#to make him feel... grounded... to make him not “drifting away”...

[velaenam]

courtside sins

basketball player!caleb x cheerleader!nonmc reader tags: NSFW (18+) RAW. NASTY. SMUT!!! creampie, penetration (p to v), clit stimulation, groping, swearing, smut w/ sorta plot we just tryna bang caleb ngl — reblogs comments & likes are appreciated.

the gym is electric! stomping feet, whistles, screaming fans packed tight into the stands– but all you can hear is your own heartbeat pounding in your ears. caleb’s got the ball. shot clock ticking down. sweat glistens down his neck as he dribbles past the last defender, eyes locked on the hoop. you’re front and center on the sideline in your cheer uniform, pom-poms gripped right in your hands, “let’s go, number 5!” you shout louder than anyone else. 

it cuts through the noise!

his eyes flicked to you– just for a second– and that is all it takes. you see it in his face; he heard you! that cocky smirk flickers across his lips right before he takes a leap, muscles coiling as he sinks the shot– buzzer screaming!

the crowd erupts– screaming echos off the gym walls, and you can barely hear your own damn voice as you chant along with your squad, launching into your celebratory routine. you flip, kick, throw your arms in the air, adrenaline high and cheeks flushed. state champions. the win tastes sweet, but nothing compared to the way he’s looking at you across the court. 

caleb shoves past his teammates, brushing off the pat on his back, and makes a beeline for you. your pom-poms hit the floor just in time for him to grab you by the waist, lift you off the ground, and spin you in a tight circle, sweat drenched and grinning wide.

“thank you. did that for you.” he breathes into your ear, voice rough, chest heaving. his hands linger a little too long on your hips, and you don’t stop him. 

before you can respond, he’s pulled away– swallowed by the swam of teammates, reporters, and coaches flooding the court. everybody wants a piece of him. cameras were flashing, arms were wrapping around him. someone shoves a towel at his chest and another hand grasps his shoulder. but even as he talks, nods, and plays the part of the mvp, his eyes would drift back to you.

he manages to break away for half a second, weaving through the chaos just long enough to lean in close for you to be the only one to hear him;

“locker room. 30 minutes. i need you.” his voice is low, rough and urgent. it wasn’t a request– it was a promise– a demand.

your knees buckle, and your lips part to grasp.  your pulse is already pounding for a completely different reason.

then he’s gone again, smiling for the crowd.

.

you don’t wait the full 30 minutes. 

the noise of the celebration fades behind you as you slip through the back hallway, cheer uniform brushing your thighs, every step echoing on the waxed floor. the locker room door is ahead- slightly ajar, the overhead lights humming softly inside. your hearts thudding so hard you swear it might rip out your chest.

you push the door open, slowly, letting it creak just enough to announce you. it was empty. warm. the air smelled of sweat, victory, and… axe?

you walk past the lockers one by one, fingers grazing cool metal, until you reach the row where his things always are. your back presses against one of the doors as you wait, stomach tight with heat and anticipation. you can still feel his hands on your hips from the court, still hear that growl in your ear– i need you.

you’re not sure what’s going to happen when he walks through that door. 

.

the door clicks shut behind you– and then it opens again.

you don’t even have time to speak before caleb steps through. the moment his eyes find you the tension snaps. he’s still in his uniform, jersey peeled off the slung over his shoulder, skin slick with sweat and flushed from adrenaline. that look in his eyes? it’s not the cocky grin he gives reporters. it’s darker. hungrier. just for you.

“you waited.” he says, voice low and rough, like gravel smoothed by heat.

“i always do..” you answer, barely above a whisper.

in two strides he’s in front of you, one hand braced on the locker beside your head, the other already gripping your waist, pulling you in. “you don’t know what you do to me out there,” he mutters, breath brushing your lips, “the way you scream my name..” he groans, head tipping back slightly like he’s trying to restrain himself, but he can’t– not tonight. “the way you move in that skirt.”

then he kisses you– hard. no hesitation, no warm up. just heat and teeth and weeks of tension finally breaking open in the dark.

the kiss turns frantic fast– his mouth claiming yours like it’s owed, like the win wasn’t complete until he had you like this. your back slams softly against the locker, the cool metal contrast the heat flooding your body. caleb’s hands are everywhere– one tangled in your hair, the other sliding down, rough palm catching the hem of your skirt.

“been thinking about this all game,” he growls against your mouth, voice thick and shaky with need, “you cheering for me like that… jumping around in that damn skirt… do you know what that does to me…” he mumbles hungrily

you gasp when his fingers trail up your thigh, under your skirt now, dragging slow over your skin with purpose. his touch is firm– like he already knows every place that makes you squirm. your legs part for him instinctively, the air between you charged and electric. his breath hitches, his eyes flicking down as he grins darkly. “no shorts underneath?” he murmurs, “bad girl.”

you’d took it off before he came in.

he doesn’t move further. his fingers stay right at the edge, maddeningly close but never quite touching where you need him. instead, he just smirks, like he’s already won twice tonight. once on the court, and now here, with you trembling beneath his hands.

“you came in here like this on purpose, didn’t you?” caleb whispers, mouth brushing along the shell of your ear, “no shorts.. no shame..” he drawls, lips dragging along your neck, slow and lazy, “what were you hoping i’d do? take you right here? make you mine again– while the rest of them think i’m still giving interviews?”

your fingers dig into his shoulders as he drags his hand up your inner thigh again, feather-light. every muscle in your body tightens, aching for him to stop teasing and do something. but he’s enjoying this– watching you squirm, seeing how badly you want him to break.

“you should see yourself right now” he mutters, eyes locked on yours, “so needy.. so fucking pretty when you beg..” 

he pauses, fingers still hovering. your pulse is in your throat. “tell me.. what do you want, baby?”

he doesn’t wait for you to say it. instead, caleb grabs your wrist, spinning you around with dizzying ease, then pulls you down the row of lockers. the sink and mirror come into view, silver and fluorescent lit, as he presses you hard against the counter, your palms catching on the edge.

“look,” he growls, positioning himself behind you. “his hand splays across your lower back, holding you there as he nudges your legs apart with his knee, “you don’t even know what you do to me, do you? look at yourself– watch what you turn me into..” he presses himself on your ass– his dick already hard.

the mirror reflects your flushed cheeks, wide eyes. the way his tall frame towers behind you. all muscle, hunger, and restraint stretches thin. he hikes your skirt up slowly, painfully slowly, exposing you fully in the mirror, his fingers ghosting over your skin.

“this is what I wanted..” he murmurs, dragging his knuckles up your inner thigh, “you.. just like this.. mine..”  he tugs his shorts off, skinagainst your own.

you barely have time to breathe before you feel him press against you even harder. caleb’s grip tightens on your hips as he leans in, his mouth brushes your ear again, voice low and possessive, “keep your eyes up,” he commands, “don’t look away.” 

expert fingers hook onto your panties, tugging them to the side. his dick sliding between your thighs. you were dazed. mind in space. your juices start to coat him as he starts to move slowly, his shaft teasing your folds. your eyes locked onto his gaze, a blush creeping on your face. you were lost for words. 

absolutely fucking lost.

then– he thrusts in– deep and sudden– and the sound rips from your throat is half gasp, half moan. one of his hands clamps over your mouth just in time to muffle it, palm broad and rough, the other anchoring your hips in place as he starts to move– hard and deliberate.

the mirror trembles with every motion. your reflection blurs with every rock of his hips. lashes fluttering as you try– and fail– not to melt under the weight of him. caleb groans behind you, head falling forward against your shoulder, “fuck baby..” he murmurs against your skin, “you feel so fucking good..” he pants, pace picking up, “so tight..” he coos, so lost.

your hands grip the sink for dear life, knuckles white. your eyes keep catching his in the glass– wild, dark, and locked on you like you’re the only thing here right now. “you’re mine..” caleb growls again, “say it..” 

you try to speak– you really do. but all that comes out is a broken whimper, your mouth falling open against his palm as your body rocks with his every thrust. words feel impossible, lost in the haze of heat, and pressure building fast and sharp inside you. your eyes plead through the mirror, and he sees it– of course he does.

“tried to be sweet.” caleb mutters, voice raw and breathless now. “but you don’t need words, do you, baby?”  his hand leaves your mouth, sliding down your front with a slow drag of fingers that find your aching center, circling and taunting, “you’ll tell me with this..” 

“y-you idiot!” you half scream half whisper, “ t-tried m-my ass… y-you didn’t let me– talk!” you say in between ragged breathing and moans. your back arches, thighs shaking as he sinks deeper, his fingers working you in time with his hips until you’re right on the edge– held open and helpless, pinned between the sink, and the full weight of him behind you. 

he watches every twitch, every moan, every desperate press of your hips against him. 

“you’re saying it now.” he grunts, pace snapping into something rougher, more desperate. “you’re saying it with how you’re moving.” your answers before you can. you clench around him, head falling back against his shoulder as a cry tears rom your throat, your release crashing over you like a wave. but caleb doesn’t stop– not until he’s spilling into you with a low guttural sound. chest pressed against your back, lips against your neck as you both come down.

he pulls out slowly, dragging a moan from both of you, and you nearly collapse against the sink– legs shaking, chest heaving. but before you can fully catch you breath, caleb’s hands are already back on your waist, guiding you away from the mirror with that same intensity in his eyes. 

“not done-” he breathes, voice husky and rough. “get on the bench.” you don’t question it– because you can’t. he drops onto the wooden bench lining the lockers, legs spread wide, sweat-slick skin gleaming under the harsh overhead light. he pulls you into his lap like he owns you, and maybe he does. your hands find his shoulders as you straddle him, still in your uniform, skirt flipped up and forgotten. 

his hands grip your thighs, sliding up slowly, possessively, and he lets out a shaky breath as you sink down onto him again. the stretch burns, raw, and perfect, and his head falls back with a low groan.

“that’s it baby..” he whispers, eyes dark and fixed on where your bodies join. “ride me.. just like that..” 

you start to move– slow at first, letting him feel everything, every grind of your hips. he groans again, hands sliding under your skirt to grip your ass, guiding your rhythm. 

you set the rhythm first; slow, rolling your hips against him in smooth, deliberate circles, letting him feel how deep he is inside and how wet you still are. caleb’s jaw clenches, his hands gripping tighter, his eyes locked on yours like he’s daring you to keep going at that pace. you smirk, just a little, riding the high of having him this crazed beneath you.

“you like watching me fall apart for you, huh?” he mutters, voice thick with arousal and something a little hidden, “think you’re in control now?” 

you don’t answer. you just keep moving, slow and deep. hands planted on his chest as you grind down hard, a quiet whimper escaping your throat as his cock hits that perfect spot. 

then– he moves.

his hands slide to your hips and slam you down onto him harder, faster, stealing your breath mid-moan. he thrusts up into you from below with a rough rhythm that makes your thighs tremble and your back arch.

each snap of his hips steals whatever control you thought you had, until you’re a mess in his lap– moaning, panting, clinging to him. holy fuck.

“i’ll let you ride me.” he grits out, lips brushing your ear, fighting back a groan, “but don’t forget who’s really fucking you.” 

your hands claw at his shoulders now, nails digging in as the pace starts to turn brutal– neither of you bothering to hold back anymore. caleb’s breathing is ragged against your neck, his mouth catching on your skin between curses and praise. his thrusts from below meet every roll of your hips perfectly, the sound of your bodies slapping together echoing through the empty locker room. 

your name falls from his lips, rough, desperate, as his hand slides between your bodies, thumb circling that sensitive bundle of nerves with maddening accuracy. you cry out, his stuttering, and he knows– that you’re close– again.

“come on baby..” he whispers, “want to feel you fall apart on me again.. let go.. i’ve got you.” 

you do

your body locks up for a second, thighs clenching around him, and then he crashes over you– blinding, breathless, a mess of trembling limbs and broken sounds as you cum all around him. caleb curses under his breath, holding you tight as he follows, thrusting up hard one final time before he grabs you by the back of your head, lips colliding with yours.

you’re still trembling when he lifts you off his lap. arms strong but movements slow and careful. he murmurs a soft ‘i love you’ barely enough to hear, as he kisses your temple and runs a hand down your spine to soothe the aftershocks.

then he slips his hoodie over your head, the fabric swallowing you in his scent. it was warm and oversized. his sweats follow, tied loose around your waist, your uniform stuffed in his duffel bag.

you’re exhausted– limbs heavy, brain foggy with bliss– but he crouches in front of you with a smile that’s all soft and cute, “come on baby girl” he says, tilting his head, “i’ll carry you.”

you don’t argue. you climbed onto his back, resting your cheek against his shoulder as he hoists you with ease, one hand beneath your thigh, the other steady at your knee. the locker room lights hum behind you as he walks through the hallway and out the door.

when he gets to the car he opens the door with one hand, sets you gently in the passenger seat and buckling your seatbelt before brushing a kiss on your forehead. 

“still my favorite win.” 

taglist : @rcvcgers, @miffysoo

[swordgrace]

𝐚 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐥 𝐩𝐚𝐠𝐞-𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐧𝐞𝐫. — bob reynolds.

𝐫𝐞𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭 𝐬𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬: “requesting 'keep reading, don't let me distract you.' for bob reynolds (or even floyd idc) please 👉🏽👈🏽”

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: bob reynolds x fem!reader. [2.3K]

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: smut (mdni), smut with a slice of plot, needy bob, switch!bob, heavy making out, dry humping / grinding, begging, spit kink, thigh riding, breast play. male orgasm.

[ 4K CELEBRATION. — PROMPT LIST. ]

It’s late in the afternoon, peach-ripe sunlight casting the rooftop in a burnt glow, touching the slats of dark tile and tinted, half-ajar windows.

The Watchtower is unusually hushed, with a majority of the team sent away on different assignments. There’s a soft breeze floating through his nook, carrying the weight of summertime.

Bob sits comfortably on a low, cushioned sofa, brunette waves touched by hints of caramel when the light hits it just right.

The Goo Goo Dolls pour from his headphones, brows creased together in concentration, a book slotted firmly in one hand.

In the quiet, he finds a sense of peace, able to let himself relax, music drowning out the dismal hum of the New York cityscape. His breathing is even, steady; he looks tranquil.

Reading was partially self-taught, a pastime that he’d initially used as a form of escapism, back when he was younger. It’d stuck with him through the years, heightened everytime you bought him a new book.

He hears your footsteps vibrate through the floor, an involuntary side-effect of having superhuman senses.

Taking the serum had gifted him with a slew of inhuman attunements — hearing, taste, scent, his entire body altered to supernatural peak performance.

As he turns the page, your silhouette dances through the doorway, fringed by warmth, light that pools off of your body. Bob marks his spot with a creased corner and a smile.

“Whole tower to ourselves, and you’re hiding from me,” The teasing lilt of your voice makes his heart stutter, and he sits up a little straighter, too. “Must be a great book.”

“Sorry,” Bob apologizes without provocation, hands tightening around the hardback spine. “Think I got caught up in the plot. It’s really good.”

Content, you wander toward the couch, wearing linen shorts and one of his t-shirts, material slouched over your frame.

“Oh yeah? What’s the book about?” You hum, sitting on the end, and the distance you maintain is somewhat glaring.

His jaw slacks in surprise, gaze tracing across the shape of your legs, over the material of his shirt that blankets your frame. You smell nice, a concoction of sugar cookies and warm vanilla.

Bob clears his throat, lashes kissing the skin beneath his eyes, owlishly blinking in your direction as if you’ve slighted him.

“Why are you over there?” He murmurs, momentarily placing his book aside. Warm hands find the muscle of your calf, steady and strong, coaxing you closer.

“I can be closer.” A laugh leaves you as Bob urges you inward, tugging you closer until your legs are draped over his lap.

Wedged against his side, you feel the taut heat of his musculature, bleeding through the loose button-up he wears. His lips smooth over your forehead, inhaling a gust of your scent.

It’s grounding; the gentle lull of your heartbeat, the saccharine haze of your smell, the way your skin tastes beneath his lips.

Bob exhales; a drawn-out, tranquil sound that indicates relaxation. He keeps you close, draping an arm over your thighs, the other reaching for his book again.

“What’s your book about?” Inquiring again, your fingers drift toward his crown, slipping through his hair, lightly tracing over his nape.

“It’s a mystery,” Most of what he’d been reading were philosophical books, with fiction sprinkled in. The genre change was something he sorely needed. “Murder-mystery.”

“I didn’t think you liked those types of books,” You point out, careening in to plant your chin against his shoulder, still toying with his tresses. “No Aristotle or Socrates?”

Bob’s mouth twitches into a threadbare smile, features painted with a delicate shade of rose. “I needed something different.” He replies, drawing circles on your thighs.

His focus shifts to you, a peculiar tenderness stirring within his gaze, countenance echoing with a veiled affection.

“You can keep reading,” Encouragingly, you don’t mind if he continues, even with you present. You’re content to simply bask within his presence, soak in the nook’s sunshine. “I don’t mind.”

“Are you sure? Close to finishing a chapter,” Bob muses, awkwardly clearing his throat. It sounds silly, trying to read when your girlfriend is halfway sitting in your lap. “Then I’ll hold you.”

With a wrinkled nose, you quietly gesture for him to continue his book. However, you have other intentions, and none of them are wholesome.

Carrying on, he settles back into the velveteen and corduroy of the sofa, ringlets of brown framing his visage, brows furrowed together. His eyes shift over the pages, clearly concentrating.

Warm fingertips idly draw patterns over your thighs, goosebumps erupting in the wake of his embrace. A brief shiver grips you as you adjust your legs, sitting up a little higher.

A hush falls between, save for the gentle ambiance of the outdoors and the even exhales that escape through his nose.

Coiling closer, your lips press against his jaw, which breaks his concentration entirely, and quickly. The noise he makes is sharp and sudden, eyes fluttering in your direction.

Slowly, your mouth trails to his throat, planting warm, appreciative kisses to the exposed skin there, hand firm atop his thigh.

“What …” Bob sucks in a poignant breath, swallowing the lump in his throat when you begin to kiss every inch of his neck. “What are you doing?” He mumbles.

God, you make him break so easily; desire screams within him, sparking to life with little action, cock stirring within his lounge-pants. His hand is left to curl into a fist at his side.

Wordlessly, you don’t offer an answer right away, stringing kisses over warm skin, creeping along the stubble that clings to his jaw. It’s reverent, wanting; the way your mouth moves is tantalizing.

Absently, his tongue swipes over his bottom lip as he squirms again, concentration reduced to mere ashes. The words on the page become jumbled, his brain scrambled.

Your hand moves toward his inner thigh, resting over thick muscle, ghosting across the growing swell in his pants.

“Keep reading, don’t let me distract you,” Coyly, you press a lingering kiss beneath his jaw, pulling another low groan from his chest. “Pretend I’m not here.” You tease, and he shakes his head.

“I can’t,” Bob groans, attempting to stifle the sound with a dizzying inhale. “Can’t focus when you’re doing that, please.”

He’s sensitive to touch, especially yours, nerves set ablaze by your embrace. It’s as if liquid fire slithered over his bones, wrapping tightly, harsh and full of an unrestrained ardor.

Bob tries to keep reading, he really does, but he falters and suddenly, the book is horribly uninteresting. He shivers, Adam’s apple taut, feeling you knead at his erection.

Sluggishly, you crawl into his lap, slotting yourself against one of his thighs. Tilting your hips just right, you grind yourself into him, friction simmering, causing you to gasp.

The book falls by the wayside, unceremoniously dropping onto the nearest couch cushion. Bob’s hands find your hips, gripping you tightly, as if you might cease to exist.

He kisses you feverishly, open-mouthed as a strained whine splits his diaphragm. The pressure that pulses between your legs causes you to shudder, hips grinding over his.

“God, don’t stop,” Bob groans into your mouth, tongue lapping over your bottom lip. The kiss itself is sticky, wet — drool sticks to the corner of his mouth. “Please.”

Hot digits flex over the hem of your shirt, palm gliding underneath to cup your breast. When he finds that you aren’t wearing a bra, his pupils dilate, eclipsed with desperation.

“You’re so handsome,” Your voice is low, affectionate as it curls around him, cock pulsing beneath your hand. “So perfect, Bob.”

Another groan tumbles from his mouth, lips messily clashing with yours, kissing you desperately. Gentle fingers roll across your nipple, kneading at the pliant flesh of your chest.

Hips continue to grind over one another, rocking your clothed core into his thigh, sparks flying. His cock throbs incessantly, a wet patch forming against the front of his boxers.

Lips collide again, a heated exchange of tongue and saliva, pooling in your mouth as you kiss. A moan leaves you, pussy aching, clenching pathetically around nothing.

He’s not going to last long; he can feel it.

His chest stings with excitable pants, kissing you hard enough to make your belly churn with butterflies.

Bob squirms again, clinging to you, inhaling a gust of your scent. He can smell the arousal coalescing between your thighs. “You’re so beautiful.” He pants, visibly enamored.

A scarlet flush blankets his features, as if he’s been burning beneath the sun for too long. He continues to touch you, other hand tightly holding to your hip, rocking you forward.

Bob can feel the coil settle within his belly, a tangle of heat that’s pulled tight, something visceral and real. What he feels for you is overwhelming, raw and sheer want.

A muted buzz shoots through his cock as his hips jerk forward, hot air pushed out through his nose as he teases your breasts. “Can I have some?” He huffs into your lips.

