'Thank you for this safe place.'

You and Tommy—you’d stand on the porch, the warm light spilling over the wooden railings, watching the flicker of bonfires and hearing laughter ripple through the night.

Sometimes you’d sip your drink, sometimes you’d just hold Tommy’s hand and let the noise fade into something quieter—a reminder that here, in this wild little town, you had something steady. Something worth holding onto.

It wasn’t like you hated all the food. Or the invites.

You weren’t exactly an introvert—never had been. You liked people, liked the easy comfort of familiar faces, and the quiet hum of a small town gathering.

But sometimes, you just wanted to shut the door behind you, curl up close with Tommy, and disappear from the world until Monday rolled around again.

You imagined it often: staying in bed late, feigning innocence as you made him late for morning patrol, maybe even begging him not to go at all—to just stay tangled up in the sheets, right there beside you.

The food at these parties was… well, it was interesting.

Nothing ever looked outright bad, but the generosity of these families often came with a side of weird.

Lamb, for example. How in the hell did they even find a lamb out here? You tried to smile, tried to pretend you weren’t eyeing the strange cuts on your plate with suspicion.

That night, after one of those dinners, you couldn’t shake it. Your body felt stiff and heavy, like your skin was too tight around your bones. Nausea churned low in your stomach, but you didn’t want to make a fuss.

You told Tommy it was fine, that you just needed to sleep it off.

But when three in the morning crept in, the quiet was shattered. You were bent over the toilet, bile burning your throat, the sound barely loud enough to stir him from his sleep.

Tommy was there in an instant, steady hands on your back, voice low and rough with worry.

“Hey—hey. It’s alright. I’m here.”

He held your hair back with steady hands, careful but firm enough to keep it from falling into your face.

His fingers found little spots on your scalp and scratched gently, like he was trying to soothe something deeper than just the sickness—the kind of quiet comfort only he could give.

His brow was knitted tight, that rough, protective look he wore when he didn’t know how to fix what was wrong. You hated seeing him like that—worried, helpless—but he was never the type to just stand by.

“You think you ate somethin’ bad?” His voice was low, rough around the edges but soft when it was just for you.

You gave a weak shake of your head, tasting bile again, but managing a faint, half-smile through the nausea. “Maybe the food. Or maybe I’m just weak-willed.”

He snorted, the sound mixing with his quiet chuckle. “You? Weak? Nah. You’re tougher than half the people I know.”

You wanted to believe him. God, you wanted to. But right now, your body felt like it was turning against you, and no amount of bravado could stop that.

Tommy’s eyes never left yours. He pulled a damp cloth from the bathroom sink and wiped your forehead gently, his touch careful like he was handling something fragile—even if you didn’t feel that way to yourself.

“You don’t get sick like this,” he said, voice thick with concern. “Not you.”

You bit your lip, swallowing the lump that was rising in your throat.

He knew you better than anyone. He knew when you were holding back, and this wasn’t just a little stomach bug.

“Maybe it’s somethin’ else,” you whispered, voice shaky, "… Anxiety.. who knows."

Tommy’s jaw tightened. “You gonna let me figure it out, or you just gonna sit here and pretend it’s not serious? Cause' if it was me over that toilet, you'd be shittin' fuckin' bricks figurin' it out."

The banter was still there—a shield you both wrapped around yourselves when things got too real. But beneath it, the worry was raw, honest.

He stayed by your side through it all, silent except for the occasional soft word, the small reassurances that made the room feel less cold and less scary.

When you finally settled back against the pillows, exhausted, Tommy pulled a blanket up around you and sat on the edge of the bed, his hand finding yours in the dark.

It had been mostly fine. You’d eaten breakfast that morning—not much, but enough to count. And for a few days, things had settled.

You had your usual energy back, that glow in your eyes Tommy knew better than the back of his hand. You even teased him over dinner like nothing had happened.

He let himself believe you were better. Let him breathe.

But it didn’t last.

That morning at the Tipsy Bison, the air was thick with the smell of sausage, eggs, wood smoke.

Familiar. Ordinary.

And then you flinched—a sudden sharp recoil, your hand shooting up to warn Tommy off like he was a threat, like he could make it worse by being near you.

Before he could say a word, you were gone. Darted toward the bathroom, hand clamped over your mouth, the sound of the door swinging shut behind you loud enough to crack the mood wide open.

Tommy stood there, stunned, like the air had been sucked out of the room.

From the bar, Joel was already rising to his feet.

He hadn’t come in for breakfast—just coffee, just to talk about Ellie’s birthday plans. But his eyes had tracked you the second you walked in. Joel had a quiet way of watching, like he saw more than he let on.

He walked over, slow but steady, nodding toward the swinging bathroom door before turning to Tommy.

“She been sick long?”

Tommy rubbed the back of his neck, suddenly aware of how tight the muscles there had gotten. “Couple nights last week. Threw up bad. Thought it was just bad meat or somethin’. Then she was fine. Least, I thought she was.”

Joel didn’t say anything for a moment. Just stared, jaw working, brow drawn the way it always did when he was circling something in his mind—something he already knew, but didn’t want to name just yet.