A slick sheen of saliva glistens over your chin, your spit intermingled with his. You touch it with a wry smirk, head cocking to one side. “Yeah?”

He nods several times over, exhilarated and thrilled, pupils blown-out and black with desire. His cock strains against the front of his pants, and you continue to knead at it lovingly.

“Please.” Bob groans, hips helplessly rutting forward, crashing into your palm. You treat him to another careful swirl of your hand.

The wet tendril falls over your chin, a sheen of intermingled spit that Bob greedily covets. Your hand snakes toward his jaw, thumb sweeping over his bottom lip.

His lashes flutter in rapid succession, visibly dazed as he opens his mouth for you, heart stammering beneath his sternum. The hand that holds your hip squeezes again.

Saliva gathers in your mouth as you spit into his, watching it fall like sticky tendrils onto his tongue. His body shudders from the sight, eyes impossibly wide, shadowed by desire.

Bob groans, a breathy whine snaring within his throat as he swallows, blinking owlishly as he slams his lips against yours.

Irises sparkle with a flicker of gold, subtle and fleeting, letting you rock against him still, bodies flush and tight together. Even through clothes, the friction doesn’t die.

He ruts his hips into yours, lets you palm at his cock through his sweatpants, says your name again through clenched teeth.

The look he wears is one of bliss and desperation, all rolled together. Through pinched brows and parted lips, features washed in scarlet, he chases after his encroaching release.

His vision swims with stars, cock throbbing ceaselessly in his boxers, straining against the cotton fabric. Precum leaves behind a wet patch, and he’s nearly bursting at the seams.

You aren’t even touching his skin, and he’s burning for you anyway, collapsing on himself like the implosion of a star.

“You’re — Mm, so pretty,” Bob pants, chest stinging from labored sighs, burying his face beside your throat. He presses a messy string of kisses there, bucking into the friction. “M’close.”

There’s pleasure you gain in getting him to this point, twisted up into knots, treating him gently; when your fingers trace his crown, he pushes out another exhale.

Still, your hand flexes over his clothed cock, feeling the heat that seeps through, teasing his erection until he’s a mess. He trembles beneath you, feeling your hips tilt, knee beside his groin.

As he kisses your neck, he’s everywhere, one palm still pawing at your breasts, rubbing circles across your ribs. He sucks at a sensitive spot beneath your jaw, causing you to moan.

You let your hand drop, using the friction of your body, the both of you humping one another as if you might cease to exist.

He’s nearly there, feeling your hand lightly tug at his tresses. The pulsing of his cock is almost mind-numbing, and he can hear the uptick of your heartbeat.

“Want you to cum for me, sweetheart.” The sultry, affectionate lilt in your tone makes his brain go fuzzy, body humming with static.

The nickname catches him off-guard, but it isn’t unwelcome in the slightest. His insides flood with warmth, a muted buzz tingling his marrow, jaw slack, chest rumbling with a groan.

His hips stutter, grinding into you again and again, making your cunt ache, arousal slick over your core as he reaches his peak.

Bob nearly explodes, body a live wire, skin crawling with an excitable heat as he cums in his pants. It isn’t the first time it’s happened with you, but he’s still flushed and flustered from it all.

It’s sticky and messy over his groin, ruining his boxers, but he suspects it won’t be the last time.

He huffs, blinking a few times over, wetting his bottom lip as he fights for composure. You’re looking beautiful, smoothing a palm over his chest, cupping his jaw.

“You okay? It wasn’t too much, was it?” You murmur, but he vehemently shakes his head, a coy smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

“No, that was …” Bob swallows, briefly pressing a kiss to your neck before reclining. “A real page-turner.” He teases, and the corny joke causes the both of you to laugh.

“That’s good,” You muse, teeth idly catching on your lower lip, nose wrinkled. Your lips meet for a tender kiss, one that leaves him wanting more. “What does the next chapter look like?”

A flurry of confidence rouses within him, an assurance that he wants to be in-control this time; and he knows you won’t object.

Wordlessly, he lays you down on the sofa, atop plush velvet and corduroy, crawling to find his purchase between your thighs. You gasp, feeling his hands caress along your legs.

Whatever’s gotten into him, you’re thoroughly enjoying it.

As he sinks down to ease your shorts off, linen fabric kissing your knees, you catch the hint of a playful, adoring smile.

“Looks like I’ll have to show you.”

[nkogneatho]

𝐃𝐀𝐃'𝐒 𝐁𝐄𝐒𝐓𝐅𝐑𝐈𝐄𝐍𝐃 𝐆𝐎𝐉𝐎 𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐓 𝐓𝐖𝐎

part one masterlist

—a/n: i came. i creamed my panties. ok bye. thanks for the patience.

—c/w: daddy kink, creampie, older satoru, reader is in her 20s, dirty talking, reader calls gojo sir.

you barely made it to your room. head spinning, heart pounding so loud it felt like it was gonna burst right out of your chest. the click of the lock? it hit different—like thunder breaking the silence all around the house. you leaned back against the door, trying to catch your breath, trying to make sense of what the hell just happened. but the fire burning low in your stomach? yeah, that wasn’t going anywhere.

satoru gojo. your dad’s best friend. his name echoed in your head, tangled up with that dark look in his eyes and the low growl of his voice. you hated that you wanted him. hated that he somehow knew exactly how to unravel you without even touching you. but you couldn’t stop replaying the moment his knuckles grazed your skin, sending shivers that crawled all the way down your spine.

you paced, bare feet sinking into the soft carpet like it was the only thing keeping you grounded. every step was a fight with your own thoughts. why’d he tell you to lock the door? a warning? a challenge? or something else? you didn’t know. but just thinking about opening it sent this crazy thrill buzzing through your veins you couldn’t shake.

minutes passed, maybe hours? hard to tell. the house was quiet except for a faint murmur of voices downstairs. you tried to distract yourself, scrolling on your phone, flipping through an old book but nothing worked. your mind kept drifting back to him.

then, a knock. soft. almost shy. your breath hitched and you froze, eyes locked on the doorknob. you didn’t move. and before you could, the door creaked open, slow and long, like it was teasing you, without even needing to be unlocked.

there he was. silver hair catching the hallway light, eyes dark and intense. no words at first, just that look that made your knees weak. then the smirk. slow, dangerous, curling on his lips, heat rushing through you like wildfire.

“i told you to lock it,” he said, stepping inside like he owned the space. you stepped back, but he followed, shutting the door quietly behind him.

“you’re not supposed to be here,” you whispered, voice shaky but loud enough to betray every fear and thrill.

“then you would’ve locked the door,” he said smooth as silk, gaze never leaving yours. he moved closer, presence swallowing you whole, until there was almost no space left.

your heart slammed as his fingers brushed your wrist—soft but certain. “tell me to leave,” he said low and dangerous. “tell me to walk away. right now.”

you opened your mouth to speak, but no words came out. you stood there, caught in the storm of his eyes, pulled in too deep to fight it.

then his lips found yours, dark, hungry, everything you didn’t know you needed. you stumbled back, his hands gripping your waist, strong and sure. the quiet power in his hold made your breath catch, and god, you hated how easy it was to melt into him.

“do you know what you’re doing?” you whispered between kisses, voice shaky, unsure.

his lips curled into that maddening smirk against your skin. “maybe the better question is… do you?”

his fingers traced your jaw, tilting your head up. his eyes locked on yours, sharp as knives, like he was reading every secret you tried to hide.

you wanted to push him away, tell him it was wrong. but instead, your hands clutched his shirt, trying to ground yourself in the chaos he brought. “this is insane,” you breathed, more a confession than a protest.

“maybe,” he said, lips brushing your ear, voice low and promising. “but it doesn’t feel like you want me to stop.”

your silence said all he needed. his mouth was back on yours—rougher, deeper, more demanding—pulling you apart piece by piece until all that was left was need. the air thickened, every touch, every whispered word dragging you closer to the edge.

“sir…” the word slipped out before you could stop it, raw and breathless.

he looked at you then, all dangerous and wild, and your knees went weak. your heart raced like crazy.

“you love playing with fire, don't you?” he said, voice low and amused.

you didn’t answer. how could you? the truth was in your body, in the way you leaned into him, in every hitch of your breath when his hands explored places only meant for him.

“on the bed. legs spread wide. now”

you did what he ordered. you climbed on the bed, your ass wiggling on the way. the moment you turned around to face him, he yanked you to the edge, making you yelp. his hands traveled up you thighs and stopped once they reached to your core.

“no panties, huh?” you shied away. you knew. you knew what he was implying. that you knew he was going to come in. and that you wanted him to take you. which was true by the way.

he ran his long, slender fingers up and down your slick, the wet voice of your weeping pussy filling up the silence in your room.

“all this for me? shit, sweetheart. i am so hard. i wanna fuck this pussy till you're crying.”

“then do it.” you didn't know if you were being bold or stupid, but you couldn't—wouldn't wait anymore.

that's all he needed to hear before he literally smashed his lips against your pussy, slurping like a hungry dog. it wasn't your first time getting your pussy eaten but it sure as hell was the first time you felt so good, like you were losing your damn mind.

you clung to his hair like it was the last thread keeping you from falling apart, and then his mouth moved with a ruthless hunger that made your whole body shake. “fuck, you taste so good,” he groaned, voice thick and ragged against your skin.

when you finally mustered up enough sanity to peek, you saw one of his hands stroking his hard cock. the angle made it difficult to see what his dick looked like but a man like him wouldn't act so superior for nothing. gojo satoru, as your father suggested, was never the one to say or do something he didn't have confident in. and the worst part? he had confident in everything he did. thinking about all of it almost made you forget that you're about to cum. you instinctively fisted his gray locks, tightened your thighs and prepared yourself for your orgasm.

your back arched, hips jerking instinctively as the wave hit you, hot and fierce and everything you didn’t know you needed. your breath hitched into shaky gasps, “sir—” oh that did it.

he didn’t stop. if anything, he only got more savage, fingers digging into your hips to keep you right where he wanted. his cock throbbed in his hand, slick and hard, teasing at the edge like it was aching to bury itself deep inside you. “calling me sir all the damn time like it never made your panties wet.”

“i—” you opened your quivering lips to speak but he shushed you. he got off his knees, blessing your eyes with the hottest view, a pink veiny cock, gray hairs decorating his pelvic region, and precum that looked like pearls under your lamplight. you gulped hard.

“what? scared?” you nodded, hesitantly. “want to stop?” when you didn't respond for a few seconds, he really thought he'd get the same answer—that he'd get blue-balled and this night will end in him relieving himself in the shower but, to his surprise, you nudged your heels against his ass, pulling him closer, making him lose his balance a little and almost falling against you.

“need...you.” you spoke softly. he laughs.

“let me wear a condom at least, sweet girl.” you shook your head.

“need it now, sir”  holy fucking god what are you actually doing to him? something dark flickered in his eyes. you saw it. the crystal blue ocean was now imitating a sea of lava, cerulean blue gone bloody red. and before you could make out more of that expression, a sharp pain pulled you out. shit. he really is fucking big.

it was one thing about girth and being stretched out for him, because it was something possible. pushing his long cock in till it hits your cervix was another. you now lied under him, his cock perfectly engulfed in the warmth of your walls as tears stung your eyes. he could only lick them and assure you “just for a while. i promise i'll make it feel better, baby.”

baby

it was spoken in the heat of lust but why did it sound like a call of love?

and just like that, he started thrusting. slow, dragging his cock out but intense as he shoved it in.

your hands clawed at his shoulders, nails digging in as waves of pleasure and pain twisted through you. every thrust hit a nerve, every touch setting fire to the cracks in your skin.

“shit, you’re so tight,” he groaned, hips stuttering against yours. “sweet pussy's driving me insane.”

you were so busy getting your brains fucked out, you forgot this is your father's best friend, a man old enough to also be your father. moreover, the fact that you were fucking him in your bedroom while your parents were asleep downstairs? girl, what the fuck?

“you have no idea how long i've wanted to wreck ughh this pussy.” that made your pussy throb. “saw you on tinder god! made me jerk off to your pictures like a horny fucking teenager.” he was pounding into you, ruthlessly, like he was drowning and you were his only anchor. “i'll ruin this fucking pussy tonight.” he groaned, deep and guttural, and snapped his hips harder, rougher now, fucking the sanity out of you one thrust at a time. “call me sir like a good girl. cum on my cock sweetheart.' but you did something even more insane.

“ngh, daddy!”

he stilled. and in that moment, you thought you'd summoned a beast with flame in his eyes and an intention to do nothing but wreck you and you weren't completely opposed to the idea. a chuckle arose in his throat, not the sweet kind, but the mocking one.

“daddy, huh? calling me fucking daddy? who taught you to—ughh use such dirty language? if i knew you were like this, mhm would've surely—ngh fucked you earlier”

“pleasepleaseplease” you weren't even sure what were you begging for but, it was definitely not for him to stop.

“heh! look at'cha, baby. you wanna cum? yeah? wanna cream on daddy's cock like a good girl? hah. go ahead.” he mocked. the words that were embarrassing enough to make tears well up in your eyes, in turn made your pussy clench. and then it hit you. the high you were chasing for. begging for, earlier. you held onto him like your world was escalating and he was your only anchor. your pussy throbbing around him, yet the man refused to slow down. he wasn't sure he could hold back anymore. he wanted to pull out and make a mess on your stomach but seems like your fresh out of the orgasm self was deliriously tightening you legs around his hips. fuck. he can't pull out.

he doesn't want to.

“fuck. fuck, baby, fuck.”

and just like that, satoru let out a deep growl, his movements sloppier but hard as he painted your walls in his warm cum. unfortunately, your mind was to hazy to pick up the fact that you need to clean up. all you craved at this moment was his warmth. and he was right there. on top of you, chest collapsing against yours.

“you did so good for me.” the praise made your cheeks warmer than they were before. “uhm...i should leave before your parents find out sweetheart.”

“can't you stay for...a bit more?” gosh how can he say no to those words spoken with those pretty pouty lips of yours. he is not completely in his right mind either but he knows the consequences of his actions. he crossed a line. well fuck he fucking cart-wheeled his way out of the line. there's no going back so he might as well enjoy this moment with you. you were leaving back for your final year of college anyways. it's not like you'll ever let him cross this line again.

yeah...about that. oh how naive he was for a man at his age.

because now here you were in his room, holding a pregnancy test.

“i'm pregnant.”

[sluttyminghao]

SPOONING SEX WITH SEOKMIN WITH A MIRROR IN FRONT GRRR

You didn’t expect it to feel this intense.

It starts slowly, just like most things do when you're with Seokmin. He's always thoughtful and gentle, your needs coming before his own. You can feel his hand sliding around your waist as he pulls you back against his chest, his warmth immediately enveloping you. His lips find that tender spot just beneath your ear, and the way he whispers your name there makes your skin break into chills.

“You okay?” he asks softly, his fingers tracing lazy circles on your stomach. You nod, your breath catching in your throat as he presses closer behind you, his hips aligning with yours, the soft brush of his skin already lighting something deep inside you. “Yeah,” you breathe. “More than okay.”

He shifts behind you, and you can clearly feel the length of him pressed against you now, solid and ready, but he doesn’t rush. That’s not his style. With Seokmin, it’s always about making sure you feel everything: the way his hand slowly slides under your shirt, the way his lips press to your shoulder, the way his thumb draws slow patterns against your skin like he’s memorising it.

That’s when your eyes catch the mirror.

It’s directly in front of the bed, and at first it’s just a flicker of movement that draws your attention; the subtle rhythm of your bodies starting to sync up. But then you really see it: Him. The way his arm is wrapped around you, possessive but tender. The way his eyes are fixed not just on your body, but on your expression, and he's watching your pleasure unfold in real time.

He notices your gaze drifting, and quickly shuffles his sweats down before hurriedly pushing yours down, pure and exposed to him.

“You see us?” he whispers, his voice low and husky now. “Look how perfect you look.”

You blush, but you don’t look away. He tightens his arm around your waist just slightly as he pushes himself into you, the drag of his hips now more deliberate as he lets his hips take charge. Your bodies meet again and again with slow, molten rhythm. It’s deep and controlled, and so, so intoxicating.

His hand creeps lower, skimming over your hip, fingers teasing at the edge of your thigh. The other slips beneath you to hold your chest, pulling you tighter against him with every gentle thrust.

“Watch, baby,” he murmurs against your neck. “Look at how you take me, every single time.”

You do. You watch as your bodies move together, fitting so naturally it almost makes your heart ache. The mirror turns everything into something surreal; it feels like you're watching a secret version of yourself that remains uninhibited and open.

Your breaths come quicker now, both of you fully immersed in the rhythm. There’s something so primal about the closeness, about being wrapped in his arms with nowhere to run, no space between you, it's just sweat-slick skin and whispered praise in the dark.

“I love you like this,” he says, hips stuttering slightly as he kisses behind your ear. “So soft for me. So good.”

Your fingers grip his forearm tightly, the one anchoring you to him, as your body begins to tremble from the slow build. Seokmin feels it; he always does. He leans up, brushing your hair from your face so you can see both of you more clearly.

“Stay with me, baby. I want to feel all of you,” he whispers.

And when it finally hits, when your body arches and he holds you still, rocking into you with deep, grounding thrusts while he groans into your ear, it feels overwhelming in the best way. Because he’s there. Every second, holding you and guiding you through it.

After, he doesn’t pull away. He stays wrapped around you, one arm under your head, the other resting on your stomach, thumb brushing lazy, affectionate circles. The mirror still reflects the two of you, but now it shows you tangled together, glowing and at peace.

“Best birthday present?” you tease, turning your head just enough to kiss his cheek.

He laughs softly, breath still shaky. “Every time with you is better than the last.”

[sugurusgurl]

Love, Eventually (Part 1)

☾𖤓 Synopsis. She marries Satoru Gojo for the money—enough to keep her brother alive. He marries her to shut his clan up—no love, no strings, just a deal. But living together makes it harder to remember what’s fake… and what’s starting to feel real.

☾𖤓 Pairing. AFAB!Reader x Gojo Satoru. ☾𖤓 Warnings. Hurt/Comfort, Fake marriage, emotional suppression, slow burn, unrequited feelings, mentions of critical illness (sick sibling), power imbalance.

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4

“You’re acting like I’m torturing you,” Satoru says flatly. “Relax—it’s barely even a real date.”

He didn’t ask you so much as hire you. You’re being paid to pose as his future wife. The whole thing’s just a performance—an easy fix to get his clan off his back about settling down. He has zero emotional investment in it. All he needs is to parade you around, keep the elders happy, then stage a clean breakup. No complications. No feelings. Just business.

“You’re not torturing me,” you say with a small smile, tucking your hands into your lap. “I’ve had worse company.”

You glance at him, amused. “Though you do talk a lot for someone who claims this isn’t a real date.” He grins, but you don't let him derail the moment.

“Look… I said yes because you needed someone, and I—” you pause, eyes drifting to the skyline behind him, “—needed the money. That’s all. I’m not expecting candlelight or grand gestures.” Your voice stays soft, steady. “Just clarity.”

You turn back to him with a gentle kind of humor. “So don’t worry. I’m not secretly in love with you or hoping you’ll fall for me during dessert.” A beat. “I’m just here to play my part... and maybe get through this without embarrassing either of us.”

You smile again, quiet and genuine this time.

“But I do appreciate the view. Even if it comes with a side of sarcasm and sunglasses indoors.”

Gojo leans back in his chair, lips quirking into a smirk. “Wow. So polite. So composed. And yet—somehow—that still felt like a read.”

He taps his fingers against his glass, eyes never leaving yours. “I offer you luxury dining and the honor of my stunning presence, and all I get is ‘thanks for the view.’ Brutal.”

But there’s no real sting in it. Just amusement.

Then—something shifts. His voice lowers, just a touch, like he’s actually paying attention now.

“You’re different, y’know. Most people either try to impress me, flatter me... or avoid me like the plague.” He leans in a little. “You’re doing none of that. Which makes me wonder what your story is.”

He doesn’t push, though. Just shrugs, looking away for a beat. “Anyway. Money or not, you showed up. That already makes you better than half my clan.”

He smiles again—this time a little more genuine. “So I guess I owe you... dessert?”

The laughter and city lights from the restaurant fade as the two of you step out onto the quiet rooftop terrace. It’s colder here, wind brushing against your arms. You hug yourself lightly. Gojo slips his hands into his pockets, then glances sideways at you. The teasing in his voice is gone. He’s serious now—well, Gojo-serious.

"Alright, Y/N," he starts, tone smooth but grounded, "it’s time I stop dragging this out and tell you what you’re really signing up for."

You meet his eyes. Calm. Waiting.

"You’ll move in with me. Officially. The clan needs to see you under the same roof. They’re old-fashioned like that—marriage only counts if it looks the part."

You blink, once. Not surprised, just taking it in.

"We’ll get married. Legally. It doesn’t mean anything," he adds quickly, waving a hand. "It’s a show. A performance. And when the elders finally give up on the heir obsession—or if I find someone I actually want to marry—we’ll file for divorce."

His voice doesn’t waver. Not once.

"You’ll be paid. Generously. Monthly allowance, full coverage for whatever your quiet little secret is," he adds, eyes narrowing slightly like he’s inviting you to confirm but won’t ask out loud. "And when it’s all over, you walk away with enough to start over. Clean."

You’re silent. Processing. He knows you’re smart enough not to answer too fast.

Then, finally, "There’s one rule, though." His gaze sharpens. "No falling in love. With me, obviously. This isn’t some fairy tale. We’re not friends, we’re not soulmates. We’re partners in a business deal. You hold up your end, I hold up mine." He lets the quiet settle, his face unreadable now. "So—do we have a deal, Y/N?" You don’t answer right away. The wind pulls gently at your hair, and for a moment, you just watch the city below—distant, alive, and far removed from the strange little arrangement that’s about to shape your life. You breathe in. Then out. “Okay,” you say softly. No dramatics. No bargaining. Just that.

Gojo studies you, like he’s waiting for a catch. A reason. A flinch. You give him none. “If those are the terms... then yes.” Your voice is steady, polite. Professional. But your eyes don’t meet his for long.

He opens his mouth, maybe to ask something—but you step away from the railing and straighten your coat.

“Just send the paperwork.” You don’t wait for his reply. You’re already walking back inside. And Gojo, for once, doesn’t follow right away.

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ⟡ ݁ . ⊹ ₊ ݁. . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ⟡ ݁ . ⊹ ₊ ݁.

The door swings open with a soft click. Gojo doesn’t bother to help with the bags.

“You can take the guest room upstairs. First door on the right,” he says without looking back, already halfway into the penthouse.

His place is exactly what you’d expect—open floor plan, expensive without being flashy, clean in a way that feels… unused. Like no one really lives here. You nod, not expecting a warmer welcome. You pick up your things and head up. He doesn’t offer to show you around. Doesn’t ask if you’ve eaten. Doesn’t make conversation.

By the time you come back downstairs—suitcase tucked neatly away, shoes lined by the door—he’s sprawled on the couch, a pair of sunglasses still on despite the dim light from the windows.

“We’ll have dinner with the clan on Friday,” he says, scrolling through his phone. “Formal. You’ll be briefed beforehand.”

You nod again. Quiet. Steady. He glances at you just once.

“You don’t have to hover. We’re not roommates.” His voice is light, but the implication is clear: don’t make yourself too comfortable.

You give a small smile—not offended. Just... unsurprised.

“Noted.”

You turn and disappear into the kitchen, silently opening cabinets, learning where things are without asking. Gojo doesn’t ask what you’re doing. Doesn’t say thanks when you place a cup of tea beside him ten minutes later. He doesn’t even look at it. He only speaks again as you’re walking away.

“Oh—and if anyone asks, we’re disgustingly in love.” There’s a smirk in his voice, but he doesn’t look up. You pause in the hallway, just for a breath. Then keep walking.

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ⟡ ݁ . ⊹ ₊ ݁. . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ⟡ ݁ . ⊹ ₊ ݁.

The guest room is tidy. Spacious. More than enough for one person—but not warm. Not lived in. Like the rest of the place, it feels like a backdrop for something performative. Temporary.

You sit on the edge of the bed, coat still on, your bag at your feet. For a long while, you don’t move. Then, slowly, you reach for the zipper and begin to unpack—neatly, efficiently. One folded shirt after another. A worn sweater. Travel-sized toiletries in a pouch you’ve clearly used a hundred times. It’s not much. You didn’t bring much. You slide open the drawer of the nightstand and tuck something inside—a small framed photo. It’s turned face-down before the drawer closes. Next, your phone. You check it. A message sits unread, and you hesitate before opening it.

From: Nurse He had a bad night. Still stable now, but the fever hasn’t gone down. Let us know when the next transfer can be made.

Your fingers hover over the screen. Then you type:

I'll send it before Friday. Please tell him I’m okay.

You stare at the words for a beat too long before hitting send.

When the message is gone, you set the phone on the nightstand, face down beside the drawer that holds your reason.

And you exhale. Not shakily. Not dramatically. Just tired. You lie back, fully clothed, staring at the ceiling. Letting the quiet press down. You knew what this would be. Cold arrangements. Polished lies. No space for real things. But that’s fine.

It has to be.

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ⟡ ݁ . ⊹ ₊ ݁. . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ⟡ ݁ . ⊹ ₊ ݁.

Three days later.

The morning sun filters through the penthouse windows, too bright for how little sleep you’ve gotten. You’re already seated at the long kitchen island when Gojo finally walks in—coffee in one hand, his phone in the other.

He doesn’t say good morning.

“We’ll leave at six. Dinner starts at seven sharp. Don’t be late.” His voice is clipped, matter-of-fact, like this is a meeting, not a marriage.

You nod. “What do I need to know?”

He slides a folder across the counter toward you. You open it: photos, names, brief descriptions—members of the Gojo clan. Their roles. Their expectations. The alliances they’re trying to broker through him. You skim silently, taking mental notes.

“They’ll be watching everything,” he adds, sipping his coffee. “How you dress, how you speak, how you look at me.” His tone turns slightly mocking. “So try not to look too bored. Or terrified.”

You don’t react. Just turn the page.

“Pretend we’re disgustingly in love, right?” you say mildly, recalling his words from the other night.

That earns a glance from him. Brief. Amused. “Exactly. Light touches, soft looks, subtle affection. They eat that stuff up.” A beat. “You can act, right?”

You give him a soft smile, the kind that could pass as adoring if someone didn’t look too closely.

“I agreed to this, didn’t I?”

He doesn’t respond. Just moves on. “My father will do most of the talking. Don’t interrupt him. Ever. If anyone asks how we met, we keep it simple: a chance encounter, turned whirlwind romance.” He says it like it’s a joke, but there’s no humor behind it.

“And if someone corners me privately?” you ask.

Gojo raises a brow. “Say something vague. Gaze longingly in my direction. Maybe brush my arm on your way out of the conversation. I’ll take it from there.”

You nod again, silent as you absorb every word. You don’t write anything down. You don’t have to.

Finally, he stands.

“There’s a dress in your room. Picked it out yesterday. Should fit.” He starts to walk away, then pauses, glancing over his shoulder.

“You’re good at this. The calm, collected act. Makes my job easier.”

You smile faintly. “It’s not an act.”

He doesn’t respond. Just disappears down the hall.

And you’re left alone again, fingers resting on the folder full of strangers—people you’ll need to fool into believing you belong in a life that isn’t yours.

You close it.

And get to work.

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ⟡ ݁ . ⊹ ₊ ݁. . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ⟡ ݁ . ⊹ ₊ ݁.

You stand in front of the mirror, smoothing the fabric of the dress he left for you.

It fits perfectly. Of course it does.

You’ve done your hair the way the clan profile suggested would “photograph well.” Your makeup is soft, elegant. Nothing too loud. Everything about you tonight is meant to look effortless, like you were made to stand beside him.

Like you belong beside him.

The door to your room creaks open slightly—Gojo doesn’t knock.

He leans against the frame, dressed in a tailored black suit that makes him look even more untouchable than usual.

He whistles low.

“Not bad,” he says. “They’re going to eat you alive.” You smile faintly, then turn away from the mirror. “Good. That’s what you’re paying me for.” He watches you for a second longer, unreadable. Then—

“One more thing.” His voice shifts—lower, quieter.

You pause. Waiting.

He walks into the room and reaches into his jacket pocket. When he pulls his hand out, he holds something small, metallic. A simple gold band.

A wedding ring.

“Put it on,” he says. “From this moment on—you're my wife.”

You take it without a word, sliding it onto your finger. The metal is cool. Heavier than it looks. He watches the way your eyes linger on it just a moment too long. And then, softly, like it’s nothing, “Just don’t forget it’s all fake.”

You meet his eyes, steady. “I won’t.”

[misty-petals]

My heart beats for you

|Yeon Sieun x Reader

|Romance, mild angst, fluff, emotional hurt/comfort

English is not my first language.

Summary:You just wanted to be loved as much as you loved. But some people show their hearts before words—and his was beating for you all along.

The cold afternoon wind drifted through the nearly empty streets, rustling the dry leaves on the ground. You were there, sitting on the same stair step where you two used to meet after class. But for the first time in a long while, that place felt... uncomfortable.

The silence, once so comforting between you, now felt heavy. Suffocating.

You glanced to the side, looking at Sieun. He was sitting next to you, arms crossed, eyes fixed on some distant point — like he was avoiding you, avoiding what you were feeling.

Your chest tightened. Your voice stayed stuck in your throat for several long minutes, until you just couldn’t hold it anymore.

— “Sometimes...” — your voice came out softer than you expected, barely a whisper. — “Sometimes I feel like... like I love you more than you love me.”

The words hung in the air. Clear. Raw. And you almost regretted saying them the second they left your mouth.

Sieun stayed still. Not a word. Not a sound. Just silence. But it wasn’t the usual silence you both were used to sharing. This one was different. Heavy. Full of tension. Full of everything he never quite knew how to say.

Your chest tightened even more, and you felt that lump in your throat growing, threatening to spill over into tears.

— “I know you’re not good with words... I know.” — you went on, nervously squeezing your own hands. — “But sometimes it feels like I’m fighting for this relationship alone... like I’m the only one feeling all of this. And... it hurts. It hurts so much.”

He took a deep breath. Once, twice. His jaw tensed, his fingers clutching the fabric of his pants. Like he was fighting with himself. Like he had no idea where to even start.

Suddenly, he stood up. For a second, you thought he was leaving. That he was going to walk away. Say nothing.

But instead, he turned, took two steps toward you and, without a word, grabbed your hands. Both of them. Firmly.

Surprised, you stood up quickly, almost on instinct — as if your body moved on its own, like staying seated near that intensity was impossible.

You looked at him, startled. His eyes were different. Not cold, not distant. They were trembling. Saying everything without a single word.

Slowly, he lifted your hand and pressed it against his chest.

The sound of his heartbeat was loud. Fast. Almost desperate.

He took a deep breath, held your gaze, and with a low, rough voice, laced with a sincerity that almost hurt, he whispered:

— “You know what’s here?” — he pressed your hand tighter against his chest, making you feel every frantic beat. — “This... this beats for you. Only for you.”

His eyes faltered for a second, but he didn’t look away.

Your lips parted, but no words came out. Your chest ached so much it physically hurt. The entire world seemed to disappear — leaving just the two of you. Just him, holding your hand against his chest, looking at you like you were the only thing that mattered in his whole universe.

— “I don’t know...” — he breathed, closing his eyes tight, trying to piece together everything he was feeling. — “I don’t know how to say these things. I don’t know how... to show you the right way. But... you mean everything to me. Everything.”

You felt the tears burn in your eyes.

— “Sieun...” — your voice cracked, heavy with emotion.

He let go of your hands only to cup your face in both of his. His palms were cold, but his touch... his touch was the warmest, safest, most loving thing you’d ever felt.

— “Don’t make me say this again... please.” — he whispered, his eyes trembling, full of truth. — “I... I’m sorry. For everything I’ve done that ever hurt you.”

You didn’t think. You couldn’t. You just threw yourself into his arms, holding him like your life depended on it. And in that embrace... you felt everything.

The love he didn’t know how to say.

The care he always showed in silence.

His fear of losing you.

And most of all... how that heart was beating for you.

He held you tight, burying his face in your neck, his voice coming out low, muffled, but so full of love it made your whole body tremble.

— “I love you...” — he whispered, almost breathless, like the words were too much to hold inside. — “I love you so much it scares me. And I promise... I’ll never let you feel like this again.”

And right there, in his arms, with the sound of his racing heart pounding against your chest, you realized... you would never doubt it again.

Note 1: Hello! The idea for this story came from an image. When I saw her on Pinterest, I was dying to write her and I had no choice but to do so. I thought of other characters besides Sieun, but I just imagined it, I haven't written it yet. So I wanted to know what you guys think about me doing some more one-shots in the vibe of this story.

Note 2: The image that served as inspiration is the one between the two images of Sieun, but I'll put it below this text so you can see it better. Oh! Before I forget, I want to know one more thing from you: did anyone besides me feel or imagine anything when seeing this image?

(Well, this image I used for inspiration)

Sorry to take up your time and thank you so much for reading this story ♡

[angstama]

sequel : traitor | l.jn

pairing: lee jeno x f!reader (ft. mark lee)

genre: angst, pure heartache, slight fluff!

synopsis — when jeno asked you to make his bride’s dress, it was more than fabric and lace—it was a reckoning. you never thought you'd be asked to create the wedding dress for the man you once loved, not after everything that had happened between the two of you. five years have passed since jeno walked out of your life, and now, he stands before you again—asking for a favour that stirs old memories and emotions you've tried to bury.

a/n: hello loveliesss~ this took so long i'm so sorry i've been sooo busy :") thank you so much for your patience and please look forward to the next angst coming soon!!!!!!

chapter music: so high school - taylor swift

traitor m.list | traitor's playlist | previous |

time-skip ; three years later

"excuse me! coming through!" you shouted, your voice cutting through the morning air as you sprinted down the street, barefooted, with polo tugging excitedly at your side. one hand gripped his leash, the other clutched a cathedral veil, trailing behind you like a long, delicate river of silk. "mark, hurry up!" you called over your shoulder, barely catching your breath.

mark, a little behind you, fumbled slightly as he tried to catch up, his casual jeans and button-down shirt a stark contrast to the formal chaos of the morning. his hair was still messy from sleep, and he clutched his garment bag containing his tuxedo in one hand. "i'm going as fast as i can!" he called out, sounding more amused than stressed. there was a laugh in his voice, rich and warm, but you could tell he was just as jittery as you were—his free hand running through his already tousled hair.

you turned back to shoot him a playful glare, your cheeks flushed pink from running and excitement. "this is exactly why we should've gotten up earlier," you scolded lightly, but there was no real bite in your words. instead, it carried that endearing, familiar kind of frustration that made your heart skip. "we're supposed to be walking down the aisle, not running to it, mark!" you groaned, gesturing dramatically with your free hand.

never in your life did you think you’d be late to your own wedding. you knew it was a bad idea the moment mark, ever the optimist, announced, “don’t worry, god will clear the traffic for us.” you should’ve knocked on wood. or something, because the roads were NOT clear, and now here you are — breathless, wild with joy and disbelief — chasing the moment you’ve dreamed of for so long.

"there they are!" donghyuck exclaimed, practically bouncing on his feet as he spotted the two of you racing down the street. relief and panic mixed in his voice as he waved frantically, his shouts carrying over the morning air. "and not dressed yet?! are you guys insane?! get inside, go go go!" you and mark couldn't stop laughing despite the chaos, stumbling along as haechan herded you both like a frantic shepherd. the whole situation was so perfectly ridiculous that neither of you could bring yourselves to feel anything but pure, giddy joy.

"see you in a bit my love!" mark called out, grinning even as donghyuck yanked him away by his shirt sleeve. you stretched to catch his hand one last time before he was pulled away completely, still giggling as you slipped into your changing room. your makeup artist was already waiting, brush in hand and ready to work her magic. "oh honey, we have work to do," she said with a knowing smile, spinning you toward the mirror to assess your windswept appearance.

as your makeup artist worked on the finishing touches, your eyes drifted to the garment bag hanging on the ornate hook across the room. even through the protective covering, you could see hints of the intricate beadwork catching the soft light filtering through the stained glass windows.

you pinched your arm, needing to ground yourself in the moment. everything felt like a dream you were afraid to wake up from. after jeno, you had convinced yourself that this kind of love— the kind that felt safe, gentle and chosen wasn't meant for you. but mark had been there as you slowly found your way back to love, never trying to fix you but simply loving you as you healed, and this time, instead of picking up broken pieces, you were building something beautiful and whole side by side.

it had been six months after jeno, and you had just finished your first major commission since then—a stunning emerald evening gown that sparkled like captured starlight. you were standing back, smoothing out the final details with careful fingers, when you'd caught mark staring at you with this distant, dreamy look.

he'd been leaning against his drafting table, pencil forgotten in his hand, watching the way the late afternoon sunlight caught in your hair as you worked. and then it hit him—an image so vivid it made his breath catch. you, but in flowing white instead of your usual oversized tee. you, with that same focused expression as you adjusted your own veil. you, walking toward him down an aisle lined with the kind of flowers you'd doodle in the margins of your sketches when you thought no one was looking.

god, where had that come from? his heart was racing now, palms suddenly sweaty as the vision refused to fade. you in white, smiling at him like he was your whole world, like he was worth choosing—

"it's beautiful," he'd managed to say, voice barely above a whisper.

"thanks. i think i'm finally... back, you know?"

"you are." the words tumbled out before he could stop them, driven by the image still playing in his mind. he'd fidgeted with his pencil, trying to shake the thought, but it only grew stronger. "so... um, do you eat dinner?"

you'd paused, fabric still in your hands. "do i... eat dinner?"

"i mean, of course you do. everyone eats dinner." his ears had turned pink. "i just meant... like, do you like dinner? eating it. with other people."

you paused in your work, studying his face with growing concern. he looked like he was about to either pass out or run from the room. "mark, are you feeling okay?"

"yeah! totally fine." he's gone back to his sketching, but you could see his hands shaking slightly. then, after a few minutes: "there's this italian place."

"okay..."

"really good reviews. five stars." more nervous sketching. "i was thinking of trying it."

another long pause. you watched him struggle with whatever he was trying to say. "alone?" you asked gently.

"well... maybe not alone. maybe with... company. good company." he'd looked up quickly, then back down. "if the company wanted to. no pressure."

you'd set down your fabric, fighting back a smile. there was something so genuine about the way he was trying so hard, so different from the smooth confidence you'd once fallen for. "mark, are you asking me out?"

his face had gone completely red. "...maybe?"

you'd watched him fidget for another moment, this sweet man who'd been by your side through everything, who looked at your work like it was magic, who blushed when he tried to ask you to dinner. and for the first time in months, you'd felt something flutter in your chest that wasn't anxiety.

"okay," you'd said softly.

"okay, like... you understand what i'm asking, or okay like—"

"okay, i'll go to dinner with you, mark."

the smile that had spread across his face was brighter than any spotlight in the studio.

the months that followed were like discovering a new language—one written in shared sketches and late-night design sessions, in mark's terrible cooking attempts and your patient teaching, in the way he'd leave little notes on your drafting table that made you smile for hours.

your professional partnership had always been seamless, but your personal one was pure magic. mark would bring you coffee exactly how you liked it while you were deep in a creative trance, and you'd find yourself staying up until 3am helping him perfect a neckline he'd been struggling with. you designed everything together—wedding gowns that made clients cry happy tears, suits that made grown men feel like kings, pieces that ended up in magazines with both your names credited.

"we're good at this," mark had said one evening, both of you surrounded by fabric swatches and half-finished sketches, takeout containers scattered across every surface of your shared studio space.

"at designing?" you'd asked, not looking up from the beadwork you were planning.

"at everything." and when you'd looked up, he'd been watching you with that soft expression that still made your heart skip. "at working together, at living together, at... us."

because you had moved in together, somewhere between the third month of dating and the first time you'd both fallen asleep on the studio couch after a particularly intense design session. mark's apartment had become yours, filled with fabric samples and your vintage sewing machine, with his terrible houseplants that you'd somehow managed to keep alive, with the kind of comfortable chaos that felt like home.

every morning brought new projects, new dreams, new reasons to fall deeper in love with the man who understood your creative soul and loved you through every messy, beautiful moment of it. somewhere along the way, you had forgotten about the hurt that jeno had caused you. somewhere along the way, you had forgotten about lee jeno.

it was on one of those quiet sunday mornings, when you were both still in pajamas and the studio was bathed in golden light, that mark had started acting strange again. that familiar nervous energy was back—the fidgeting, the pink ears, the way he kept glancing at you like he wanted to say something but couldn't find the words.

you were sketching idly, humming, when you noticed him pulling out a small velvet box from behind his drafting table.

"so," he'd started, voice shaking slightly, "i've been working on a design. a really important one."

your pencil stilled in your hand, heart suddenly racing as you watched him approach with that little velvet box clutched in his trembling fingers.

"it's... it's not finished yet," he continued, sitting down beside you on the studio floor where you'd been working. "because i realized i can't complete this design without my partner. my creative partner, my life partner, my... everything partner."

he opened the box then, revealing the most delicate ring you'd ever seen—simple, elegant, with a stone that caught the morning light like captured starlight. but what made your breath catch wasn't the ring itself, it was the tiny sketch tucked inside the box lid. a drawing of your hands intertwined, so detailed and loving it made your eyes blur with tears.

"mark..." you whispered.

"i know we're simple people," he'd said, voice getting stronger as he found his rhythm. "we don't need grand gestures or fancy speeches. but what we have... it's everything. you make me want to create beautiful things, not just with fabric and thread, but with our whole lives."

his hands had been shaking as he'd taken the ring from the box. "so will you... will you help me finish this design? will you marry me?"

you looked at him then—this sweet, nervous, incredibly talented man who'd loved you back to life—and the answer had been the easiest thing in the world.