“She ever get sick like that before?” he finally asked.

Tommy shook his head, “Nah. She’s usually the one takin’ care of me. You think it’s a bug goin’ around?”

Joel’s gaze slid toward the bathroom, and when he looked back at his brother, it was softer somehow.

Not pity—Joel didn’t do pity—but something older.

Something heavy.

“Smell hit her hard?”

Tommy blinked. “Yeah.”

“She tired?”

“All the time, now.”

Joel nodded, slow, like the pieces were all falling into place in his head, even if Tommy hadn’t caught up yet, “She ain’t sick, Tommy.”

Tommy narrowed his eyes, “Then what the hell—?”

Joel didn’t answer right away.

He just looked at him.

That look that said you know where I’m goin’ with this.

And that’s when it hit him.

Joel didn’t have to say it. He didn’t have to say anything at all. Not when that familiar ache passed behind his eyes—the kind of ache that didn’t belong to the years after the outbreak, but the ones before it.

Joel sighed. “Just… keep an eye on her. That’s all I’m sayin’. Maybe take her to that doc we got… You don’t gotta panic yet.”

The bathroom door creaked open then, and the two men fell silent. Joel patted his baby-brother on the back, once—solid, grounding—and moved away, giving you space.

You looked pale, but steady on your feet. Your eyes met Tommy’s across the room, questioning. He gave you a smile—soft, worried, but full of something else too.

“Sorry, boys…” you hummed, brushing the hair back from your face as casually as you could manage. Your voice had a lightness to it — practiced, bright. “Guess no more cookouts for me, huh?”

You nodded toward the barstools like you were trying to steer the moment somewhere safer, somewhere easier.

The kind of place where everything could stay simple—just Joel, Tommy, and talk of summer cookouts and birthdays instead of the bathroom door you’d just stumbled out of, and the questions that were clearly building behind Tommy’s eyes.

Joel gave a small, understanding smile, the kind that didn’t press too hard. “Yeah, well. Can’t blame you. They were servin’ somethin’ today that looked like it crawled outta the woods and cooked itself.”

You laughed—a little too hard, a little too quick.

“Right? I swear I saw it blink at me on the tray.”

The conversation picked up from there, just like you wanted it to.

Joel launched into a low rumble about Ellie’s birthday—how she’d been dropping hints that weren’t even hints anymore.

"She said, 'i'd kill for a comic book I haven't read yet,' That was yesterday,"

"Day before it was, 'a flamethrower would be sick'."

You leaned in, the corners of your mouth twitching upward. “So… books or explosives. Got it.”

Tommy chuckled, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. Because the truth was, he wasn’t listening.

Not really.

His eyes were on you—tracing the edges of your face, the new paleness in your skin, the way you kept adjusting your posture like your body didn’t know how to sit right anymore. Your hand rested on the counter, fingers tapping a rhythm that felt restless, distracted.

And beneath the humor, there was a flicker of something… distant in your gaze.

You were talking, smiling, keeping the energy up like it was second nature. But he knew you better than that. Knew the difference between your real laugh and your performance.

And this one? It wasn't a performance. More like a lingering fear. An inkling of something.

Tommy leaned back slightly on his stool, arms crossed, chewing on the inside of his cheek.

She’s deflecting. She knows something’s off. She’s scared to say it out loud.

Joel glanced over at him, catching the look on his face. Said nothing. Just gave the faintest shake of his head. Not yet. Let her lead.

Tommy didn’t answer out loud, but he sighed through his nose and nodded once, subtly.

You were still talking, “Maybe we get her a slingshot. Y’know, low-tech flamethrower. More sustainable,"

"She can take someone's eye out or somethin...'"

And you laughed again, tipping your head back, doing your damned best to keep everything light.

Even if fear clung to your insides. The inkling had planted itself, and you were sure as hell going to run to Maria's house after this.

"Environmentally conscious murder. I like it,” Joel drawled.

But Tommy was still staring. Quietly, carefully, like if he looked hard enough, he’d see through the mask you were wearing—see what you weren’t saying. And underneath the warmth in his chest—the love that never went away—was something else now.

A slow-growing, aching kind of hope.

He was excited.

The sun had already started to climb higher by the time you left the Tipsy Bison.

The light was sharp and golden, dust glinting in the air like tiny flecks of glass. The walk back to your house wasn’t long, maybe ten minutes if you strolled, but Tommy felt every second stretch long and thin between your footsteps.

You were quiet. Too quiet.

Not the relaxed kind of quiet either—not the peaceful, post-laugh, full-bellied kind.

This was tight. Withdrawn. Like the inside of you was folding in on itself.

Tommy walked half a step behind, watching how you carried your weight. Your shoulders hunched slightly forward. Your hand pressed to your side like you were trying to hold yourself steady without making it obvious.

Your skin had that sheen to it—not from the heat, not entirely. Something clammy. Cold-sweat kind of sick.

“You alright, sweetheart?” he asked, voice low, casual, but the tension in it betrayed him.

You nodded without looking at him, brushing a hand across your forehead.

“Yeah. Just—god, I think the heat’s gettin’ to me.”