"yes," you'd whispered, and then louder, laughing through happy tears, "yes, mark. always yes."

the ring had fit perfectly, like everything else about him in your life. like it was always meant to be.

the world had paused for a breath.

just one.

long enough for you to turn—to catch your reflection in the tall mirror framed in soft gold—and see yourself as if for the first time. as if you were meeting a stranger who happened to wear your face, your dreams made manifest in silk and light.

your dress.

your dress.

born in quiet moments between design sketches, stitched through evenings thick with laughter and low lamplight, whispered into reality by four hands that knew the language of seams and possibility. you and mark, sketching futures in thread counts and train lengths, imagining this exact moment when fabric would become memory.

and now, it lived and breathed with you.

the bodice was poetry written in chantilly lace, each motif a delicate rebellion against gravity. the patterns seemed to shift and dance in the mirror's reflection, catching light like secrets only your skin knew how to tell. tiny seed pearls dotted the landscape of your torso like constellations, each one placed by your careful fingers during those late studio nights when the city hummed quiet outside your windows.

the sleeves—gossamer-thin and barely there, skimmed your shoulders like the ghost of a lover's touch, like promises made in whispers. the silk charmeuse beneath the lace hugged your waist as if it had been dreaming of this shape for years, as if every yard of fabric had been waiting for this singular moment of purpose.

the train pooled behind you like captured moonbeams that had learned to hold their form. cathedral-length and impossibly fluid that when you moved, it followed like a devoted shadow, like the physical manifestation of every hope you had ever harboured for this day. you lifted your arms slightly, watching the silk respond, and felt something crack open in your chest—not breaking, but blooming.

you stepped out into the corridor for just a breath — the ceremony waiting, your heart steady and light, the lace of your dress whispering along the old wood floors.

you turned the corner — and the world tilted.

jeno.

he stopped mid-step, just as startled as you. in his hands, a to-go coffee, half-spilled. eyes wide, like he'd just seen a ghost. or maybe a memory.

“...y/n?”

your name in his voice — soft. stunned. and then, quiet awe as his eyes took you in.

you blinked, heart stuttering. “jeno?”

for a heartbeat, neither of you moved. and then he stepped back instinctively, as if to prove he hadn’t meant to interrupt.

“i didn’t know this was… your wedding,” he said, a sheepish, crooked smile tugging at his mouth. “i was just passing by. there’s an art gallery next door. i — i stop by sometimes.”

you laughed under your breath — not in mockery, but disbelief. of course the universe would do this. one last page. one last brushstroke before the final picture.

“i wasn’t expecting to see you either,” you said gently, voice steady. “but… it’s okay.”

his eyes dropped for a moment, as if he didn’t quite know where to look. then they flicked up again, to the dress. your dress. the cathedral veil still clinging to your hair like light.

“you look…” he breathed, then shook his head. “it’s beautiful. you’re beautiful.”

“mark and i designed it,” you said softly, fingers brushing the lace at your waist. jeno’s smile didn’t falter. if anything, it softened. “of course you did. it suits you. the whole… the everything.”

jeno meant it. you looked beautiful. not the magazine kind, not the runway kind. the real kind. the kind built from hours of mending yourself with thread and hope. the kind that doesn’t need validation, just quiet recognition.

“i’m really happy for you, y/n.” jeno smiled.

“thank you. truly,” you said again, this time softer — like letting go of a breath you didn’t know you were holding.

jeno nodded once, eyes lingering just a second longer. not in longing. not in regret. just in acknowledgment — of everything that once was. and everything you’d become.

then, behind you — the sound of hurried footsteps and a familiar, exasperated voice:

“y/n! oh my god, there you are—”

donghyuck came skidding around the corner, half-dressed in his suit, one boutonnière in hand and sheer panic in his eyes.

“i’ve been looking everywhere for you— you can’t just disappear like that on your wedding day! mark’s going to combust!”

you blinked, startled. “i just needed some air—”

“air?! air?” he threw his hands up, but there was no real anger — just relief at having found you. “girl, you’re getting married in five minutes. i had visions of you passed out in the hallway in a puddle of lace and regret—”

his voice trailed off as he spotted jeno standing quietly a few feet behind you.

donghyuck’s expression shifted — not sharp, but cautious. a flicker of understanding passed between them. jeno gave a small nod, almost imperceptible.

“i was just leaving,” he said gently.

donghyuck didn’t argue. just watched as jeno looked back at you one last time.

“go,” jeno said, voice low. “you have a forever waiting for you.”

you met his gaze, something tender blooming in your chest — not love, not longing. just peace.

“goodbye, jeno.”

he smiled, just a little. “goodbye, y/n.”

and with that, he turned and walked away — one hand in his coat pocket, shoulders light.

donghyuck turned back to you, eyes softening as he grabbed your hand.

“ready?”

you nodded, the weight of old things finally quiet behind you.

the music had started.

mark stood at the end of the aisle, fingers interlaced tightly in front of him. he wasn’t sure if his heart was racing or just… suspended. like it, too, was holding its breath.

donghyuck had reappeared a minute ago, flustered but triumphant, whispering something into the ear of the coordinator with a thumbs-up that screamed she’s here. and now, the doors were closed again — waiting. the guests were hushed. the moment had arrived.

and then—

they opened.

and mark saw you.

it was like the light shifted — like the sun tilted slightly just to fall across you and only you. your silhouette framed by the archway, veil falling in a silver cascade behind you, lace rippling like water at your feet. time cracked open a little. he swore he felt the earth move beneath him.

and he smiled.

not the nervous smile he wore earlier, not the practiced one for cameras or guests.

this one was quiet.

undeniable.

reverent.

his eyes welled up the second you stepped forward. not because you looked beautiful — though you did, breathtakingly so — but because it was you. you walking toward him. you, the girl he stayed up late working beside. the one who laughed at his dumb sketches and held his heart without even realizing it. the one he waited for, gently, faithfully.

every step you took brought him closer to that impossible joy — the kind you only find once, and never let go.

you saw it in his eyes: the way he saw only you. not the dress. not the crowd. not the lace or veil or gold-edged program. just you. like you were sunlight, and he had never seen morning before.

you reached him — breath shaking, heart full — and he took your hands, like they were something sacred.

"hi," you whispered, smiling cheekily.

mark swallowed, smiling back like it was the only thing his body remembered how to do.

"hi there," he chuckled, planting a soft kiss on the back of your hand.

“mark,” you began, your voice gentle but sure, “i used to think love was something you chased — something fragile and distant, like a dream slipping through your fingers.”

you glanced down at your hands, still entwined with his, tracing the familiar lines and promises.

“but with you, i’ve learned that love is different. love is patient. love is quiet strength. love is coming home, again and again.”

a small smile tugged at your lips, eyes shining with tears and hope. “you showed me what it means to build something real — from the pieces of my past, from laughter and courage and even the hard days.”

you met his gaze, heart full and steady. “today, i don’t just marry you. i marry the love i never knew i could have — the love that is ours, and only ours.”

“thank you for waiting. thank you for believing. and thank you for choosing me.”

as your words settled between you, the room seemed to hold its breath — and then burst into quiet, joyful applause.

in that moment, surrounded by lace and light and the steady beat of two hearts finally home, you knew this was just the beginning.

your forever.

// the end

taglist: @starryeyesspice @bluedbliss @undomielsql @nshitae @starryeyesspice @spicyryujin @m8rkers @haechskiss

[kafka030]

AFKJ OC - MAGISTER KAFKA'S ORIGIN (PART 3)

. . .

> SNEAK PEAK <

> PART 1 <

> PART 2 <

> PART 3 (YOU ARE HERE !) <

. . .

Note: Don't ask him about this in the "mailbox in the Mystical House of his" (ask)... Please... I don't want him to get hurt...

Another Note: ⚠️ Warning... Quite sad though...

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

Magister Kafka had been amongst Mortal for thousands of years now... Fully forgotten their so-called home... Two of their favourite places... The mountaintop at the West Edge of Esperia where the Tree of Life is at the centre of the mountain and... their "Sanctuary Realm"...

Of course they become... Exhausted and tired... Due to be amongst the Mortals far too long... Without heading back to their so-called "Homeland"... Have to solve the Mortals problems at hands for countless of times...

Having trouble mind almost... Most of the time... Although they... underwent Permanent Memory Reset and sometimes... Partial Memory Lost due to the contract... However... They do... still have a troubled mind...

Deep, within them... They longing to just... Drifting aimlessly across Esperia without even worried or cared about the Mortals and the fate of Esperia... Having such peaceful mind and observing the Mortals from afar (from their two favourite places) and near (shapeshift and blends amongst them) in silent...

However, he forgot... Truly forgotten because Full Memory Reset due to the contract... As if preventing them from whining, complaining and at one point... Becomes a rebel and doesn't want to do their duties...

and they sometimes... Underwent Partial Memory Lost due to the contract... as if preventing them to dwell too much on the ancient past self... unraveling the hidden... ancient memories of them...

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

Health deteriorating over time:

>> We noticed that Zephyr (Magister Kafka) is prone to get sick in recent years... There's a lot of reasons to it...

>> Due to exhaustion:

- Of course, in the surface... it's obviously because of exhaustion... Carrying the fate of Esperia... Around thousands of years already...

- Accomplish the responsibility of Merlin... To fulfill the so-called Merlin's Destiny...

- Although he undergo Full Memory Reset after accomplish the Merlin's Destiny in each era... His vessel knows... How exhausting and tiring he feels throughout his lifetime...

- Serene Lyceum:

> It's very obvious when they attended a Serene Lyceum... Trying to juggle between being a student and The Magister Merlin roles

> Juggling between both responsibilities... truly exhausted him...

> The headmaster, staffs and even the nearby acolytes kept on giving him side quests... Almost EVERY.SINGLE.DAY...

> Despite his refusal but they kept on pleading, offering the rewards and turn blind eyes if he ever breaks some rules in Serene Lyceum... as if desperate and no other mage other than him this era can clean their mess...

> He ended up agreeing to their requests and do as they requested...

> in return... He gets the flexibility to be outside the Lyceum compound beyond the specific timeframe, giving him the space to not attend some lessons due to running the Errands for them and... Being away for a few days due to... feeling unwell due to exhaustion from those side quests... Recovering at the Mystical House of his...

>> Due to the insomnia:

- He had once stayed up for a week... Ended up losing consciousness in the wilderness...

- He felt restless almost all the time (troubled mind per usual)... For some odd reason... There's at one point, he feels like: "He's here but at the same time... not here"

- his inner core (the true self that he forgot), he can stay awake for months due to his half breed nature...

>> Due to extensive use of disguise spell:

- his inner core (the true self that he forgot)... It's been millennium since the last time he changed to his 3 true forms... either half Celestial half Hypogean // Full Hypogean // Full Celestial...

- he have a slight fatigue due to using disguise spell to stay as mortal for thousands of years now...

- Although General Hogan once said that this "Human appearance" is the "real you"... However... Magister Kafka slightly doubt about it... Feeling ever so exhausted when changing forms a lot...

>> Due to consumption of mortal drink and food:

- consuming Mortals drink and food slightly... Weakened him...

- However... he forgot this side effects and indeed he's quite picky with food and doesn't drink liquor...

- still, he consumed them... If he didn't, of course... he would faint... Where will he get the energy to do his tasks at hand other than consuming the mortal food and drink, since he... Forgotten what he usually consumed..?

>> **Normal consumption (past ancient self):

- They usually eat a dead star and a star that might explode...

- Or swallow the darkness, hypofiends and Hypogeans...

- sometimes, when they are too thirsty, the can drink a lake till dry

- Or devour a whole mountain in one bite when they are too hungry

- They actually... rarely devour and drink the blood of mages... However, they begins to crave for it after the... Forbidden ritual upon them...

>> **Do Forgotten Being... Bleed..?

- They are... Half-breed... Half Celestial and half Hypogean... In ancient times... Oddly they... didn't bleed... However, after consuming the blood and flesh of the Supreme Magister, Merlin (Forbidden Ritual)... they... as if inheriting the traits of a Mortal... Exhaustion... Bleeding... Fainting... Feeling unwell... Needed to consumed food and drink of mortals... Etc...

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

This is why Magister Kafka seems to be such a weak, prone to sick, Magister Merlin... He had endure... A lot... For thousands of years now...

However, he forgot... He truly forgotten how long have he lived... His muscle memory does know he has been living... too long to count his age by fingers... He do know that he's "ancient" but didn't say it out loud since he confused whether it's true or not...

He doesn't want to endure everything in the first place... He's been forced to be The Greatest Magister Merlin, to shoulder the fate of Esperia as so-called Magister Merlin...

However... He forgot... He truly forgotten about it... About refusing to do so...

He ended up trying his best to eat medicine from the herbs that Dolly makes and sometimes he makes by himself to regain his health, and fear to consult a physician instinctively (due to questioning his ancient past self)... ...

. . .

[dark-and-kawaii]

Nanami Kento, the one who entwines his fingers with yours as his cock fucks you at a punishing pace.

The man who’s cock is so large it feels like it’s crushing your womb, and each time you whimper his hand gives yours a reassuring squeeze before kissing away the tears that escape your eyes.

Nanami Kento, a gentleman through and through- even during the throes of passion.

Who is so handsome with his tousled blond hair and the most alluring eyes you have ever seen. The one with the strong jaw that clenches with every thrust.

Nanami Kento, whose breath hitches as he buries his face in the crook of your neck and bites his lip when your walls clench around him so nicely. Your ever loving, attentive, Nanami, who tries desperately to hold back so many noises because he wants to hear yours. 

The man who when he can't hold back, whispers your name against your lips, moans it in your ear and makes you see stars, calling to you over and over as if you're his only anchor to this world.

Nanami Kento, whose hips are unyielding, driving his cock into you over and over and over again. He is relentless, his stamina god like, and the only thing that keeps you grounded is the feeling of his sweaty skin against  yours- his lips ghosting over yours and his cock stretching your pussy so wide you can’t help but wonder if it’ll ever return to normal.

Who pulls out seconds before cumming so he can paint your pretty tummy with his cum- stroking himself through his orgasm, watching as he paints you like a canvas, admiring the masterpiece that is you with his lips slightly parted. 

Nanami Kento, the man who leans over you afterwards- his cum dripping down your stomach and onto the bed as he presses a tender kiss to your lips and tells you how beautiful you are. The same man who always pulls you to his chest- his strong arm wrapping around you while whispering sweet nothings in your ear, never caring if his own spunk ends up on him too. 

Who cradles you in his arms- his embrace a sanctuary where you always sleep safely… where you always feel cherished and time seems to stand still. His breath tickling the nape of your neck as he inhales your scent, committing to memory before drifting off to sleep. His lips curved with a beautiful smile, his features softened by pure contentment.

You can see it in his eyes, feel it in his touch- an undeniable warmth, and taste it from his lips… This is a man who has never truly known love until now.

Nanami Kento, who doesn’t just fuck you, but instead makes love to you as if each moment were a precious farewell- as if each night would be his last. Pouring his heart into every fleeting second.

New blog -> @sinkuna

[elysianightsss]

Something something becoming an accidental prostitute for Simon lol.

Hear me out though, you’re at a bar. You’re making out, you’ve had a little too much to drink. Not enough to be completely gone like you’re sure Simon is but enough to be making out with a stranger.

Then you’re back in his truck, he’s practically begging for you to let him fuck you and you say no. You ‘don’t do that type of shit, one night stands and all that’ you say. Simon’s next thing is to beg for a blowjob, you again say no. ‘Part of the boyfriend package’ blah blah blah.

Then Simon delivers his final offer. He is so desperate he offers to pay for a handjob, he cringes after the words come out of his mouth thinking you’d be offended. But to his surprise you say yes. You need the money, and want him to feel good so why the heck not.

And it’s the best damn handjob he’s had in his life.

He drives you home and soon enough after a few days he’s at your door offering more money for another handjob. You feel a little dirty but when his calloused hand slides up your thigh and his hot breath is fluttering on your neck, the feeling fizzles away into something else.

Seeing him come undone with just your touch drives you wild, it becomes increasingly difficult not to do more for him. So when Simon comes over again, this time you kneel in front of him watching as his dark eyes widen when your knees hit the ground.

And just like your handjobs, it’s the best damn blowjob he’s ever had in his life. All sloppy and filthy, not like he imagined but so much better.

You don’t ask for anything but after Simon has kissed you goodbye -(after he’s done begging to let him make you cum)- you turn to find a stack of cash on the coffee table, almost double the amount he’d given for the handjob.

It’s not long after that, that you give in and let him spend hours between your thighs. He even pays you for that, mumbles into your cunt that it’s just as good as your lips around his cock as he ruts his hips into the mattress. You don’t see it until later, long after he’s left, but there is a triple stack of cash on your nightstand.

A day later you receive a text from him saying he’ll be gone for a couple of weeks on work but he can’t wait to see you when he’s back. You feel a strange fluttering sensation in your tummy that makes you feel sick. You thought Simon was the type to hide his feelings and be more stoic and blunt so seeing that message from the hulking giant has your stomach in knots.

It stays that way, you can’t rid the feeling so much so that when he finally shows up at your door you tell him whatever it is between you had to end. It was certainly not the welcome Simon was expecting after dealing with a gruelling mission with nothing but men for weeks on end. He feels something snap in his mind and suddenly he’s throwing you on the bed, gripping your jaw, brown eyes glaring into yours as he speaks, “I’m not goin nowhere sweet’art.”

You ‘fight’ with him blah blah blah but let’s get real you let him finger fuck your pussy until you go cross eyed. You let him fuck you into the mattress until you can barely remember your own name. You let him kiss your neck until the sun starts to rise. And you let him pull your body into his as you both drift off to sleep together.

In the morning you hear the envelope, heavy with weight to it, placed down on your nightstand. Then Simon kisses your forehead and whispers he’ll be back later to take care of you.

Then, the money stops appearing but he’s still fucking you. Soon the rent is paid in cash by an anonymous ‘good samaritan’. And before you know it, you’re waking up with a glittering diamond on your wedding finger and a swollen belly that moves when Simon says I love you.

[ebodebo]

a continuation!

-

imagine your ex-boyfriend being so annoying, spamming your phone, and randomly showing up at your apartment, begging you to give him yet another chance.

at first, you felt pity for the guy.

even thought of letting him in a couple of times.

you didn't, but the guilt that gnawed at your throat nearly became too much to bare.

your hand drifted eerily close to the handle as you heard his pleas through your door.

the only thing that made you come back to reality was the pounding of a broom stick on the floor beneath, shouting for the man to shut the fuck up.

that was some days ago, but now, instead of feeling pity or guilt, you’re starting to feel just plain creeped out.

scared he might act on impulse and break into your apartment in the depths of the night.

you're sleeping has taken a plummet, even with a knife by your bed, nothing seems to coax you into relaxation.

that is, until you have the brilliant idea to go next door to your tall, scary, military neighbor, who goes by simon.

you don't know his last name; hell you barely knew his first.

the only reason you knew it was because you heard some girl he brought home moan it through your thin connecting walls.

you felt guilty as you pulled out your small vibrator, goading your sweet release as you heard him groan and curse with every harsh thrust.

even the guilt that swirled in your stomach couldn’t take away the guttural effects he was having on your body, even from so far away.

you ducked your head, avoiding his gaze from then on, until one day, while having trouble unlocking your apartment door, he trudged to your door after examining you for a moment, gently scooting you away and fixing it right before your eyes.

you claimed he was a magician.

he chuckled, deep and gruff, before his name fell off his tongue in greeting, making your thighs clench together.

you hurriedly introduced yourself, before rushing into your apartment, shutting the door behind you, and sinking onto the ground with a deep sigh and hot skin.

pathetic, really.

but, he didn't mind.

he thought you were cute—odd but cute—and you brought him cookies the next day as a thank you, so how could he think ill of you?

so if anyone could help you, it was simon.

“hey, neighbor,” you greet him when he opens the door. he is wearing a simple black long sleeve shirt and dark cargo pants.

he nods towards you. “hello.”

you smile brightly at him, somewhat forgetting your dilemma.

he tilts his head to the side, quipping a brow. “any particular reason you’re here?” he asks, voice rough as always.

you rock on your heels, fidgeting with your fingers. “i need your help.”

he leans against the doorframe. “go on.”

“i’m sure you’ve heard that guy that comes around,” you start, watching his squinted eyes.

“who hasn’t? that bastard is always here,” he says gruffly.

“he’s my ex,” you admit, cringing.

simon stiffens, eyes opening wider slightly.

“he’s, uh… become an issue. he won’t leave me alone, and i’m scared he’s going to break into my apartment while i’m sleeping,” you say, shaking your head, the tension in your voice evident.

“he’s not going to do that,” he shrugs.

your eyes widen at his dismissal, feeling slightly hurt. “how do you know?”

he turns to grab a backpack off a hook beside him. “because i’ll be there. won’t let him through the door,” he casually mutters as he steps out of his apartment, closing it behind him.

you feel a flutter in your stomach at his taking on the role of your protector so quickly—no enticement necessary.

“i really appreciate it, simon.” your voice is full of gratitude.

“don’t mention it, sweetheart,” he shakes his head, heading towards your door. “key?” he asks, reaching for your painted key hanging around your neck.

you hurriedly lean forward, mind completely fogging at the endearment.

his lip quips as he tugs the key up and over your head to unlock the door.

once he unlocks the door, he pushes the door wide open, stepping aside for you to go in first.

“and they say chivalry is dead,” you can’t help but joke as you slip in, a teasing glint in your eye.

he matches your humorous smile with one of his own. “do they? hadn’t heard that,” he murmurs, closing the door as he steps in.

you spin your head away from his gaze, opting to stare at a lonesome flower pot with a dumb grin on your face.

the next two hours are spent lazing until you find yourself on the cushion right next to simon on the couch as he occasionally glanced at the door, while you picked and prodded at reality show stars on the television screen.