But it wasn’t that warm. Not really. Not compared to the kind of summer heat that Jackson was known for. And you’d survived hotter days in thicker clothes, with more weight on your back and a full patrol route ahead of you.

This? This wasn’t the sun. It was something inside you.

Tommy didn’t press. Just nodded like he believed you and offered his hand. You took it, fingers slotting into his, even though yours were trembling slightly. By the time the house came into view—that small, familiar cabin with the porch he’d patched up in spring, and the garden you insisted on starting even though nothing ever grew right—your steps had slowed.

You paused at the bottom of the stairs, pressing your other hand to your chest like you were trying to quiet something that had started spinning out of control.

Tommy moved in front of you, still holding your hand.

“Hey. Look at me.”

You hesitated—eyes not quite meeting his.

He tilted his head, voice softer now, something deeper threading through it.

“You’re pale, sugar. You’ve been sick off and on for over a week. And now you can’t even walk ten minutes without lookin’ like you might pass out on me.” He gave you a little smile, trying to lighten the weight of his words.

“I know you’re tougher than that. So, what’s goin’ on?”

You shook your head, blinking hard. “I don’t know. I don’t—” You paused. Swallowed. “I just… I didn’t want to say anything until I was sure.”

Tommy’s chest tightened. “Sure about what?”

You looked at him then. Really looked at him.

And for the first time in days, your eyes stopped performing.

“I think I might be pregnant.”

The words hit him like a soft blow—not painful, but deep. Bone-deep. His breath caught somewhere between his lungs and his ribs.

He didn’t say anything at first. Just stepped closer, hands rising to cup your face, thumbs brushing across your cheeks where the flush had settled in streaks.

“You sure?” he asked, barely above a whisper.

“No,"

"Not yet.” Your voice cracked, not from fear, but something more tender.

Fragile.

He nodded slowly, pressing his hand to your jaw, fingers large enough to thread through to the back of your scalp, grounding himself in the warmth of your skin despite the sweat. Despite the nerves. Despite the fact that the world still wasn’t a place where things like this ever came easy.

“How late,” he murmurs.

It isn’t a question. Not really. He’s not asking because he doesn’t know—he’s asking because you do. Because you’ve already counted the days. Because he’s seen it in the way you’ve been moving around the truth, ducking your head and brushing off the nausea, the way your hand finds your stomach when you think he’s not looking.

You don’t answer right away.

Your hands are resting on his chest now, not pushing him away, just resting—like if you let go, you might float off into something too big to hold alone. Your fingers twitch slightly.

“Almost six weeks,” you whisper.

Tommy’s breath leaves him slow.

Like he expected it, and still it knocks something loose in him.

You finally glance up, searching his face.

“I didn’t wanna say it. Not until I was sure. I thought maybe it was just stress—or my body acting weird. But then the smell of food started turning—and I couldn’t keep anything down. And I just knew.”

He lets the silence linger for a beat.

Then two. His thumb strokes absentmindedly along your jaw— gentle, grounding.

“Jesus,” he breathes, more to himself than you. “We… we might actually be—”

“Don’t say it,” you cut in, not harsh, but urgent. Your voice trembles just enough to betray the weight you’ve been carrying. “Not yet. I can’t—if it’s not, I don’t wanna hear it out loud. Not until I know for sure.”

Tommy nods, his eyes never leaving yours.

“Okay,” he says. Simple. Solid. Like a promise.

“Okay?”

“Yeah—” His voice thickens a little, something tight behind it that he doesn’t bother hiding. “Alright, Sugar,"

"... We’ll wait. No pressure. No rush—just you ‘n me, alright?”

You nod and exhale shakily, leaning your forehead against his chest again. He wraps his arms around you, holding you like he already knows. Like he’s already made space in his chest for something else—someone else.

He presses a kiss to the crown of your head, and then says quietly, “We’ll go to the doc' in town, Yeah?—tomorrow—just to be sure.”

You nod again, barely.

“Okay.”

Tommy holds you tighter, eyes scanning the horizon over your shoulder like it might give him answers. But the only thing he feels is your heart beating against his—fast, uneven, but real.

Anxious.

Morning came gray and quiet. Overcast skies rolled low above Jackson, pressing the light into something dull and slow, like the day itself was reluctant to begin.

You stood at the top of the stairs, one hand clamped so tightly around the banister your knuckles had gone white.

The wood creaked under your grip, and your other hand hovered near your stomach again, fingers twitching uselessly—like you didn’t know where to place them.

Tommy was downstairs already, boots on, jacket slung over one shoulder. You could hear him moving through the kitchen, pouring coffee neither of you really wanted.

Trying to pretend this was just any other morning.

But you couldn’t pretend.

Your stomach was churning again, not from nausea, not entirely— but from dread. From the impossible weight of what if.

You hadn’t even made it down the first step.

You didn’t want to go.

You didn’t want to hear someone else say it—say it out loud and make it real. Because what if it wasn’t real?

What if the doctor looked at you with that soft, apologetic face people used when they didn’t want to say the truth out loud? Or worse—what if it was real?

And what if you weren’t ready?

A part of you didn’t know if you wanted this.

Not in a world like this.

Not when everything still felt like it could be ripped out from under you at any second.

It wasn’t that you didn’t love Tommy—you did.

So much that it hurt to even look at him some days.

But the idea of bringing someone else into this world—into this life—made something sharp settle in your throat.

Are you strong enough? Strong enough to protect them both?

Footsteps. You didn’t even hear him come to the base of the stairs. Tommy looked up at you, eyes soft, unreadable. “You alright up there?”

You didn’t answer. Couldn’t. Instead, your grip on the banister tightened.

“I don’t know if I can do this,” you said, voice raw. “I don’t even know if I want this.”

Tommy didn’t flinch. Didn’t move. He just looked at you like he always did—with that impossible patience, like he’d wait all day if he had to. His tongue jutting against the inner of his cheek.

“You don’t have to decide any of that right now,” he said quietly. “We’re just gettin’ answers. That’s all.”

You shook your head, blinking back the sting behind your eyes. “But what if I can’t handle the answer?”

He took a step up. Then another. Slow, careful, until he was just one step below you. He reached out, gently brushing his fingers over yours where they were still wrapped around the wood.

“Then we face it together,” he said. “Whatever it is. I ain’t goin’ anywhere.”

You looked at him then. Really looked at him.

And God, he looked so tired—like he’d been up all night thinking too, running the same circles in his mind.

He probably had.

You knew bits and pieces of his childhood.

Nothing there really spelled out; I can't wait to be a dad!

But still, he was there. Steady as ever. Just like always.

“I’m scared,” you whispered.

“I know,” he said. And then, quieter, “Me too.”

You exhaled slowly, chest shaking. The silence stretched again, but this time, it wasn’t as heavy.

Just lived-in.

You nodded once. Not fully ready—not even close—but willing.

The infirmary was small. Sparse.

A couple of old plastic chairs, a cot pushed against one wall with sheets too white to look trustworthy, and a narrow counter that probably used to be a breakroom table in another life.

It smelled like antiseptic and stale air.

The test sat on the counter like a live grenade.

Not touched. Not looked at.

Just there.

Tommy sat in the chair beside you, legs bouncing. You could feel the motion through the floor. He’d been quiet on the walk here, but now, now that the test was done and the clock was ticking—he couldn’t sit still if he tried.

You were perched stiffly at the edge of your chair, arms wrapped around your stomach.

“Jesus,” you mumbled, “I think I’m gonna throw up again.”

Tommy glanced at you quickly, “Again? We ain't even eat.”

“Doesn’t matter.” You groaned, rubbing your eyes. “My stomach knows something’s wrong.”

He leaned back, lips twitching. “I mean, yeah. We’re sittin’ in a glorified janitor’s closet waitin’ on a test that could change every damn thing we know. I’d be worried if your stomach wasn’t pissed about it.”

You laughed once, sharp and breathy, “You think ten minutes could go any slower?”

Tommy checked his watch like it had betrayed him. “I swear time’s been stuck at seven minutes for the last goddamn fifteen.”

You tilted your head back and stared at the ceiling, trying to breathe, “God, this is worse than patrol. At least when someone’s shootin’ at you, you don’t have to wonder.”

“Speak for yourself,” he muttered. “I’ve seen the way you look at clickers—like you’re already figurin’ out if you can shove me into ‘em and make a run for it.”

"Oh—Ha—Ha." You mock laugh, weakly. “Don’t tempt me.”

The silence returned, but not cold.

Just nervous.

Your eyes drifted back to the test sitting there on the plastic counter. Face down. Innocent.

But somehow, it carried the weight of the entire world in it.

“Feels stupid to be this scared,” you whispered.

Tommy didn’t answer for a second. Then, softly: “It ain’t stupid.”

You turned your head, met his eyes.

“It’s not stupid to wonder if we’re ready,” he continued, “Not in a world like this. Not after everythin’ we’ve seen. Hell, part of me still feels like I’m barely holdin’ it together some days.”

You leaned into him, just enough that your shoulder pressed against his.

“I keep thinkin’ about all the ways this could go wrong,” you admitted.

“Yeah,” he said,

“Me too.”

Silence again. The clock ticked—loud in the still room.

And then:

“I mean,” Tommy said slowly, “... at least if it’s positive, we’ve got a solid excuse to get out of the next five cookouts.”

You laughed, soft.

“And,” he added, nodding seriously, “Ellie’ll probably cry. You know she’ll lose her mind over bein’ some kinda badass apocalypse aunt.”

You gave a low, shaky laugh. “We’d never hear the end of it.”

“Nope.”

More silence. The minutes had almost passed.

You exhaled and stared at the test again. “You look first.”

“Hell no,” he said immediately. “Last time I looked at somethin’ first I ended up on patrol alone for two weeks ‘cause you got mad about a possum.”

“That possum was in our bathroom, Tommy.”

“And I told you—it was probably more scared of you than you were of it—”

“Tommy—”

He turned to you, eyes wide, “What?”

“I think it’s been ten minutes.” It came out more fractured than you had meant it too.