But you and simon both stiffen when you hear the familiar hard knock on the front door, followed by a strained male voice pleading.

you look at simon who's already stalking over to the door; you uncross your legs and walk behind him.

with annoyance, simon pulls open the door, and you see your ex’s face whiten and his body sag at the sight. “can we help you?” simon gruffs, cocking a brow at his pathetic demeanor.

your ex stammers, stumbling over his words as he looks between you and simon. “who the fuck are you?” your ex demands, though not daring to try and overpower simon because simon easily has fifty pounds and eight inches over him.

simon crosses his arms over his chest, his biceps bulging bigger as he does so. “you should lose this address,” he urges, voice so gruff and commanding it sends shivers down your spine. “i don’t take too kindly to guys stalking my girlfriend,” he says with an ease that makes you lick your drying lips.

“girlfriend?” your ex chokes out, unable to comprehend what he is hearing.

“that’s what i said, isn’t it?” simon almost sounds disinterested.

your ex’s eyes wander to you. “you're dating this guy?” he almost sounds hurt.

you shift under his gaze, feeling awkward.

“don't talk to her. talk to me,” simon interjected, feeling your unease.

“you can’t—you aren’t dating,” your ex begins, narrowing his eyes. “you’re just doing this to make me jealous, aren’t you?” there is venom behind his words that pisses simon off.

simon’s lips flatline, and just as you go to speak, simon turns his head, hand coming to cup your jaw to kiss you deeply, possessively.

your ex releases a short breath as the sight.

simon’s tongue moves across to skim your teeth, making you whine into his mouth, as his fingers tangle in your hair for deeper contact.

you release a shallow whimper of protest as simon pulls back, enjoying the sight of your ex so shell-shocked.

simon tilts his head forward, looking into his eyes intently. “this is my girl, and if i find out you’ve been botherin’ her, i’ll make you a dead man. you hear me?” his voice is so lethal it makes you squirm, but in a completely different way than your ex.

your ex’s eyes look like saucers as he nods his head fervently.

“good choice. now leave,” simon instructs.

without another word, your ex spins on his heels, looking like a hurt lamb as he leaves the complex.

simon lets out a dry laugh as he shuts the door behind him.

“thank you,” you murmur.

he gives you a brief smile, gesturing for you to sit back on the couch. you both go back to lazing around, now watching some cooking show you put on.

later that night, he insisted on setting up shop in your living room for the night… or just the next two!

it’s really not a big deal.

he just wouldn’t be able to continue on if something happened to his cute neighbor!

that’s all.

you’re so sweet and still shaken up by the interaction that you let him stay the night.

…and the next one.

…and the one after that.

you’re starting to think he never really counted on staying just one night.

you don’t say anything, but after the second week passes and simon is still around, you find yourself reeling as you start to see his socks and shirts tucked nicely in your drawers.

his coffee mug now kisses yours in the cabinet, and some magnets of the countries he’s visited cling to the fridge.

there isn’t a crevice in your apartment that simon hasn’t explored, or left a piece of himself in.

you should have known better than to invite simon into the same place he had fantasized about for the past six months.

the very place where he listened to your sweet moans, so loud, so tempting.

every. single. night.

he kicked his friends out of his place every time he heard your vibrator start up, so that they couldn’t listen to your breathy whines and so he could sneak away to his room, where your thin walls meet, to tug away at his cock imagining it was you stroking him until he came all over his hand and sheets.

such a sweet girl, you are.

letting a dog into your home to roam free, unaware of the way he watched you with a slobbering tongue and a primal hunger.

oh, sweetheart, you never stood a chance.

[eyelessfaces]

touch starved bob reynolds who starts hugging you after every mission because it’s a reasonable and justified reason to do it, and an excuse to be able to hold you without it seeming weird

touch starved bob who gets startled when you put your hand over his to stop him from nervously fidgeting, and who feels it in his stomach when you rub your thumb back and forth over his hand to calm him down

touch starved bob who drifts off during movie night and unconsciously ends up with his head resting against your shoulder, apologizing when he wakes up, flustered when you tell him you don’t mind and he can leave it here if he wants and feels comfortable

touch starved bob who reaches for and holds onto your hand for dear life whenever he feels anxious in public settings, because it’s something you’ve established and encouraged him to do

touch starved bob who visibly melts when you push away the front pieces of his hair when they're falling in front of his eyes

touch starved bob who has to make sure his mind is not playing tricks on him when you take his face into your hands and press your lips against his for the first time

touch starved bob who, with all the confidence he can gather, has to kiss you back twice as tenderly, making sure to commit the feeling to memory just in case you wouldn't want to do it again and would think it was a mistake

touch starved bob who always asks if it's okay before touching you when you start dating because he’s scared he’s being too clingy and that his need to touch you might be suffocating

touch starved bob who is nervous the first time you sleep together because he has barely ever had sex sober and he’s unsure how to handle it without the extra confidence

touch starved bob who constantly needs to be kissing you in hope it can be a distraction if he's not doing something right, asking you how you're feeling a bit too often

touch starved bob who whimpers a little too loud when you affirm and praise him, telling him he's doing a good job

touch starved bob whose face turns red when you tell him to sit back and relax when you take the upper hand, feeling he might be a bit too nervous to really fully enjoy the moment if he keeps being in charge

touch starved bob who needs to be held and to be as close to you as possible when you’re done, his head resting over your stomach and your fingers running through his hair as he falls asleep

touch starved bob who attentively watches you sleep beside him when he wakes up the next morning, fighting the urge to push back the strand of your hair that is falling over your face, not wanting to wake you up

touch starved bob who presses himself against you and slides his hand under your shirt to ground himself when he can't sleep because the warmth of your skin brings him back to reality when he overthinks and when things get too tense inside his own head

touch starved bob who always rests a hand at your back when he comes up behind you, resting his chin over your head if he has to stay here

touch starved bob who, no matter how long you've been dating, will always blush under your compliments, and even more over you covering his face with kisses when you want him to believe those

touch starved bob who doesn't even realize how much he smiles every time he touches you or you touch him, as if unconsciously, his body is finally learning what it means to be wanted

—

thunderbolts taglist: @majestic-jazmin @eternallymaroon @sillymilly17 @yyiikes @snazzynacho

[berrryparfait]

sex pollen ❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

— ༉‧₊ᐟ featuring: zayne, xavier, sylus, caleb, rafayel x fem-afab!reader

— ༉‧₊ᐟ premise: spring is here, and the "thorny" flower is in season. beware, unsuspecting farm visitor, lest you inhale the evil flower's pollen and fall victim to its whims... 「this urge... i can't resist it anymore—!」

— ༉‧₊ᐟ tags/cws: [nsfw] pure smut, literal sex pollen; "spontaneous and urgent need to have sex", piv, creampie, intense orgasms, dubcon, characters are not dating nor have they ever f*cked before (frenemies)

— ♫₊ᐟ soundtrack: pelican town (from stardew valley)

✧ a/n: was the stardew valley soundtrack too unhinged or... anywaysss sex pollen is one of my all-time favorite tropes ever so here's my take on it <3

Sure, he might not be your favorite person in the world, but just for today, you're content with being acquaintances. For what it’s worth, if there’s anything worse than spending a whole day with your begrudging frenemy, it’s losing.

The annual Spring Corn-Picking Festival has begun, and you’ve been paired up with him. Can you put your differences aside and put your skills to the test? Or is there something else—something sinister—lurking beneath the surface, waiting to strike?

The “thorny” flower is in bloom, and no one is safe…

“Follow my lead if you want to win. I did my research, so I know where all the best spots are.” He parts the thick maize, making way for the both of you to trudge through the field. You roll your eyes at his predictable arrogance. “Please. I used to live on a farm. I know my way around—” You trip on a small rock and stumble into his back. He barely even glances at you. “Be quiet if you don’t want to sabotage our mission.” Rude. “Hey, there’s some up there.” You both dart towards the bunch of ripe corn a few feet away, no longer weary and complacent. Placing his basket on the ground, he begins to expertly pluck the corn from their stalks, intense concentration written all over his face.

All of a sudden, a strange smell hijacks your nostrils. “Do you smell that?” He grimaces and looks around, apparently sensing it too. It’s…strange. Foreign. Not entirely unpleasant. The flesh between your legs throbs. Why do I feel…? Your eyes lock with Zayne’s, then travel down to his groin. He’s hard. It takes him two seconds to close the distance between you. “Zayne, what’s going on—” He yanks your overalls down and grasps at your breasts, the expression on his reddened face absolutely feral. “I-I don’t know—” he stammers, still smearing his hands all over your plump chest. “But I can’t stop…” He pulls your panties down in one fell swoop to find you already dripping wet. His pupils dilate at the sight, and his hands automatically move to undo his belt. It doesn’t take long for him to free his erection, which is so large by now you almost feel bad for him. “Wait, we’re in a corn field—” Your words are abruptly cut off by him spinning you around and plunging his cock between your folds, and you have to cling to the sturdy stalks to prevent yourself from falling over. A hand goes over your mouth to conceal your surprised moans. He has you bent over in front of him, back arching against his dick as he thrusts into you and curses under his breath. I don’t like you! You don’t like me! Why does this feel so good?! “Fuck— I can’t stop—” His groans are strangled and pained, his hips moving so fast the field around you blurs into a mess of pale green and yellow. Expletives escape his lips as he slams into you so hard you both come undone, his hot, thick cum filling you up and dripping down your legs as you spasm and shake under his grip. You’re panting. He looks like he can’t even breathe. “What the fuck was that, Zayne?!” you scream at him, flustered and so utterly confused. “It’s that damn flower… Fuck. I’m sorry.” You pull your overalls back up and shake your head, unsure how to feel about all of this. “Let me make it up to you— Dinner. Tonight.” Tiny butterflies drift into the field.

“Would you quit micromanaging?” He glares at you before turning back to the corn, both hands wrapped around its plush kernels. “I’m just saying, twisting it out might be faster.” Always pouting, always bickering. It’s the only thing you two ever do. You’ve never denied that it bothers you, the way he acts as if you’re beneath him. “If you’re so confident, you do it.” You take the bait and push past him, sandwiching yourself between him and the stubborn stalk of corn. A smug grin plays at his lips when you fail to pull—no, twist—it out, his arms crossed over his chest.

Xavier sneezes. He brushes it off as a one-time thing at first, but then he sneezes again. Hay fever? he thinks to himself. Suddenly, the image of you working your hands around the cob of corn—squeezing and pulling at its base—is too much for him to bear. He’s imagining his dick in its place. You don’t realize it at first, but you’re getting wet. You feel the abrupt, inexplicable need to grind against something. Anything. All at once, you push Xavier to the ground and sit down on top of him. “Do you feel that?” you whisper between gasps, the pool of need between your legs growing by the second. He nods breathlessly, uncertain, but wanting all the same. Your hips involuntarily roll against his, and you both suppress a moan. The next thing you know, you’re grinding against his rock-hard cock and relishing the sounds of his tortured groans. “I’m—so horny—right now—” His voice is fried, needy. You lift the skirt of your dress and pull your panties to the side, clearly sopping wet. His jeans are unzipped. In what seems like an unimaginable moment, you’re bouncing on his dick and screaming out in pleasure. Why does he…feel so good… Your thoughts are a mess, part confusion and part unbridled lust. The way he rubs against your walls, jerks upwards to meet your thrusts, whimpers like a man starved—it’s everything you never knew you needed. You roll your hips at just the right angle, and he gets impossibly bigger before shooting warm spurts of cum into your cervix, his thighs clenching underneath yours as the most intense orgasms the both of you have ever had crash over your joint bodies. You roll over to lie down beside him, still in shock. “W-What was that?!” He turns to look at you and gently tucks a strand of hair behind your ear—ironic, considering your entire head’s a complete mess. “I didn’t know you had that in you. You didn’t even kiss me.”

“Perhaps we’d get there more quickly if you stopped whining,” he jabs, already five feet ahead of you. His demeanor remains cool and composed, yet frustration simmers beneath the surface, visible only to those who know the enigma of a man well enough. Unfortunately, “those” includes you. “I just can’t believe I’m stuck here with you. Of all people.” Without looking back, he replies, “Are you sure this isn’t your desire for me speaking? Because judging by the way you were eyeing me just now…” You huff at his ridiculous statement. “Ha! You wish. Sleeping with you is the last thing I’d ever want, so keep dreaming, buckaroo.”

You don’t hear his reply. A sharp, almost sweet scent attacks your senses, conquering your mind almost instantly. You sway amongst the stalks of grass, trying to make sense of the sudden urge you’re feeling—the urge to bury Sylus’ dick between your legs. I hate him I hate him I hate him— Your hands reach out to grab him before you can stop them, and he spins around abruptly to gently push you away. “Having a change of mind?” He means the question as a joke, but the sound of his gravelly, seductive voice only intensifies the throbbing in your cunt. “Shut up and fuck me,” you spit, fully convinced you’ve gone insane. But he doesn’t object. The cocky grin vanishes from his face as he unbuckles his belt and pulls his pants down, apparently devoted to the task. His underwear is still on by the time he’s lying on top of you, pupils dilated and erection rock solid. Overcome, he dry-humps your clit for a whole minute, the pressure so rewarding that he can’t bring himself to remove his boxers. “Fuck, baby— What are you doing to me?” He hisses when you yank them down yourself, eager to bury his cock deep inside you. No time is wasted. In a single thrust of his hips, he’s plunging all the way into you, so big you cry out in delicious pain. Your hips move in tandem with his, mud covering your back and seeping into your hair—but you couldn’t care less. His length is pumping in and out of you so hard your eyes roll to the back of your head, and distantly you wonder how long you’ve secretly needed—wanted—this. He grunts with each jerk, wet squelches filling the air as the strawberry-picking competition is forgotten, sweet release the only thing on his mind. A stutter—a falter, and he erupts, his thick seed coating your walls and seeping out of your pussy. You both fall silent as the pleasure consumes your bodies, so good your eyes squeeze shut and your throat goes completely dry. “I’m…a mess…” you mutter between pants, pushing him off of you. “Who wants to sleep with who now?” He shoves his pants back on and—blushes?! “It must’ve been that flower. Though… It’s worth mentioning that I’m immune.”

“Alright, let’s hurry up and get this over with.” He doesn’t seem thrilled to be wading through a cornfield with the likes of you, one of his childhood tormentors. Well, he’d tormented you back, of course—middle school turf wars were no joke. You both grew up and learned to tame your reactions a little, but some things never change. The fact that you’re still stuck in the same small town with him, for instance. “After all these years, Caleb is still a jackass,” you quip, already making your way towards a ripe bunch of corn. “You’re just jealous I never dated you.”

The wind blows, and you scrunch your nose at the scent it carries. “Shh— Do you smell that?” His eyes go wide as realization hits, and he rushes to cover your nose and mouth with his hands. “It’s that devil flower that spews aphrodisiacal pollen. Don’t. Breathe.” His expression is grim as he clamps his mouth shut, but he’s already starting to squirm. A small pit of arousal emerges in your core, but he’s clearly having a harder time than you are, the outline of his hard cock visible through his trousers. “Caleb…?” you ask tentatively as his hands slide away from your face, flexing indecisively before reaching towards you. “Caleb, wait a second—” He’s on his knees, pulling your shorts and panties down. Oh my god, this can’t be happening— You gasp as his tongue glides against your clit, the simple movement leaving you wanting more. Your hips grind against his face as you moan his name, lost in the lovely vibrations of his own groans of pleasure. “Get on the ground.” His tone leaves little room for debate. You lie flat on the soil, back towards the sky, and turn to look at him over your shoulder. His dick is out, precum coating the tip as it beelines straight for your inviting cunt. Pure bliss overcomes your system when he first glides in, your walls instantly slickening in response. He pounds into you from behind, his whimpers mingling with yours as you’re swept away by the feeling of finally having Caleb inside you. It’s surreal—ten years ago you would’ve laughed at the thought. Now your mouth hangs open for different reasons. “Faster, Caleb—” you squeak, desperate to reach your climax. He drives into you, clenching hard before he drenches your pussy, a steady stream of cum dripping down onto the soil below. “Holy fuck… I’m sorry…” he whispers, getting up to put his pants back on. An unexpected wave of laughter hits as you recover from the aftershocks of your orgasm, your body sated and…comfortable. “Don’t you dare blame this on the pollen.” He sighs wearily and smiles. “I’m not.”

“If we don’t win, I’m blaming it on you.” Great. This detour was all your fault. You can’t believe this guy. First, he makes no effort to help with navigation. Next, he decides that if anything goes wrong, you’re to blame? Sweet crackers, he’s the most insufferable fool you’ve ever met. Sure, he’s charming—the old ladies back at the farm couldn’t have made it clearer—but you don’t get to have a competitive streak when you’re not the one doing the streaking. Seriously, he’s slow as hell. “Stop talking and walk.”

“There’s something in the air,” he remarks, squinting. It’s the first time he’s paid attention to anything today, so you hear him out and begin sniffing your surroundings. You detect nothing and call him a big baby, resuming your search for corn. “I’m being serious! I swear it’s doing something to me…” He turns away then, so hastily your suspicions are raised. “J-Just gimme a sec!” he calls over his shoulder, “Lemme take care of something real quick—” You turn back around, tired of his antics, but a barely concealed groan stops you dead in your tracks. He’s jerking off in broad daylight, his head thrown back in relief. “Rafayel, what the f—” You feel it then, the throbbing ache in your pussy, and suddenly his presence no longer annoys you. You inch towards him, eyeing his hard cock as he pumps it with his fist. At the sight of you staring up at him with a strange, unabashed lust, his thighs clench and he moans your name, the sound of it on his lips sending waves of arousal down to your core. You push him down by the shoulders so he’s sitting upright on the ground, dick so hard it looks miserable. “Bounce on it,” he orders. In the span of two seconds, your panties are pushed to the side and your cunt is enveloping his cock. You’re so full, so dirty with him between your legs—Does it feel better to fuck someone you pretend to hate? His thumbs bruise your hips as you keep your pace, bouncing on his lap like your life depends on it, his tip crushing against your cervix the only thing on your mind. “Fuck, fuck, fuck—” he breathes before pumping his fresh cum into your pussy, your combined cries of pleasure so loud a neighboring flock of birds takes flight. Defeated, you lean against him in his lap, still shaking with desire. His hand goes up to rest on your head, his touch surprisingly tender. “I’ve been waiting all year for that.”

— ⋆˙⟡ ©berrryparfait

《 please do not copy / plagiarize / translate my works or publish them on any other platforms. 》

[thyme-in-a-bubble]

too big

a/n: honestly, bless this man for being such a dick (and having such a dick, holy fuck i’m gonna pass out)

summary: cock throbbing in his grasp, he stared down at your pussy as he swept his intimidating girth against it, “you know, you have been such a fucking tease for way too long… only giving me handjobs or rubbing that little cunt on me, basically taunting me, while the rest of these assholes get to have you, all of you, anyway they want,” he stopped nudging your buzzing pearl and instead dragged through your petals till he found your opening, quivering and dripping as he nuzzled against it, “I’m fucking tired…” he groaned slowly, “…so I’m done waiting… I’ll finally feel this fucking pussy wrapped around me whether you like it or not.” 

warnings: innocent!reader x frat!bucky barnes, stepbro!steve rogers, frat!ari levinson, marc spector, ransom drysdale, curtis everett, lloyd hansen, andy barber, thor odinson, scott lang, miguel o'hara, frank castle, billy russo, smut, dark content, dubcon halfway through, college au, polyamory, kissing, corruption kink, shower sex, bondage, exhibitionism, voyeurism, crying, dacryphilia, dirty talk, size kink, gaping, belly bulge, manhandling, overstimulation, orgasm denial, edging, multiple orgasms, squirting, impact play, pain kink, spit kink, choking, masturbation, oral, fingering, anal, pussyjob, penetrative sex, unprotected sex, creampie, bukkake

word count: 6770

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take her under your wing au masterlist | 101, intro to the au

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“Ah, not yet,” your stepbrother groaned over the booming music, that rocked the frat house, as he cut the sip of his beer short, “if you really don’t wanna be here anymore, can’t you just like go up to my room and wait?”

“Seriously?” a long sigh flowed from your lungs, “then I’d rather just walk back to my dorm alone, I don’t even know why you insist on escorting me like I’m a child.” 

“Because you shouldn’t walk alone at night,” Steve shot back as his gaze continued to keep his focus on the party around him, “don’t be a brat, just go wait upstairs.”

“Well, can’t someone else do it then if you’re so busy, your majesty,” your comment earned you a glare. 

“You’re my responsibility,” he stated, the bridge of his nose twitching heatedly as he glowered down at you, “I’m not just gonna dump my problems on my friends for them to deal with.”

“Wow, okay,” you nearly choked on the lump that promptly formed in your throat, “I’m sorry for being such a burden then,” you muttered before spinning around and storming up the stairs. 

The door to Steve’s room slammed shut like a crack of thunder behind your spine. 

Chest still heaving, you stared down at the ground for a long moment before you finally managed to force your feet to move once again and peel you away from the door. You flopped down onto the bed with a heated huff, blinking up at the ceiling before your gaze flickered to the night sky twinkling on the other side of the windows. 

Though as you laid there, your stepbrother's last words nearly swallowing you whole as they played on a loop in your brain like a plague, a different sound suddenly caught your ears and caused your cheeks to instantly heat up with something other than fury. 

Reverberating through the thin wall, shrill moans were tangled with deep ones, some that were familiar, though you didn’t place them till the female whines started screaming out his name. 

“Bucky, Bucky, Bucky–,” the cries rang out each time the thud of a headboard thumped against the wall. 

And though you couldn’t make out every word, you still thought that you could hear Bucky’s low timbre crackle in dirty soliloquies, fractured sentences that soon persuaded your hands to subconsciously drift down along your frame.

Though by the time that your fingers had found their way down your pants and stuffed up your hole, rocking them to the same rhythm of the pounding that nearly cracked through the wall, the door to Steve’s room was suddenly ripped open and you tore your hand away from your cunt. 

“I am only gonna say this once, so you better fucking listen up,” he grumbled as he kicked the door shut behind him, “I–… am sorry…” he struggled to huff, “there, you happy now?” 

The lewd noises that echoed through the wall didn’t faze him at all as he apparently was so used to such background noise in the house that he barely registered it at all. 

“So, you don’t think I’m a burden?” you uttered, propping yourself up on your elbows as doubt stiffened your words. 

“…no…” resisting a roll of his eye, he instead faintly shook his head as he began to walk closer, “you’re not a burden… a brat? Yes,” he stated, “but I guess you’re not that bad…” a slight smirk twitched at his lip before he then bent down over you and kissed you. 

Though as it turned out to not just be a swift peck he’d sought after as he layed down at top of you, one of your palms pressed against the centre of his burly chest before you twisted your lips out of the way, “wait, wait,” your head faintly shook as you tried not to succumb to his intoxicating kiss, “no, if we do this, then we’ll both just fall asleep here.” 

“Would that really be so bad?” a soft scoff crackled in his throat. 

“I wanna sleep in my own bed tonight,” you tilted your head as you blinked up at him, your brows gently knitting together at the plea, “I didn’t even wanna come tonight.” 

“Oh, come on,” he leaned back down till his nose ghosted against your own, “I’m too tired to walk across campus right now, and if I’m tired, then I can only imagine how you must feel. Come on, just crash here tonight, do it for me,” he croaked, “and you’ve been so boring all evening, barely had a sip of anything, so at the very least you owe me this.” 

“But–”

“You can pop in some earplugs, then you won’t even know the difference,” his lips began to flutter across your cheekbone till his voice tickled your ear, all the while the party right downstairs still boomed above his manipulative murmurs. 

And though you knew that it wasn’t true, that even if you could somehow block out the noise, you still couldn’t stop the base from rocking the entire house and make you dizzy as you laid in your stepbrother’s bed. So, as fear arose inside of you at the thought of telling him no, you instead heard yourself timidly whispering, “…alright…”

You’d managed to slip out of Steve’s bed without waking him up before you then sneaked down the long hallway to borrow the upstairs shower. 

Though once the water was drizzling down upon you, in the relaxing steam that floated around your form, your thoughts couldn’t help but drift back to the night before, though not of the manner that your stepbrother had put you to sleep, but instead to the sinful sounds of his best friend that you’d overheard. 

Swiftly, the pads of your fingers began to draw needy circles over your clit to try and dull the scandalously intruding thoughts, though even when you detached the showerhead to spray the gush of water directly against your pussy, a dire problem continued to stand in your way, like you were peeping over the edge of a cliff, too petrified to jump by yourself. 

However, as time began to slip away from you, the door suddenly barged open.  

Your stifled whimpers promptly ceased echoing in the shower as your eyes snapped to the figure now standing in the doorway. 

“B-Bucky!” you dropped the showerhead in your humiliated scramble to twist your nude frame out of his sight. Picking it up as it began to spray up into your face, you swiftly spun around and splayed your hands across your frame in a feeble attempt at covering yourself up.   

“You do know that this door locks, right?” he chuckled as he gently pushed the door closed behind him, the one that you had apparently still been half-asleep when you forgot to bolt, “that’s twice now,” he pointed out with a grin as his stare pierced through the fogged up glass, deja vu smacking you in the face as well, as he reminded you of the incident that had happened over the summer break, “I think if it ever happens a third, then I should win a prize or something.”

“Get out!” you screeched, embarrassment eating you alive. 

“Why? So that you can go back to getting yourself off?” 

“I–,” your head swiftly soared to catch sight of him over your shoulder, “I wasn’t–…” before you squeezed your eyes shut and huffed, “oh my god, I hate you…” 

“I know,” he simply smiled at your groan before he shifted to go grab his toothbrush from the cabinet.

But before he could be on his way and slip back out, your head started spinning as your gaze traced him on the other side of the glass, going about his business as if you weren’t standing stark naked one single meter away from him. 

“W-wait!” you then heard yourself squeak right as his fingers reached for the door handle. Glancing back over his shoulder at you, the words that then slipped out of your lungs were accompanied by a shiver that trickled down your spine, “…could you–…”

Blinking back at you, his eyes faintly squinted as a smirk plagued his lips, “could I what?” 

“Well, I just–,” your breathing was ragged as you averted your gaze, “I’m having a bit of trouble making myself–, uhm…”

“Aw,” his broad shoulders gently shook in a laugh as he then began to mock, “what’s the matter? Can you not make your little pussy cum? Have you still not learned how to do it on your own?” 

“I–, n-no!” you hastily lied, “I’ve totally done it myself, loads of times, what are you talking about?” even though the truth actually was that the sought-after high was still too overwhelming to reach on your own, “I just right now when I tried that it won’t happen… I–… I don’t know what’s wrong with me…” 

“Well, maybe you’re doing it wrong,” he shrugged, “or school’s just got you crazy stressed out or something, so it can’t snap into place.”

“Yeah?” a small drop of assurance settled within your belly, “…so would you maybe–, I mean, I know that you’ve done it for me before, but still, could you maybe help me out a tiny bit?” 

A big huff flowed from his lungs as Bucky then pretended that your request was something he wished to be no part of, “alright,” he teasingly grumbled, “I guess I could lend you a hand, but just saying, it’ll cost you.” 

“Cost me?” 

“Yeah,” he tried to keep a straight face, “I don’t give out favours free of charge.” 

“Fine,” a short giggle bubbled out of you as you assumed his dramatic terms were but a joke, “I promise I’ll be your getaway driver on your next diamond heist or whatever.”  

His tongue briefly flickered out to wet his lips before he simply chuckled condescendingly in return, “you’re cute,” before he then began to strip out of his sleepwear. 

Though you probably shouldn’t have been surprised, in your mind, you had merely pictured that he would stay on the other glass a moment longer to give you the guidance that you needed, only explaining what you should do and nothing more before he then left you to carry it out on your own. 

“What are you doing?” your eyes instinctively grew wide as his clothing hit the tile floor. 

“Sweetheart,” his head swiftly cocked, “you literally just begged all pathetically for my help,” he pushed his underwear down, revealing his beast of a cock, already half-hard and heavy, resting like a freaking baseball bat against the top of his thigh, “so that’s what I’m doing,” he brashly stated before he then joined you in the shower. 

Grabbing your face with both of his hands, he then held you in a kiss until the tension in your body gradually began to fade away. When you started to suck in deep breaths through your nose, truly landing in the devilish deal you’d just agreed to, one of his fiendishly, inked hands then began to wander. Skimming down over your wet skin, his palm first caught your tits, briefly giving one of your nipples a teasing tug, before his touch strayed down to knead your ass and draw you that much closer to his frame. 

With the showerhead still clutched in your hands, hugged closely to your body, and gushing onto the both of you, the drawn-out kiss then broke when Bucky’s hand snuck down between your legs. Swiftly, he sought out your clit, already puffy and throbbing from the way you had bullied it mere moments earlier. 

However, then, as you blinked up at him, mouth falling open in a gasp, he suddenly spun you around for your spine to be pressed up against his brawny chest, before stealing the showerhead from your grasp. 

Extending his thumb, he dexterously switched the settings and changed the flow of water from several small and gentle streams to one thicker, and much stronger, jet. 

A whimper rolled off your tongue as he then held the gush down to spray its firm pressure directly against your little pearl, and as you had already been so worked up when he found you, it didn’t take very long at all before you finally tasted that sweet high that you still weren’t yet brave enough to catch on your own, his expert touch instead guiding you there. Your eyes squeezed shut as, not only your head fell back against his broad shoulder, but your knees also threatened to give out, lending him to snake a swift arm around your waist to keep you from collapsing entirely. 

“Oh my god,” you panted, completely melted back against his bulky physique, “how did you do that so fast?”

And as the muffled grunt, that had vibrated in his chest at your unravelling, morphed into a cocky chuckle that tickled your ear, he simply murmured, “you’re welcome,” before he then pressed a peck to the top of your head and began to tilt your body back away from his. 

But at the loss of contact, one of your hands suddenly shot out in desperation before he could disappear completely, “wait, please I–,” you gasped foggily, “more–, I want more–, please don’t stop–”

And as you peeked over your shoulder to meet his eye, a glimmer flickered in his blue ones, “oh, looks like someone’s getting greedy,” he smirked, “you finally developing a taste for all of this? Becoming the little slut we’ve been telling you all along that you actually are?” 

“No, I’m not a–,” you couldn’t even echo the same word out loud, “…Bucky, please? I just–, I can’t do it on my own–, I mean, not like you or any of the others can…”

“Well, you’ve just not had enough practice yet,” his palm swept up to find your jaw as he took a step back in your proximity, “you’ll get there if you just listen to Steve and stick with all of us,” he uttered as he turned your head for his lips to capture your own.

As he kissed you over your shoulder, his now raging hard-on digging into the softness of your bottom, he then blindly slotted the showerhead back into place on the wall, lending the water to drizzle down over the both of you as he swept his tongue ravenously against your own. 

His feet then began to shift on the wet floor, and steered your own to move slightly as well, till your tits smooshed up against the cool tile wall of the shower. When his lips then faded and began to migrate down and past your neck, you continued to peek back at him as he then sank down onto his knees behind you. Grabbing your hips, he yanked your butt closer to his head till your back was arched and your arms were folded up against the wall for support. Burying his face in between your thighs, he then spent the next chunk of time eating you out till he once again had you tumbling over the edge.

Though after you’d cum this second time, he feverishly reached up and shut off the water before he plucked up your dazed form and dragged you out of the shower, planting you instead on the counter beside the sink. 

Still all dizzy, you swayed slightly as Bucky then took a few steps away from you, enough to be out of your reach. 

“I wanna see how many of your fingers you can fit inside that pretty little pussy of yours,” he demanded as his stare coasted down to your core, utterly on display as your limp legs hadn’t drifted closed yet. 

“W-what?” you breathed, still too hazy to keep your heavy eyelids from temporarily blinding your vision. 

“You heard what I said,” he briefly let a dollop of spit drop down into his open palm before he then grasped his thick girth and initiated a silky stroke, “show me.”  

Though try as you might, the max you managed to cram inside of your drooling cunt was three of your digits as your stare stayed glued on his fist working over his big cock. 

However as he watched you reach your capacity, he then stepped back up and, with his free hand, joined your own touch between your thighs. At first, as his gaze found your own and held it captive, the tips of his fingers traced your hole, all stretched out by your comparatively thin digits. But then, gradually, he traded your own touch out with his. To begin with, his finger hooked under one of your knuckles to pull one of your fingers out of your pussy, barely waiting any time at all before he then swapped places with it and slid his own digit in beside the two of yours that remained.

The stretch sent a shiver trickling down your spine and you swiftly tilted closer to crash your lips messily against his own. 

And soon, none of your own fingers remained as he instead stuffed you full. Though you thought that two of his thick digits were a struggle, he somehow managed to work himself up and double it to four after he had coaxed your own touch away, his thumb being the only one he couldn’t cram inside, instead stretching it up to sweep against your swollen clit and roll it under the broad pad. His other hand stayed on his dick as your pussy began to stain his fingers with your cream, leaking needily into his palm. 

Though just before you could cum once more, his zealous touch suddenly disappeared, denying you of the luxurious sensation once again. As you desperately reached down to take care of it yourself, he swiftly swatted your hand out of the way. 

Both of his palms, still sticky from your essence as well as his own spit, then floated up to grasp the sides of your face before he then uttered, “grab my cock,” and frantically, you fulfilled his command as you shared his hot breath, “both hands, that’s it, good girl,” a gravelly groan rumbled in his throat as you wrapped your fingers around his fat girth and attempted a gentle stroke, “rub it against you,” he murmured as the tip of him was already mere inches away from your throbbing clit, “rub that big cock against your pussy, go on.”

And as you then tilted your hips and began to drag his hardness through your folds, parting your petals for his girth, a pout found your lips as you peeked down at his size as your juices soaked him, “why do you have to be so fucking big…” you heard yourself whine, “it’s not fair…” 

“Aw, what’s wrong, huh?” he huffed out a cocky grin as he promptly leaned in a bit closer, “are you tired of not being able to take me? I thought you liked all the fun ways we make it work since you won’t let me even try to stick it in, how scaredlittle you think I’m too huge for it to ever work.” 

“You are, that hasn’t changed, I’ve accepted that,” you puffed as you continued to tickle the bulbous tip of him against your core and drive yourself closer to the edge once again, “but I can just still, simultaneously, be a little sad about how I can’t do that with you, even with how crazy you make me, which is a mystery in itself, I don’t get it, frankly I think you’re a complete and utter asshole, but–, fuck… it’s like I lose my mind when I’m around you… all of you… I can’t even enter this house without forgetting my own name…” 

But then, just before you could catch another orgasm, a low growl crackled in Bucky’s throat as your words caused him to finally snap, grasping your frame and tossing you over his shoulder before he nearly ripped the door off its hinges from how feverishly he yanked it open.

Stalking down the long hallways that slithered throughout the upper floor of the fraternity, fear arose in you at the thought that someone might spot you, though as you squeaked about it through your billowing laughter, Bucky only smacked your ass in return, lending you not to notice the handful of doors that clicked open behind you. 

As you reached his room, your giggle still remained as he dropped you down upon his bed. You were too focused on him as he sank down over you to notice how he hadn’t bothered to shut the door. 

Messily making out, his fingertips tickled your sides as he wrestled you lightly, grasping both of your wrists and pinning them above your head before his hips then grinded down against your own. Though your legs didn’t manage to tangle around him before he then flipped you around to lay on your stomach beneath him. 

It continued to be all fun and game as he twisted your squirming hands down to the small of your back, even as he reached for a pair of handcuffs that rested on his nightstand before swiftly clicking them around your wrists, as you merely thought that it was something new and exciting, not him on the verge of crossing a line.

Though as he then yanked your hips up off of the mattress, your knees curling beneath you as your face and shoulder smooshed further into the bed, you playfully wiggled your ass back at him as you fully expected to feel the touch of his fingers or his tongue once again. But to your surprise, when you did feel something brush against your weepy cunt, your giggle finally ceased, gradually fizzling out as you realised what exactly it was that you were feeling caress against you. 

“Wait, what are you–,” your neck twisted further as you tried to catch a glimpse of what he was doing, though only managed to spot his silhouette looming behind you. 

Cock throbbing in his grasp, he stared down at your pussy as he swept his intimidating girth against it, “you know, you have been such a fucking tease for way too long… only giving me handjobs or rubbing that little cunt on me, basically taunting me, while the rest of these assholes get to have you, all of you, anyway they want,” he stopped nudging your buzzing pearl and instead dragged through your petals till he found your opening, quivering and dripping as he nuzzled against it, “I’m fucking tired…” he groaned slowly, “…so I’m done waiting… I’ll finally feel this fucking pussy wrapped around me whether you like it or not.” 

“But I’m not ready–, Bucky, wait!” you tried to wiggle away from him, but he only grasped your ass and brought you back flush against him, “let’s just talk about this for a second–”

“What’s there to talk about, huh?”

“It won’t fit!” you yelped into the sheets.

“Yeah, probably not,” he smirked from behind you, “but I don’t care… I’ll just make it fit,” he uttered before then attempting to sink it in, though without success, his massive cock instead slipped through your slick folds and dragged roughly across your clit. 

“Bucky, please! I’m scared!” you whimpered as his fat tip continued to nudge at your hole, smearing the mess leaking out of you further against your core, “you’re gonna break me in half!” 

“I know, fuck, I know,” he chuckled darkly as he kept up his efforts, “your little pussy is just too goddamn tiny for this,” he pointed out before continuing anyway and trying once again to bury himself in your warmth, though this time failing as well, “fucking shit!” he exclaimed as rage began to bubble within him, making him huff like a bull behind you. 

With a smack against your propped-up ass, he then took a step back before making his way around the bed to the nightstand. Once he’d grabbed a bottle of lube, he briefly dipped down to smother your frown with a peck. 

“Please, Bucky,” you tried to plea once again, “you can stop now. You tried and it didn’t work, so just–, we can do something else, whatever you want, just please don’t try again.”

“But this is the only thing I want,” he murmured before kissing your nose and disappearing back behind you once more.

As he settled back into the same position as before, he liberally glazed his cock with some of the lube, as well as smearing some on your already slick pussy too, even pushing some inside of you with one of his long fingers. 

And as he then attempted a third time, snapping his hips with all of his might, the very tip of him finally popped inside and an actual scream erupted from your lungs, partly from the severe stretch as he split you open with his monstrous girth, but also just from the pure shock of it miraculously working. 

“Ah!” your vision blurred up with tears and you could barely breathe as your poor pussy ached around his obscene size he tried to wreck you with, “Buck! It’s too big! It’s too big!” your mind began to grow fuzzy as you’d never experienced such an intense sensation before, “o-oh, fuck, please take it out, it hurts!” 

“Oh yeah, does it?” his palm swept up the goosebump-ridden skin on your back before he caught the cuffs that linked your wrists together, crudely tugging on them to drag you further down onto his cock, cramming even more of him inside of you, “it sure fucking looks like it, goddamn… I should take a picture of this shit, you’re so fucking stretched out right now, it looks like you might actually break on me,” his other hand drifted to your core to trace the way you struggled to take him. 

“Oh fuck, too much–, too much!” you began to sob as he began to buck his hips and bury himself further inside of you, “t-that’s too deep, Bucky!” 

“No, it’s not,” he chuckled breathlessly through a groan as he continued to stretch you to fit him, “I’m barely halfway.”

“Half–,” you gasped as it already felt as if he was so deep that you could feel him everywhere. From your toes that curled to all the way up in your fucking throat, there wasn’t a single part of you that didn’t flicker and spark for him like a bomb about to go off. 

And as he huffed behind you with every laboured thrust, his hips snapping to crave his way deeper into your sweetness, his hands on you got rougher as they began to come down upon the curve of your bottom, smacking it and making you clench achingly around him at each blow. 

The sniffles that filtered through your strangled moans then found Bucky’s ears, and he briefly tore his stare away from where he split you apart, to glance to your face and spot the tears that rolled down your cheeks. 

“Are you fucking crying right now?” he couldn’t help but huff out a faint and amazed laugh, “aw, that’s okay, baby,” your mouth then fell open as one of his thumbs moved to plug up your tiny asshole, “you can cry if you need to…”

But through the piercing stretch that terrorised your soul, like shocks of electricity flicking through your nerves, you began to notice the euphoria slowly overpowering the pain, confusing you from how the two mixed and mingled. And then suddenly, Bucky’s greedy thrusts started to sound wetter and wetter with each sloppy slam into your soaked pussy, soon coming to a crescendo when your walls promptly squeezed down around him so tight that it forced his huge cock back out as your cunt achingly gushed around nothing and your wobbly knees collapsed beneath you.

Though as you came crashing down upon the bed, he wasted no time at all sinking down with you, “fuck… you’re doing so good for me, you know that?” your eyes rolled as he hummed directly in your ear, “just a little bit more, okay? Just relax around me, let me in,” he groaned as he struggled a moment to stuff himself back inside, pushing past your trembling sensitivity to make room for his length once again.

Though when he sank in, a low and blissful groan rumbling in his chest, it vibrated against your spine as he nearly crushed you as his hips began to roll and rut down into you, burying himself even deeper than before. 

“Be a good girl, just lay right there and take it while I finally get to use this tiny little hole of yours,” he grunted as his efforts overstimulated you so fiercely that your legs trembled violently beneath him and drool began to trickle out of the corner of your mouth, soaking the sheets below, “mould you so good around me, make you take me, fit me perfectly, just the way you should, make you a pretty little fuckdoll for me…”

Though your face was twisted to face the door, it was a struggle to keep your eyes open, lending you only to notice the figures that filled up the exit when one of them took a step to the side and spoke up as he knocked on the neighbouring door. 

“Yo, Steve!” Thor slammed his fist against the door till it creaked open, “bro, come out here.” 

“Yeah, you gotta see this, man,” Ransom called out as well, his feet remaining in the threshold so his stare could stay glued on your cockdrunk visage. 

And when your stepbrother stepped out to spot what was happening just in the next room, he swiftly leaned his form against the doorframe as a wide grin bloomed on his features. 

“Holy shit,” Steve chuckled breathlessly as he stared at the pair of you in amazement, “well fucking done, Buck!” 

“Thank you,” the man that squished you further into the mattress chuckled smugly as he tangled a burly arm under your chin and let his inked bicep flex against your pulse and choke you lightly, “thank you very much.” 