The quiet stretched until it felt unbearable. The test hadn’t moved, hadn’t shifted an inch—just lying there, face-down on the counter like it didn’t hold a future inside it.

You both stared.

Tommy finally let out a long sigh, stood, and rubbed a hand down his face.

“Alright,” he muttered. “If we just sit here, it’s gonna sprout legs and tell us itself.”

You didn’t answer. Couldn’t. He glanced at you, then reached for the test with a kind of cautious reverence—like it was holy. Or cursed.

His fingers hovered above it for a second.

“Ready?” he asked, barely above a whisper.

You shook your head.

“No.”

He nodded. “Cool—me neither.”

Then he turned it over.

And looked. His breath hitched. You could only stare at his face—the way it stilled.

All the air in the room seemed to press in, watching, waiting.

Tommy looked up, slow. Eyes wide and soft, like he was trying to process everything all at once.

“Well?” you breathed, voice already shaking.

A long beat. He held the test out toward you with one hand like he didn’t trust himself to speak.

You took it, fingers trembling. One look.

Two lines.

Clear. Definite. No guessing needed.

Your mouth opened. Closed. No sound came.

And then Tommy—ever the idiot—cleared his throat and muttered, “Guess I should’ve started workin’ on the nursery.”

You let out a choked sound, something between a laugh and a sob.

“Tommy—”

“I mean, I don’t even know what babies need. A crib? A rattle? A very tiny gun—”

“Tommy, please—” you were laughing now, but it cracked, the edges fraying fast.

“We could call it Clicker if it’s ugly—”

And just like that, your knees buckled.

You sank into the nearest chair, hands covering your mouth as the first sob tore out of you—raw and loud and helpless. You didn’t even know where it came from, only that it had been waiting.

Waiting for this moment. For confirmation. For truth.

Tommy was by your side instantly. Dropping to his knees, both hands on you—arms, shoulders, whatever he could touch.

“Hey. Hey, Sweetheart, look at me—”

"Look at me.”

You couldn’t. Your face was wet, hands shaking. The fear was everywhere, full-bodied. Your whole world had tipped on its axis and you couldn’t get a grip on anything.

“I’m scared,” you gasped, “I’m so scared. What if I mess this up? What if something happens? What if I’m not enough?”

"Jesus fuck—Two people to worry about.. I can't—I can't—"

Tommy cupped your face, firm and steady. “Hey, look at me. Please.” You did. Barely. Your vision blurred and eyes red.

“You won’t mess this up,” he said, voice low and fierce. “You hear me? You’re the bravest person I’ve ever known. You’ve kept us alive. You’ve held me together more times than I can count. And you won’t be alone in this.”

You let out another sob, softer now, body sagging forward until he caught you. Held you.

“I don’t know what I’m doing,” you whispered.

“Neither do I,” he murmured into your hair.

“We’ll figure it out... Together. That’s all we’ve ever done.”

You buried your face in his shoulder, still crying, but holding him tighter now. He didn’t let go.

And for a while, you just stayed there. In that too-bright little room. With the test forgotten on the counter and the whole future quietly rearranging itself in your arms.

The walk back was slow, the kind of slow that lets the world catch up with you—but this time, it wasn’t heavy.

It was softer, almost like the tension had slipped out through cracks you hadn’t noticed before.

You fell into step beside Tommy, shoulders brushing, breath mingling in the cool morning air.

Tommy chuckled, shaking his head. “Hell, I’ll ask Joel to give me a crash course. He’s seen more kids than I have—well, in his own way.” His grin softened when he looked over at you. “Don’t worry. I’ll figure it out.”

You felt something warm twist in your chest, the edge of your nerves dulling just a bit. “You askin' Joel for lessons?” you said, a smile tugging at your lips. “That’s kinda exciting, actually.”

He glanced at you, eyes softening, “Yeah? Maybe it is.”

You squeezed his hand lightly. “Maybe this whole thing’s not as terrifying as it feels.”

Tommy nodded slowly. “Yeah. We’ll learn."

The walk back felt lighter now, and for the first time in quite awhile, the future didn’t seem quite so scary.

Sunday night came with the soft clatter of dishes and the low hum of familiar voices filling Tommy and your small kitchen.

The smell of stew simmered on the stove, and Ellie was already teasing Tommy about how he “overcooked the potatoes again,” just like every week.

Joel leaned back in his chair, eyes soft but watchful—always tuned to the undercurrents in the room.

You sat beside Tommy, hands intertwined under the table, your fingers laced tight like a secret you both held close.

Dinner moved along with laughter and easy banter, the kind that made the walls feel less like shelter and more like home.

And then, as Ellie reached for the last piece of bread, Tommy cleared his throat—a rare thing that pulled everyone’s attention.

“If we told you guys something… a secret, almost,” you exhaled, fingers writhing in Tommy’s palm, “… would you keep it with us?”

Joel’s eyes narrowed just slightly, the kind of look that said I’m listening, but don’t test me.

Ellie’s smile flickered into something quieter, more curious.

Tommy nodded, his voice low but sure. “It’s big. Good big.”

Ellie leaned forward, elbows on the table, her grin replaced by a look that was almost reverent. “Try me.”

You swallowed hard, heart pounding against your ribs like it was trying to get out. Then, steadying yourself, you spoke.

“We’re gonna have a baby.”

The words hung in the air, soft but undeniable.

Joel blinked, his usual tough-guy mask cracking just a little. “You’re serious?”

Tommy’s grin broke free. “Yeah. Ain’t no joke.”

Ellie’s eyes lit up like the sun had just come out after years. “Holy shit!” she bursted out, the words tumbling free before she could stop them.

Joel’s eyes snapped to her, sharp and unyielding for just a moment. “Language,” he muttered low, but then the edges of his mouth twitched into that rough, almost-grin he reserved for moments that mattered.

You let out a breath, nodding toward Tommy.

“So… you guys gotta help us tell the entire town.”

Tommy’s grin deepened, a spark lighting in his eyes. “Yeah. We ain’t exactly keepin’ this quiet, not with you two around.”

Ellie laughed, her usual fire flickering back. “Guess everyone’s gonna know sooner or later.”

Joel leaned forward, voice softer now, steady, a nod, “Well, you got us. We’ll make sure Jackson hears it from the right folks.”

You felt the tight coil of fear inside you loosen just a bit, replaced by something warmer—the kind of steady, fierce love that had carried you this far.

Ellie’s grin turned mischievous. “Hell, I’m already planning the biggest damn welcome party this town’s ever seen.”

Joel shook his head, chuckling quietly. “You’re impossible.”

"n' they're called.. baby showers.. not 'welcome parties.."

. . .

It was only two months in that you had finally realized just how much of a monster this pregnancy was turning him into.

“Tommy,” you exhaled, leaning heavy against the stair railing, one hand pressed to the swell of your lower belly—still decently flat, but betraying you in all the quiet ways. “I’m havin’ a kid, not dying. I can go on patrol for a bit longer…”

He turned from the front door, boots half-laced, eyes narrowing like you’d just told him you were joining a damn raider crew.

“Oh yeah?” he drawled, setting his foot back down and folding his arms over his chest. “And when was the last time you made it two blocks without needing to sit down or puke your guts out?”

You glared. “I made it three yesterday.”

He arched a brow, unimpressed.

“Only ‘cause I carried you the last one.”

You let your head thunk lightly against the railing, groaning. “You’re suffocatin’ me, Miller.”

“I’m keepin’ you alive,” he corrected, taking a few steps closer, “There’s a difference.”

You squinted at him.

“Barely.”

Tommy gave you that grin, the one that meant he knew damn well he was being an ass—and that he couldn't care less.

“I swore to protect you. That didn’t come with a clause about unless you’re real stubborn and feelin’ fine for five minutes.”

You shoved lightly at his chest when he got close, but he just cupped your cheek, warm hand steadying your half-sagging posture.

“I love you,” he murmured, serious now. “But you’re not goin’ back out there with our baby in your gut and a pack on your back.”

You blinked up at him. “You’re really pullin’ the baby in your belly card?”

“Damn right I am.”

"Gross. Makes me sound like a shell." You exhaled. He kissed your forehead, gentle and firm. You melted into it despite yourself.

Low resolve. Blame the hormones.

“Fine,” you began, “But I’m still gonna yell at you for bossin’ me around.”

He smiled, tongue swiping against the front of his teeth, “Please, sweetheart, it keeps me goin'.”

. . .

Tommy’s hum was low and steady, a quiet thread weaving through the soft morning light spilling into the room.

His fingers brushed your hair back, careful, like you were the most fragile thing in the world.

The scent of breakfast floated in—smoky, warm. A promise of normalcy after the storm.

“You gonna sleep all day?” His voice was gentle, almost teasing.

You exhaled, sinking your face deeper into the pillow, hiding the tired ache in your eyes. “Well… I was up all night.”

He raised a hand in mock surrender. “I slept through it. I know—I’m a monster—sorry.”

You cracked a tired smile. “Yeah, you are.”

Your eyes drifted to the crib near the window, soft light casting gentle shadows over the small, sleeping form.

A quiet breath escaped your lips—a mix of exhaustion and something like peace.

“Go on, Daddy,” you said, voice light but sure. “Get a move on.”

The words slipped out easy, like a promise wrapped in encouragement, as you pushed yourself up from the bed, steadying against the weight of your body and the weight of sleep.

Tommy caught your gaze, a slow grin spreading across his face.

“Alright, alright... I’m on it.”

He rose, the faint creak of the floor beneath him filling the quiet room, and with a glance back at you—soft, full of unspoken love.

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sourbites · 2 months ago

Note

I noticed you write for dc comics! And was wondering if you could write a smut for Jason Todd. Like with bat! Reader x Jason where they absolutely hate each other. Jason constantly picking fights and then maybe they just had enough. Reader is definitely a brat 🫣

(You love the) Violence, Baby

Pairing: Jason Todd (The Red Hood) / Female Reader Word count: 2,034 Contents: Name-calling/insults, slight degradation on both ends, spanking, mentions of violence, hair pulling, dirty talk, strong language, creampie, mention of breasts, both characters bad at feelings, Batcave sex. Summary: You might sport the same Bat symbol, but Jason wants to bite your throat out, and you want to sock him in the face. Notes: Hell yea anon, you're a genius. Hopefully I picked up what you were laying down. Love this dynamic. Written in one night and not proofread because I'm tired. Enjoy!