“I mean, I for sure thought you’d have to hold out even longer,” Steve tilted his head slightly to catch a glimpse of how your cream stained Bucky’s cock as it helplessly leaked out of you, forming a messy ring around his fat girth. 

“Well, sometimes patience doesn’t get you what you want. Sometimes you just gotta stop playing by the rules and make life your bitch,” Bucky grunted before his lips began to nibble at your ear, “right, Y/n?” 

Scarcely registering their sinful words through your fucked out fog, all you could reply with was a slurred, “mmngmphh…” your mumbled moan only triggering Bucky to grow even more cocky than before. 

“That’s right, baby, I knew you could fucking take it. You didn’t, but I sure did,” he panted against your neck, “see, if you weren’t such a little prude, then you would have gotten this big dick so much earlier, wouldn’t you have liked that? Instead of being such a brat and making me wait till everyone else had gotten to use you as their own personal little fucktoy to get off with.”

And though you tried to answer, you instead heard your stepbrother chuckle over your pathetic moans, “fucking hell, look at how wrecked she is. Buddy, I think you might have actually broken her,” before he glanced over his shoulder at Thor, “hey, go get the other. Wake them up if you have to, they shouldn’t miss another second of this shit.” 

You barely noticed as the rest of the fraternity slowly filtered into the room as your eyes soon fluttered shut and yet another orgasm rocked your sense, your cunt creaming all over Bucky’s excruciatingly thick cock. When he then suddenly flipped you around onto your back, you dizzily discovered the audience that had formed as you hazily blinked around the crowd. Some were lined up behind Bucky, others off to the side of where you laid melted against the sheets, and a few remained staring in the doorway, though over half of them had already freed their own dicks, while the remaining few that hadn’t yet still only palmed their palpable tents as they watched intently.

A shrill yelp bubbled up your lungs as Bucky then tapped the hefty weight of his length against your overly sensitive pussy. Your legs were folded and crumbled on either side of your frame as he sloppily rubbed himself against your mess, letting the rest see just how much he had ruined you.

“You guys wanna see how pretty I can make her gape for me?” Bucky asked the others as his gaze stayed glued to your little hole, nuzzling against it as it looked as if it had snapped back into place, almost like he’d never been in there at all. 

And with the cheers that promptly rumbled behind him, he then repeatedly rammed his cock inside your cunt before retreating completely with the lewd pop of your poor pussy letting go of his monstrous girth. Each time he slid inside, he gradually ventured further, burying himself deeper before pulling back out and watching as your hole steadily relaxed for him, moulding to his size. At first, your leaky entrance only winked back at them all a brief moment before snapping back into place, till you eventually gaped properly enough for them all to applaud in awe as Bucky paused a moment to grasp you with both of his broad palms and spread you wide, holding you open for everyone a moment longer before your hole quivered back into place. 

Struggling to keep your eyes open, you then forced them to blink as you felt Frank momentarily step up beside you and swiftly free your hands from the cuffs that still kept them bound behind your back, seeing as you couldn’t possibly escape now that you were so cockdrunk you could barely stay awake. 

All of their deep voices and lewd comments washed over you like a stormy sea, crashing into you and making you even more lightheaded than before. 

Ari then shifted to kneel down next to you and scoop his palm under your head, tilting it up for your hazy vision to flicker down to the unobscured crude view of how your pretty pussy got impaled by Bucky’s obscene size, stretching you apart way beyond your limits. 

And as he mercilessly drove his cock into you, his balls managed to smack against your slick skin as he finally buried himself completely inside of your warmth, the tip of him not only diving deep enough to kiss your cervix, but to bump and bully against it with such force that it caused you to repeatedly lose your breath. 

You had never felt so full before in your life, surely too full, as even though you were blinking down at the hard evidence before you, you still didn’t fully believe that you were capable of such feats, of taking him the way that he made you. 

“O-oh, fuck…” you shakily whimpered when you caught sight of the way his monstrous size bulged through your belly, making it seem as though he was fucking straight through your pussy and into your guts.

Your teary eyes then flickered to find Steve in the crowd before one of your hands weakly grabbed for him. Seeing as it was the very least he could do, he granted you the comfort and closed the short distance, trading places with the frat’s president, before he grasped your trembling palm in his own. 

“Damn,” you faintly heard Curtis mutter as he stared, his girth ever throbbing in his fist, mirroring the rest of them, “maybe you should just make her cockwarm you for the rest of the day, just as a precaution to make it easier for you next time.”

“Oh, you’re right, she might need that princess treatment,” Steve murmured as he raised the back of your palm up to his lips for a brief peck, “you’d let him do that, wouldn’t you, sis? For me? Be good for my best friend?”

“Uh-huh,” you found yourself panting as their words flew straight over your dazed head as it jostled on the mattress each time Bucky’s hips snapped against your ass, your zealous slickness being so messy at this point that it clung to his skin as well and kept you both connected in glossy strings, like spiderwebs, each time his efforts retreated. 

“Shit,” Marc groaned as his fingers, tightly wrapped around his own dick, began to speed up, “this is so hot… I think I might blow my load.” 

“Me too, fuck,” Scott harmonized. 

“Cum in her mouth,” Bucky uttered, “go on, be a good girl, open up for them,” before you then felt your stepbrother beside you pry your lips apart mid-moan. 

And as the pair stepped up and, one by one, painted your breathless tongue with their essence, you heard Lloyd rumble firmly, “you better swallow every single drop they give you, sweetheart.”

“Yeah, doesn’t it taste good what you do to them, to all of us?” Billy purred before he let a dollop of spit drop from his lips into his palm as he paused momentarily before silkily stroking his length one more to you. 

“Maybe if you beg real pretty, it could become your dessert after every one of your meals,” Miguel suggested with a smirk, “but only if you’re good, then maybe you can have the privilege of being our little cumdump.” 

“Is that what you want?” Andy uttered huskily, his fevered efforts stealing some of his breath, “you wanna be Kappa Alpha Nu’s official little toy? Just be all fucking adorable and help us get off?”

But then Bucky let out a low chuckle as he shifted your feet to rest up upon his broad shoulders, “you’re saying that like she isn’t already…” he grinned proudly before sinking down closer and folding your body in half.

Your free hand clawed at his bicep as both of them flexed to keep him from crushing you as he tilted down to kiss you ravenously. His rhythm picked up till it reached a desperate pace, pumping his fat cock into you as he groaned against your lips. Though even after you felt his big dick twitch inside of you and pump your pussy full of his cum, his efforts didn’t cease, only degraded slightly as he shivered above you, stubbornly fucking you till you unravelled as well. 

With a ragged moan, he finally withdrew from your haven and reached down to messily rub his touch against your poor pussy, all swollen and puffy as it squirted once again for him, your juices weakly gushing all over the bed as his load too trickled out.

It was all a blur after that. 

At first, as you still laid there, panting and twitching at Bucky’s overstimulating touch that he hadn’t yet freed you from, the three frat guys who were looming right beside you, Thor, Curtis and Andy, decorated your heaving tits and stomach with their hot cum. 

After that, one by one, Miguel, Billy, Frank, Ransom, Lloyd and Ari stepped up and came wherever their heart desired. Some chose your exhausted face, all cute and breathless, blinking up at them, while others elected to finish on the soft peaks of your boobs, making you flash them your soft tongue, or even just paint your puffy pussy white and add to the mess already sticky and sore between your limp thighs. 

And lastly, having clearly edged in order to grant himself the honour, your stepbrother let go of your shaky hand and slotted himself in between your legs. Wasting no time teasing you, he plugged the very tip of him into your wrecked hole, making your whole frame briefly jump and quiver on the mattress before your soreness clenched around him and milked him dry as he swiftly emptied his balls inside of you. 

“Well, I think it’s official,” Steve exhaled when he finally pulled his dick back out to admire his cum slowly leaking out of you, “she is finally ready and broken in enough for us to start having some real fun…” his eyes then briefly flickered around to his friends beside him as he uttered, “gentlemen?” before his gaze once again returned to you, “let’s begin.”

© 2025 thyme-in-a-bubble 

[joelsrose]

For the Hour

Being a hooker in Jackson isn’t glamorous, but it pays in coffee, bullets, and the good kind of winter gloves. So when your regular—Tommy—asks if you’d see his brother, you don't hesitate in saying yes.

omg this is literally 11k words im ded - warnings: literally porn with a plot, sex work (mention of terms hooker etc), explicit smut (18+), unprotected sex, age gap (Joel is in his 50s), subby!Joel energy, soft dom reader, emotional vulnerability, Joel has a bad back and feelings, praise kink.

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You caught your breath as the last wave of pleasure ebbed from your body, chest rising and falling in a slow, quiet rhythm while Tommy lingered there a moment longer, his breath warm against your neck as he let out a low groan, still half-drunk on the high you’d given him. The morning light filtered in through the tattered blinds, casting soft golden slats across the tangled mess of limbs and discarded clothes strewn across the hardwood floor. Somewhere, from the corridor or maybe the neighbors', drifted the scent of burnt coffee—bitter, familiar, grounding.

Tommy sat up with a grunt, running a hand through his damp hair as he muttered, “Shit,” under his breath, his voice still heavy with sleep and satisfaction. He glanced over at you with a lazy grin, tugging his jeans from the floor. “Remind me to come by more often.”

You laughed—quiet, genuine—watching him as he passed you a towel and leaned in to press a kiss to your cheek. It wasn’t part of the deal, not really. But then, Tommy had always blurred the lines—sweet in the way men like him weren’t meant to be, not in this town, not in your world.

“You’re already my best customer,” you murmured, eyes gleaming as you took the towel and began to clean yourself up, your voice laced with a teasing fondness, the kind reserved for people who came back again and again not just for the sex, but for something else they couldn’t name.

He stood with a quiet exhale, tugging his flannel over his broad shoulders, his belly soft where it peeked above the denim as he buttoned his jeans. His eyes lingered on you a second longer, not quite lecherous, not quite innocent either—just… watching, like he didn’t want to leave just yet, like he hadn’t quite figured out what you meant to him.

He watched you, gaze lingering over the bare slope of your chest, the way your skin caught the muted morning light spilling through the cracked blinds, casting golden lines across the sheets like something sacred.

You didn’t bother covering up—not with Tommy. The two of you had done this too many times, in too many rooms, on too many mornings like this, for there to be any shame left between you. There was something quiet in it now, a kind of unspoken understanding that had formed over time—not love, not quite friendship, but an intimacy that lived in the space between laughter and the sound of a zipper being drawn.

As he buckled his belt, fingers fumbling slightly around the worn leather, he cleared his throat like he was trying to shake something from it, something heavier than dust.

“Do you, uh…” he started, then hesitated, licking his lips like the question might taste strange coming out. “Do you have an age limit or somethin’?”

You tilted your head, brow lifting in easy amusement as you smiled faintly. “Sorry?”

He laughed, soft and awkward, and rubbed the side of his nose—a nervous little tick you’d seen before, like his body gave him away even when his voice didn’t. “I mean—with what you do,” he said, trying to sound casual but missing the mark by an inch. “With your… services. You got a limit, or...?”

“For my services?” you repeated, feigning offense, a teasing lilt in your voice as you leaned back against the headboard. “You make it sound so formal.”

“Quit,” he muttered, a laugh under his breath, but there was something beneath it—something that wasn’t quite a joke.

You smiled at him again, slower this time, more real. “Not really,” you said with a shrug, reaching for the towel more out of habit than modesty. “As long as they’re sweet... can get it up... and make sure they pay well.”

Because in Jackson, payment wasn’t green bills or cards anymore—those belonged to a world that had crumbled with the last election and the first outbreak. Now, people paid in what mattered. A tin of that good jam made from the summer’s last raspberries. A half-empty bag of coffee beans that still smelled like mornings from before. Gloves thick enough to survive the frost that rolled in from the mountains. Cans of peaches, salt for the roads, shotgun shells, antibiotics, clean socks. Favors. Names. Protection. A seat near the fire.

He chuckled at that, the tension easing from his shoulders like you’d let him off some invisible hook.

You tilted your head again, watching him as you sat forward slightly, your hair sliding over your shoulder in a loose, dark curtain. His eyes caught on it—just for a second, but enough to notice.

“So,” you said softly, the teasing edge slipping just slightly from your voice, replaced by something gentler—curiosity with a tilt of wariness, a shift in the air between you. “Why’re you askin’?”

Tommy exhaled with a quiet huff, running a hand back through his hair and catching the loose strands that had fallen from his ponytail, fingers dragging through it with a kind of frustrated carelessness.

“It’s just…” he started, voice trailing off before picking back up again with a sigh. “My brother. Joel. I think he could, you know—benefit from... all this.” He gestured vaguely in your direction, hand cutting through the air as his eyes flitted across your still-bare body, lingering but not ogling, like he was trying to make a point without being crude.

Joel.

The name landed with a quiet thud, familiar but unexpected.

Of course you’d seen him around—Jackson wasn’t big enough for anyone to stay invisible for long. He was older, that much was clear; wore the years like a weight across his shoulders and a scowl that never quite left his face. Always furrowed at the brow, jaw set like he was bracing for a blow that hadn’t come yet. Handsome in a rough-edged, quietly dangerous way—not like Tommy, whose smile came easy and whose touch always felt a little more like comfort than command.

Sometimes, when you looked at them side by side, you forgot they were cut from the same cloth. Same blood. Same broken world.

You let out a breath of laughter, amused and maybe a little intrigued, as you rose to your feet, the light catching along the soft curves of your body, bare and unashamed, each step toward him slow and fluid, the kind of motion meant to be watched. Your hips swayed with the ease of someone who knew exactly how she moved, your skin still flushed from the morning, the remnants of pleasure humming faintly in your limbs. Sensual without trying to be. Just a woman in her own skin.

“Your brother,” you said with a soft, knowing smirk, brushing your fingers gently through the messy strands of hair that had fallen across Tommy’s forehead, still damp with the sweat of sex and sleep and something in between. The gesture was easy, instinctive—your touch lingering only a moment before it drifted lower, settling at the nape of his neck where your fingers curled loosely, not to pull him close, but simply to stay connected. “Doesn’t strike me as the kind of man who’d pay a visit to a hooker.”

Your voice was teasing, light on the surface, but there was something deeper threaded beneath it—some quiet question you didn’t ask aloud.

Tommy’s hands found your waist without hesitation, as if drawn there by muscle memory more than intent. His touch was broad, familiar, grounding—palms warm against your skin, a little rough from the kind of labor this world demanded of men like him, the kind of years that wore into the bones. There was nothing hurried about the way he held you, nothing that spoke of possession in the traditional sense, but it was there nonetheless—a kind of unspoken tether, something formed not from love or lust but from routine, from comfort, from the simple ache of being human in a place that had taken too much.

Whatever this was between you and Tommy—it didn’t have a name. There’d never been promises or claims, no plans made or futures built. But the line between business and something softer had blurred a long time ago, and neither of you had ever bothered to draw it back again. It was easier this way.

He looked down at you, lips quirking into a crooked grin that didn’t quite make it to his eyes, which always seemed just a little too tired, like he hadn’t had a real night’s sleep in years. “Yeah,” he murmured, the words softer now, almost thoughtful. “He ain’t. But maybe that’s exactly why he needs it.”

You hummed quietly in response, letting your hands slide from his neck down to his chest, fingers resting lightly over his heartbeat. You tilted your face up to meet his, chin angled just slightly, and the distance between you felt at once too close and not close enough.

“He’s fifty-six,” Tommy said, the smile tugging at the corners of his mouth crooked and amused, eyes crinkling just a little as he shook his head. “Old bastard,” he added with a chuckle, like he was fond of the man but couldn’t help teasing him anyway, like it was easier to speak in jokes than admit the weight behind the thought—that time had moved on without asking, and they were all just trying to catch up.

You let out a dramatic gasp, sharp and playful, one hand flying to your chest as though genuinely scandalized, though the glint in your eyes gave you away immediately. “Tommy,” you said, drawing out his name in that mock-offended tone you knew always pulled a smile from him, “what kind of girl do you take me for?”

Your voice was honey-drenched, rich with pretend indignation, all wide, fluttering eyes and arched brows, even as you stood in front of him still completely bare, the golden morning light licking across your skin like it had been invited.

Tommy’s grin tugged crooked across his lips, slow and easy, like it had nowhere else to be. “The kind of girl who says she’s shocked,” he drawled, eyes dipping meaningfully down your body, “while standin’ butt-naked in my arms.”

And then, as if to punctuate his point, he gave your ass a firm, unapologetic slap, the sound sharp in the quiet room. “Now put some clothes on,” he added, voice light but still edged with that gravelly fondness he tried to hide. “Before I end up stayin’ another hour and missin’ patrol—again.”

You yelped, laughing as you twisted away from his touch, jumping back into the warmth of the tangled bedspread, sheets twisted like vines beneath you. His handprint still tingled on your skin, a reminder of how close things could still burn even after the fire was out.

Tommy bent to grab his jacket off the chair, slinging it over one arm as he turned toward the door, but then paused in the doorway, glancing back over his shoulder with that half-smile he always wore when he wasn’t quite sure how to say what he meant.

“So, Joel?” he asked, rubbing the back of his neck like he wasn’t trying to care too much. “You’ll see him?”

You met his gaze, all ease and softness now, letting your weight sink back into the bed as you pulled the sheet loosely over your thighs. You smiled, slow and sure.

“I’ll see him.”

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Tommy sat at the far end of the Tipsy Bison’s bar, his knee bouncing beneath the table with a restlessness that betrayed more than he meant it to, jittery and twitchy like the truth was sitting in his lap and he didn’t know where to put it. His beer sat mostly untouched in front of him, beads of condensation sliding lazily down the bottle’s neck, forgotten. Across from him, Joel nursed his second glass of whiskey with the kind of single-minded focus that suggested he was trying not to think too hard about anything else.

Joel was mid-grumble, voice low and gravelly, muttering into his glass like it had personally offended him. “These kids on patrol,” he said, shaking his head, “they’re damn near still in diapers—think they know everything, but can’t read a fuckin’ map to save their lives. I had to double back twice today. And my knees…” he trailed off with a grimace, reaching down to rub one as if the act alone could conjure youth. “Shit don’t work like it used to.”

Tommy blinked, and then—without really meaning to, like the words had slipped out before he could stop them—he blurted, “Hey, you should go see this masseuse I know.”

Joel paused mid-sip, squinting over the rim of his glass like Tommy had just spoken in tongues. “Masseuse?”

“Yeah,” Tommy said, trying to sound casual but already feeling the weight of what he wasn’t saying begin to gather in his chest. “She’s real good. Works outta her place. Kinda… therapeutic.”

It wasn’t technically a lie. You did use your hands. You did know how to relieve tension. But if Joel had even the faintest idea of the things you did inside that soft little house of yours—the same one with the blue curtains and the jasmine Tommy had planted out front in exchange for a particularly memorable morning—he would’ve spit his drink out on the floor, gotten up, and walked home on those bad knees just to scold Tommy like they were kids again.

Because Joel, bless him, would’ve done what Joel always did—squint real hard, say something like “Jesus Christ, Tommy,” then go on about morals and dignity and how the world’s gone to hell.

So no, Tommy didn’t tell him everything.

Didn’t tell him about the soft, lilting laugh you had, or the way your door was always unlocked for him. Didn’t mention the way you said his name when he showed up late, or the sweet little things you did with your mouth that had nothing to do with pressure points. And he sure as hell didn’t mention the way you made him feel—warm and wanted and like the end of the world hadn’t already come and gone.

“Why the hell would I need a massage?” Joel muttered, voice rough as gravel as he leaned back in his chair, scowl etched deep between his brows. “What I need is for people to stop assignin’ me shifts with goddamn teenagers who can’t tell north from their own ass, and a patrol route that doesn’t run me straight into a fuckin’ ravine.”

Tommy scoffed, lifting his beer but not bothering to drink from it, eyes rolling as he shook his head. “You just spent the last thirty minutes complainin’ about your back, Joel.”

Joel shot him a look—sharp, defensive—the kind that had scared men once, back when fear was still a luxury. “That don’t mean I want some stranger touchin’ it,” he said, shoulders stiffening as he reached instinctively for his glass again. “Ain’t lookin’ to have someone mess it up worse than it already is.”

Tommy flinched at the word—touching—and it landed wrong, punched straight into his gut like a sucker hit. Not because Joel meant anything by it, but because he did. And before he could shut it down, there it was again—you—bent over him, lips parted, breath hot against his neck, your hand wrapped around his cock, stroking slow like you had all the time in the world. The soft sound you made when you sank down on him, the way your tits bounced against his chest, warm and slick, and how your fingers dragged down his spine, nails scratching just enough to make his hips jerk. His cock twitched, hard and immediate, a pulse of heat shooting through him that had no place in this conversation.

He cleared his throat, forcing himself back to the present. “Come on,” Tommy urged, voice lighter now, too easy to be innocent. “She’s real good. Not just in the way you’re thinkin’, either. She’s sweet. Quiet. One of those girls you don’t really notice till you do, and then it’s like you can’t stop.”

Joel arched a brow, unimpressed, suspicion already creeping into the lines of his face. “That so.”

“Yeah,” Tommy said quickly, pushing past the moment. “Real good hands. Knows what she’s doin’. And I’m tellin’ you—first one’s on the house. She won’t even charge you.”

Joel grunted, unconvinced, but didn’t push the conversation away completely. He just shifted in his chair, bones cracking, and muttered something under his breath about not likin’ surprises.