He is a blood-craving, foul-mouthed cancer. From the moment you met, the Red fucking Hood had made your vigilante life that much harder. Because nearly getting blown up or stabbed just wasn't harrowing enough, apparently.

"How do you want it, baby?" Jason scrapes his gloved hands up your sides, squeezing. You chew your lower lip. He makes you feel sick with a desire that sends cloudy, foggy smoke to your prefrontal cortex. You shudder at the nickname. Baby. What a joke; you're not his baby.

Snap. It echoes off the walls— his hand connecting with your ass. "Answer me, bitch."

It's like that, is it? Little fucker.

"God, you're a fucking weirdo. Just - just do whatever. Before I come to my senses and change my mind." You hiss, turning your head to send him a mean glare with narrowed eyes.

Jason seems to like that answer. He sinks his teeth into your shoulder, which is bare, having already peeled off the triple-weave Kevlar of your Batgirl suit. Your stomach is a lightning storm striking the ground and you ignite yourself on fire when you press your back flush to his chest. It's all kinds of nasty and wrong, but you're an altar and he throws himself onto you like a sacrifice. You know Bruce would be tutting and shaking his head, uttering something about manners and professionalism; as if Selina doesn't warm his bed at night.

It's not like Jason was a dalliance for you. It's just this one time where you need him to fuck your head into silence. After the mind-bending games with the Riddler tonight, you need everything to go quiet.

Those same gloved fingers curl into the fabric that's pooling at your waist. He tugs it down your legs in a mean yank. "Change your mind?" He echoes— a shiver of amusement in his tone. Conceited. "Who are you fooling, Batgirl? You want this," He bumps his hips into your ass, pelvis first and cock heavy, "You want me."

Your back arches, hands flat and palms bracing yourself against the cold, hard tile wall. Your body is still littered with bruises. Jason's forearms wear bracelets of blood splatters, dried onto that pale skin. His mouth is fever-warm when he tucks your earlobe between his teeth. Your legs part further, letting him get his hands between your thighs.

You twist a hand around to fist Jason's hair. The edge of your nails digs into his skull. He hisses and you smile— proud. "You're just a pity-fuck, don't get ahead of yourself."

All he manages is a laugh - rich and deep - coming straight from his burning-hot gut. Your panties hang off your hips in colourful bandages, shredded by his fingers. Show off. You roll your eyes and thank your lucky stars he's facing your back. His lips caress the side of your neck— your wailing pulse. "Awfully wet for a pity-fuck, don't you think?"

"I'm imagining you're Superman."

Jason sighs mournfully, tracing your slick cunt with his fingers. It's just smooth leather up and down raw nerves. Sparks bouncing up your spine like skipped rocks ripple on the water's surface. "Gonna fuck that rotten attitude right outta you."

His other hand reaches up to grab your face - fingers smushing your cheeks a bit - turning your head to face him. You splay your tongue out, flat, and lick from his bottom lip to his top lip. He nips at your jaw, burning his mouth into yours. But he's still an asshole about it. He's got a tobacco tint to his tongue. The only difference between his kiss and his bites is how deeply his teeth go. He carries ghosts with him— you feel them sinking down your own lungs.

He stirs his bulge up between your legs, hand dropping from your face to undo his belt. His tactical pants scratch the backs of your legs. The metallic clinking of the belt buckle rolls off the walls. The whole locker room in the Batcave is sterile, scrubbed cleaner than a surgeon's theatre. Your head lolls back; lips parted around a moan. You feel him grin against your neck, dimpling, the tip of his nose pressing into the underside of your jaw.

"There we go," Jason croons into your delicate skin. He forces your legs apart, cramming his hips into your ass. He's more keen on getting inside your pussy than breathing at this point. He fists his cock - a few shallow pumps - shaft glittery with precum. He sinks into you in one vehement, long stroke.

"So much better - prettier - when you're not running that cocksucker."

Mortified (and too busy purring like a new sports car to verbally berate him), you beat the side of a closed fist against his forearm as a warning. Jason's hand circles your throat, the other locked around a hip like he wants to break bones. His cock hits the deepest part of your cunt. He uses both hands to spread your ass, transfixed as he watches his cock disappear inside you. You're stretching around his girth - it burns something beautiful - stoking the embers within your fluttering belly until it's a roar of blistering heat.

You rock your body back against his hips, and Jason responds in kind every time, snapping his pelvis until he's sure it's bruised. He fucks you like he wants to kill you. His cock is splitting you in two. You think maybe the tiled walls are going to shatter, or maybe your knees are going to buckle until you're giving way and collapsing onto the floor. You come at each other like you can't be broken, and lust is the hangover of mean, red-hot rage.

It was always going to end up like this. There's (admittedly) volatile chemistry that makes you want to explode. Everything between you is unsaid, drunk by the ghosts along the way from your minds to your mouths. There's the sickly sweet feeling of adrenaline pouring into your bodies still— because you're never really out of uniform. Not in this field. Nearly dying is a delicious aphrodisiac that you gulp by the gallon. He winds you up like a toy, insides coiled and threatening to burst. You're battered into the wall like he's got something to prove.

"Fuck," He sucks in a breath through clenched teeth, jaw stiff. His cock is like a cymbal crash, like a bass kick, scraping against the channel of your sex. Punching your cervix with the head of his dick. Your cunt squeezes, tight as a fist.

"Ain't this better? No more a' that little green bitch's wordplay?" He means the Riddler, you gather, "Just me using you as a nice hole to fuck. Should do this more often. You have your place, right here on my dick."

Jason fists his hand into your hair, dragging you into a penetrating kiss that's got your blood ignited like you're made of fucking gunpowder. You're burning from the inside out, smelted down into a thousand empty bullet shells. Your nails bite into the heels of your palms, bursting with a mewl from the agony of his full balls pummelling over the arousal-slicked, overworked nerves jammed into your swollen clit. His chin comes to rest on your shoulder as his quickening breaths come out across your neck.

He blurs into you. Both strong fists come to curl around your hips, locking you to him. The globes of your ass is burning hot with the impact of his brutal pace. He shoves his cock as far as he can— taking you in frantic, rough strokes. It echoes and ripples around the walls, the noise of his skin cracking against yours as if you're getting whipped. You don't think you've hated anything as much as wanting him. He's just wailing on you, and the lust burns higher than the shame. But it'll burn faster, leaving you with a campfire of shame when you're alone in bed later tonight.

There's a determination to his thrusts. He'll fuck you - make you lose your goddamn mind - so unfathomably well that you'll never want anyone else. No one else should hit the spongy parts of you like this. No one else should get you honest to god howling like this. Try it. Try sleeping with someone else, and within hours, you'll be crawling back to Jason, whining about how it's not the same.

Each punch of his dick forces you into the stiff wall. The tile is ice cold, and it bites into the bare skin of your body. He's delivering another devastating buck of his hips before one hand rasps up from your hip to cup one of your tits. He pinches and tugs on a nipple, getting you boneless and gasping fucked-out curses. He truly wishes someone would overhear this.

"God," Jason rumbles in a bassy timbre, "you're so easy."

His hands have this coarseness from handling weapons and weights that feel delicious on the tender skin of your body. It's all just way too sexy to be real. His pupils - inky black - swallow the colour of his irises. He looks like a fucking shark. Black-eyed and grinning with startlingly bright teeth. Your back is arched, taut as a drawn bowstring.

"Just shut your fucking mouth, Jay," You sigh, your brows furrowing. Your breath rattles around in your lungs, jaw slack. Fuck, does he fill you well.

Jason's mouth sucks on the side of your neck. When he releases, the Arctic air cools his spit on your skin. "'M I making you blush?" He purrs, his arm crowding around your side. His hand splays on your belly, fingers spanning the mound of your pussy to your navel. He's shamelessly feeling the way your skin bulges to accommodate his behemoth-sized dick.

"Bored." You lie.

His hips piston, ramming you up the wall. You're bolstered from starry-eyed mindlessness to turned on and shocked. He laughs breathlessly; his voice smoky. "That better, baby?" He's still beaming with lusty delight— you can hear it in his tone.

You move one hand from the tile to latch onto his thick wrist. You want to keep him close. Molten pleasure rolls around within you, filtering out any sensations or half-baked thoughts that aren't relevant to Jason's admittedly magical cock. He twitches within you and holy shit this is it—

—Jason shoves his face into your shoulder and loses it. Drags his dick all the way out, throbbing cockhead catching on your entrance, and driving back inside at the speed of— of fucking light. You're lurched flush to the wall, sobbing a mix of incoherent praise and curses. He's really letting you have it, his savage pace the cherry on top of his agonisingly wanton dick. A full-bodied sob is ripped out of your stinging lungs. The palm on your belly pushes down - he's fucking evil - and all you can think is so, soooo full. It's the kind of pace - the kind of sex - that's born from years of pushed-down frustration and base lust.

Blissed-out tears drag down your hot cheeks. The whirlwind of a life-altering orgasm cracks down on you. His thumb is pressing into your aching clit, and you don't even remember when it got there. The throb of your cunt milks Jason well enough that he's bottoming out, spilling out his load and stuffing you impossibly full with it. Fuck, he cums a lot. Slick and cum is rolling down your legs in thick rivulets. His rich groans are reverberating off the walls. Sandwiched and flattened between Jason and the world's most corrupted wall, you try to stay conscious for every gorgeous millisecond.

Your skin is beaded with sweat, and contrastingly shuddering with chills.

For a few moments, you and Jason exist, hanging with mindless suspense in a sort of limbo. Too overstimulated and sated to keep going, yet too into whatever this car wreck of a liaison is to part ways just yet.

Once your brain cells are booted up again, you realise just how quickly he got you into that. Under his spell or something. Trying to save face, you quip, "Yeah... Superman could do better."

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