And Tommy—well, Tommy just smiled into his beer again, trying not to think about how you’d looked the last time he left your place, tangled in sheets and flushed with sleep, calling his name like it was something soft.

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Joel stood stiffly on your porch, the wood creaking beneath his boots as he pressed his thick fingers into the knot burrowed deep in the side of his neck, muttering low, gravel-soaked profanities beneath his breath—half at the knot, half at Tommy, and half at himself for agreeing to this in the first place. The porch was too damn pretty for cursing—lined with flower boxes overflowing with jasmine and wild mint, and some old rocking chair that looked like it had actually been made for sitting, not surviving.

He knocked twice—sharp, reluctant—and already regretted whatever the hell Tommy had gotten him into.

The door swung open almost immediately, like you’d been waiting on the other side, like you’d known he’d hesitate and come anyway.

Joel failed—spectacularly—to hide his reaction.

Tommy had mentioned you were a woman, sure. He had not mentioned that you were the kind of woman who made men forget how to breathe. The morning light spilled in behind him, framing you in gold like some holy sin, soft and warm, the robe you wore cinched lazily at the waist like it wasn’t trying to hide anything, just loosely draped to suggest comfort—but his eyes caught the line of your collarbone, the way the fabric parted ever so slightly, and dropped, uninvited, to the swell of your cleavage.

He clenched his jaw, hard.

What the fuck kinda masseuse looks like this?

He’d been expecting someone else entirely—some no-nonsense, middle-aged woman with short gray hair and orthopedic sandals, maybe a raspy smoker’s laugh and a mug that said #1 Back Cracker, someone who would offer him over-steeped tea and tell him stories about her son in the army or her time stationed in Kabul. He hadn’t planned for this—for lace peeking out from under your robe, for legs bare and smooth in the glow of a Jackson sunrise, for you smiling at him like you already knew he didn’t have the guts to walk away.

“Joel, right?” you asked, your voice light, almost teasing, as you leaned a little deeper into the doorway, the name tasting curious on your tongue. “Tommy’s brother?”

“Oh—yeah,” Joel said quickly, the syllable catching on the rough edge of his throat as he blinked like he was just remembering where he was. His boots scuffed slightly against the floor as he shifted his weight, shoulders twitching with a discomfort he clearly didn’t know how to hide. “I, uh… Tommy said you do massages.”

The words came out like a question, like he wasn’t entirely convinced of the truth himself—and maybe he wasn’t.

You paused, something flickering behind your eyes as your lips parted—then closed again. A breath. A scoff. Quiet, sharp, and laced with a kind of tired amusement as your gaze flicked briefly to the floor. Of course Tommy hadn’t told him the truth. Of course Tommy had sent his older brother to your door with that same boyish grin and a half-assed lie, hoping Joel wouldn’t figure it out until it was far too late to back out gracefully.

He hadn’t told him that this wasn’t just a massage.

He hadn’t told him that he was coming over to have sex with a woman—with you—and not in some hurried, transactional way, but slow, deliberate, intimate. The kind of encounter that lingered on the skin long after the door closed behind them.

You bit your lip without thinking, the movement soft and sensual, more out of habit than seduction—but it was still enough to make Joel glance away, like he’d seen too much too quickly and didn’t know where to look anymore.

“Well,” you murmured, shifting your weight from one bare leg to the other, the silk of your robe whispering across your thigh like it, too, was trying to decide what kind of evening this was going to be. “Come on in.”

You didn’t confirm or deny his assumption—just stepped aside and let him walk into the space where everything might change.

And Joel—standing there on your pretty porch, fingers twitching at his sides, jaw locked and eyes anywhere but your mouth—hadn’t figured out how to say no.

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Joel stood stiffly in your bedroom, hands twitching uselessly at his sides, his body held like a man trying not to breathe too deeply in someone else's space—already half turned toward the door, as if he could will an exit into existence before you returned.

His eyes moved over the room like he was trying not to look at anything too closely, but there was no hiding the tension in the line of his shoulders, the way his jaw clenched and unclenched every few seconds like he was already regretting stepping foot inside.

The room wasn’t what he’d expected—and not just because it was your bedroom, though that alone had made his pulse stutter. That part could’ve been explained away, justified somehow—people did all kinds of things out of their homes in Jackson. But it was the way the space was set up that made his throat feel dry.

The bed, wide and inviting, draped in soft cream linens that looked freshly smoothed, was positioned at the center of everything, with candles flickering gently along the dresser, casting long golden shadows across the floor. There were no towels. No oils lined up neatly on a cart. No clinical sterility to hide behind. Just plush throw pillows, lace-trimmed curtains, a faint trace of perfume lingering in the air, and the undeniable hum of something not quite professional.

And you—Jesus Christ, you—had offered him coffee or water, your voice light and easy like it wasn’t a loaded question, and he, too dazed to think, had said yes. You’d disappeared into the kitchen, and he’d barely exhaled since. He wasn’t sure if he was sweating or just uncomfortable in his own damn skin, but every part of him was screaming that he didn’t belong here—that you were too pretty, too soft, too young to be touching a man like him.

You, meanwhile, were grateful for the excuse to step away, your heels silent as you moved through the house, trying to get your own heart rate under control.

You knew it wouldn’t take Joel long to figure it out—that you weren’t really a masseuse, that this wasn’t some wholesome back-cracking session with a side of eucalyptus oil. That lingerie didn’t belong under robes worn for healing. And yet here you were, wearing it anyway, lace brushing against your skin with every step, wondering how long it would take before he got up and left.

When you stepped back into the room, he was still standing—just as rigid, just as uncertain. “Sit,” you said gently, offering a small, practiced smile, your tone breezy enough to keep the moment from collapsing under its own weight. “Please.”

Joel nodded once, tight-lipped, and lowered himself onto the edge of the bed like it might burn him. His knees were wide, his elbows stiff, his eyes trained directly ahead—on nothing at all—like he was trying very hard not to see any part of you.

You approached slowly, extending the glass of water toward him, the condensation already beginning to bead along the side.

He took it with a quiet murmur of thanks, his fingers brushing yours for the briefest moment—just a flicker, but enough for you to feel the heat of him, the way he flinched ever so slightly like he wasn’t used to being touched without intention.

“So, uh…” Joel began, voice low and hesitant, the sound rough like it had scraped its way out of his throat. He rubbed a hand along the side of his neck, eyes flicking briefly up to yours before landing somewhere over your shoulder, already looking like he regretted speaking at all. “How long you been doin’ all this?”

The words hung awkwardly in the air between you, heavy with implication but wrapped in a poor attempt at small talk—something Joel Miller was not known for. You could tell it took effort for him to say anything at all, that his instinct was to sit in silence and let the tension pass like a storm front, but some part of him—some flicker of politeness or nerves—had nudged him into conversation.

Your eyes widened just a little, caught off guard by the question, and then you blinked, like you needed a moment to remember who you were supposed to be in this room. “Oh—yeah,” you said, stumbling just slightly over the words. “Since I got to Jackson, really. Started pretty soon after I arrived.”

It wasn’t a lie. Not exactly. You had been doing this since you arrived—though massage had never been the core of it.

Joel nodded slowly, his brow furrowing with thought, and you could see him working through the gaps, filling in the blanks with whatever image he had in his mind. “So you, uh… didn’t have any proper trainin’? From before?”

You shook your head, lips parting as your answer tripped a little over your breath. “No. I—uh. No, it’s all… self-taught.”

His eyes lingered on you for half a second longer than necessary, then shifted away again, landing on the corner of the bed, then the curtain, then the floor—anywhere but you. “Right,” he said finally, like it was the only thing he could think to say, like maybe he’d already asked too much.

The silence that followed wasn’t cold, but it was thick with uncertainty—his, mostly. His knee bounced once. His fingers tapped the glass in his hand. You could feel the weight of his restraint like smoke in the room, curling into the corners of the furniture, slipping under your robe.

You took a small step forward, smoothing your hands down the front of your robe out of instinct rather than necessity, and offered him a gentle smile—nothing suggestive, just a flicker of softness to meet his discomfort.

“Okay,” you said, voice quieter now, almost tender. “It might be easier if you take your shirt off.”

Joel’s eyes snapped back to yours—not wide, not shocked, just hesitant. Cautious in a way that wasn’t rooted in modesty but something deeper, older, worn thin over time like denim at the knees.

Still, he nodded, slow and uncertain, and reached for the buttons of his flannel, hands broad and calloused, fingers stiff with age and overuse. They moved with that steady, familiar rhythm of a man who'd spent most of his life taking off shirts for work, not for anyone watching. The ache in his knuckles—probably arthritis—tugged at him with every movement, but he didn’t stop.

He just tried not to think about how long it had been since anyone had seen him like this—shirtless, stripped down, exposed in a way that wasn’t about survival. He tried not to wonder whether his body, changed by time and burden, would make you flinch. Whether the soft at his waist, the scars, the salt-and-pepper spread of hair across his chest would make you look away.

You turned away—not out of modesty, not to create distance, but to offer him something rare in this kind of space. The grace of privacy. The freedom to choose, or not choose.

Behind you, there was a quiet rustle—cloth shifting, boots scuffing gently against the floor, the faintest creak of the bed frame as his weight shifted.

“I’m ready,” Joel said at last, his voice low and gruff, the words shaped more like a sigh than a decision, like he was forcing them through clenched teeth.

You turned around slowly, hands folded softly in front of you, gaze lifting to meet him—and stilled for just a moment at the sight.

He was broader than Tommy. Thicker through the chest and shoulders, his body weathered with age and labor in a way that wasn’t unkind, just honest. The kind of build earned from years of carrying things—wood, gear, grief. His torso was lined with muscle that didn’t try to impress, but spoke of endurance, strength without vanity. Sparse hair dusted across his chest, silver threaded through dark, and a thin scar trailed down from his left shoulder toward his ribs, pale and healed and unspoken.

You cleared your throat gently, “You can lay on your tummy,” you murmured, voice soft, quiet.

He nodded once, eyes flicking away from yours, and with a heavy breath he lowered himself down, letting out a grunt as he adjusted his limbs, clearly not used to surrendering his body to anything but pain or sleep.

You dipped onto the bed beside him, the mattress dipping beneath your weight as you knelt beside his frame, your knees brushing the sheets. He was tense—every muscle held taut, like even now, he didn’t know how to truly let go.

You reached out carefully, hands warm and deliberate, and let your palms press gently against the slope of his shoulders. The moment your skin touched his, he flinched—not sharply, not out of fear, but with the quiet recoil of a man unused to kindness. Of someone who hadn’t been touched gently in years—not without urgency, not without purpose.

“That hurt?” you asked softly, letting your fingers still against his back, giving him space to answer.

“No,” he murmured, voice muffled against the pillow, gruff and strangely quiet. “It’s just—”

You waited. He didn’t finish.

So you started to move again, slow and careful, letting your hands glide over the broad expanse of his shoulders, down the rigid line of his spine, easing into the hard knots along his lower back. His skin was warm, rough in places, scarred in others, but beneath your fingers you felt something deeper—a kind of held breath, a body that had been bracing for too long.

And then—just there—just below his ribs, your thumbs pressed into a tight knot of muscle and he let out a sound. Low. Unintentional. Somewhere between a grunt and a breathless sigh, like the smallest piece of him had slipped loose without his permission.

You paused.

Not because he told you to, but because something in the room shifted—just slightly, but enough. The silence grew thicker, not with discomfort, but with heat. A different kind of tension settled beneath your palms, no longer just physical but charged.

You leaned forward, just barely—close enough that your breath warmed the curve of his neck. “That okay?” you asked, your voice low, velvet-soft.

He nodded, but didn’t speak.

So you let your hands drift lower. Slower. Testing. Exploring. And when your fingers grazed the waistband of his jeans, you felt him tense again—but not the same way. Not from pain. Not from unease.

From want.

A breath caught in his chest. His fingers curled in the sheets.

Still, he didn’t stop you.

You let your hands linger at the small of his back, then slowly, deliberately, splayed your palms across the wide stretch of his hips, fingertips grazing just beneath the worn hem of his jeans. The heat coming off him was no longer the warmth of skin—it was heavier now.

“Turn over,” you murmured, your voice barely more than breath, a suggestion wrapped in silk.

Joel hesitated—but only for a beat—before he shifted beneath your touch, his breath hitching slightly as he rolled onto his back, propping himself up on his elbows. His chest rose and fell with quiet tension, each breath like he was trying to steady something inside of him that had already tipped. His hair was mussed from the pillow, his ears flushed red, and he wouldn’t quite meet your gaze—his eyes somewhere near your shoulder, like he couldn’t decide if this was the moment he should speak or simply stay.

You looked at him—really looked—and it hit you with a kind of quiet intensity you hadn’t expected. Rugged. Shy. Ruined with restraint. For one suspended second, you felt your breath catch—your body going still with the weight of what you were about to admit.

“I’m not really a massage therapist,” you murmured, the truth threading from your lips like smoke, soft and unembellished.

Joel’s brow lifted slightly, a flicker of surprise ghosting across his features—but he didn’t flinch, didn’t yell, didn’t get up and storm out the way you thought he might. He didn’t raise his voice or accuse you or spit something cruel. He just sat there—this man you’d heard whispered about around town, the one with the sharp jaw and the sharp aim, the one who’d killed infected like it was nothing, like breathing—and he blushed. His ears pinked. His throat bobbed. And for a man who was supposed to be all grit and gravel and gunpowder, he suddenly looked so soft.

Your gaze dropped.

And there it was—undeniable, obscene even—his cock straining thick and swollen against the front of his jeans, the fabric doing a poor job of hiding just how wrecked he already was. You could see the wet spot where he’d already leaked through, dark and damp and desperate, the denim pulled tight across the aching outline of him like his body couldn’t help betraying how badly he wanted this. How badly he wanted you.

“Shit,” he muttered, voice low and cracked, almost pained, one hand dragging down his face like he could scrub the arousal off with enough pressure. “I’m… I’m sorry.”

The apology hit your chest like a bruise—small and self-conscious and entirely Joel. Like he couldn’t imagine that his desire was allowed, like he thought being this turned on was somehow shameful. Like he wasn’t sure if wanting made him pathetic.

It was so different from Tommy.

Tommy never apologized for being hard. He wore it like a joke, a badge, always ready with some cocky little line—“That one’s your fault, sweetheart”—as he adjusted himself without blinking. He got hard, you both laughed, he’d kiss your shoulder or slap your ass and go right back to whatever he was doing, comfortable in his skin, in his want, in the way he took up space.

You reached for him before that shame could bloom any further, your hand wrapping gently around his wrist—steadying him, grounding him—and you leaned in close, voice soft and sure and edged in something deeper.

“Don’t,” you whispered, letting your fingers slide slowly up his forearm. “Don’t apologize.”

Your gaze dropped again, drinking in the sight of him—his flushed neck, the way his thighs had tensed, how his cock twitched hard under your stare like it hurt to be untouched.

And then—without breaking eye contact—you sank slowly to your knees between his thighs, the sheets rustling beneath you as your robe slipped open just enough to reveal the tops of your breasts, the soft glow of your skin catching the light. Joel’s breath hitched sharply in his chest, and he didn’t move—didn’t lean in, didn’t pull away—he just watched, wide-eyed and stunned, like he couldn’t quite believe you were real, like he was afraid that moving might wake him up.

“That’s why I’m here,” you murmured, your voice low, velvet-smooth as your fingers glided up the inside of his thigh. You could feel the heat radiating off him now—thick, pulsing heat—and you swore his legs trembled just slightly under your touch, like his body had been starving for this, aching longer than he’d ever dared admit. “To take care of you.”

You reached for his belt then, undoing the worn leather with slow, reverent hands, letting the soft clink of the buckle echo in the stillness. He sucked in a breath at the sound alone, as though it unraveled something inside him.

Before you even freed him, you pressed your palm gently over the bulge in his jeans—and fuck, he twitched beneath your touch, cock rock-hard and leaking, the wet spot soaking through the denim where he’d already been dripping for you.

“Fuck,” he breathed, the word trembling out of him like he wasn’t even sure he was allowed to say it. “This—this ain’t right.”

You looked up at him from between his legs, your position deliberate, your eyes steady and warm. You didn’t flinch. You didn’t shy away. You just smiled softly, your voice velvet-wrapped and laced in heat. “Why not?”

Joel’s gaze dropped—first to your mouth, then to your hand still palmed over the thick, pulsing bulge in his jeans. His chest rose in quick, shallow breaths, like he was trying to breathe through wanting. “You’re—fuck—you’re a hooker?”

His voice cracked on the word, like it embarrassed him to say it out loud. Like it made him feel ashamed to be this turned on by someone he wasn’t supposed to deserve.

But you didn’t pull back.

You didn’t offer shame or explanations. You kept your hand right where it was—pressing gently against the thick, leaking shape of his cock—and leaned in, close enough that your breath warmed the sensitive skin of his thigh through the fabric.

“I’m here,” you whispered, slow and steady, “to make you feel good.”

Joel opened his mouth, ready to argue, to throw up some sad scrap of pride or guilt—but you didn’t let him.

You kissed him instead.

Right on the inside of his clothed knee, a soft, filthy little kiss that made him twitch beneath your palm. So gentle. So patient. So goddamn unfair to a man who hadn’t been touched like this in years.

“Stop thinking so much,” you murmured, your lips brushing against him again. “Let me take care of you.”

There was a pause. A long one. You could feel it pulse between you—hesitation, thick and tight, the kind that came from deep inside a man who hadn’t let himself need in a long time. The want was there, throbbing—pressed up against years of restraint, of pride, of silence. But then Joel looked down at you—eyes wide, pupils blown, a little wild with it—and he nodded. Once. Sharp. Like the motion hurt.

“Okay,” he said. Then, barely audible—“Please.”

God, his voice on that word—so wrecked, so raw—you could’ve come from the sound alone.

You smiled, slow and warm, something curling in your chest, deep and satisfied. “Good boy.”

The words slipped out before you even thought them through—instinctive, soft, teasing. But the moment they left your mouth, you saw it hit him. His jaw clenched, his chest stilled, his breath catching like you’d yanked the air right out of him.

His eyes flicked away immediately, like he wasn’t sure what just happened or why it made his cock twitch so hard it strained visibly against his jeans. But it did. And he felt it.

He was so different from Tommy.

Tommy never waited. Never asked. He’d grip your thighs, mutter something cocky like “Bet you’re already wet for me,” and be halfway inside before you could catch your breath. He took control like it was his birthright—rough palms, fast kisses, always in command.

“Let’s get these off, huh?” you said gently, already reaching for the button on his jeans, your fingers working with slow precision, deliberate and unhurried, like you were unwrapping something rare.

He didn’t stop you. He didn’t speak. He just sat there, chest bare, arms braced behind him, watching you with a look that was part surrender, part disbelief.

You pulled the denim down, inch by inch, and then his boxers—already damp with arousal—until both were gathered around his thighs.

And then his cock sprang free.

Fuck.

It slapped up toward his stomach with weight, flushed and hard and glistening at the tip, fat drops of pre-come already trailing down the shaft. Not as long as Tommy, no—but thicker, meatier, with veins you could trace with your tongue and a curve that made your cunt clench just looking at it. The kind of cock that filled you. That stretched you.

Your mouth watered.

And below it—God. His pubes were wild, a thick thatch of dark hair streaked with silver, coarse and completely untouched, like he hadn’t even thought to groom because he never imagined someone might want to see him like this. And that happy trail? Not neat. Not delicate. Just a messy line of hair leading down from his soft stomach to the base of his cock—feral, raw, real, like the rest of him. This wasn’t a man who prepped for pleasure. This was a man who had been surviving.

And still—he was so fucking hard for you.

Visibly twitching with every breath you took.

Your hand found his thigh first, the heat of him pulsing beneath your palm, solid and thick beneath your touch. You let your fingers trace the curve of his muscle, the hair there soft and coarse at once, and you felt the faintest tremble as you leaned in closer, your breath warming the head of his cock just enough to make him twitch.

“You’re so big, Joel,” you murmured, your voice slow, low, reverent, like you were saying it just for him and no one else. “You’re already dripping for me, baby,” you added with a little smile, dragging your thumb across the head—slow, teasing, making his hips jerk like he hadn’t even meant to move.

His breath caught, chest rising like he’d been hit, eyes locked on you in disbelief. “Christ,” he rasped, the word escaping him like it physically hurt to hold it in. His hand twitched where it braced against the bed, knuckles white, jaw tense, his eyes dragging over you like he was afraid to blink and miss anything.

Then, softly, sweetly—you tilted your head, lips just brushing the inside of his thigh.

“Do you want me to use my mouth?” you asked, the question falling from your lips like silk, delicate but charged, heavy with intention.

Joel opened his mouth. Closed it again. Swallowed hard.

“I—” he stammered, and then exhaled like it cost him something. “Shit… can I… can I see you first?”

The request was so gentle, so earnest, it cracked something inside you. There was no demand in it. No entitlement. Just the soft ache of a man who hadn’t been given softness in a long time, if ever. He wanted to see you. Not just touch, not just take—see. He wanted you to be real to him, wanted to remember how you looked in this moment, flushed and glowing and his, if only for now.

You couldn’t help but smile. “See me?” you echoed softly, lifting your eyes to meet his.

He nodded—barely—a small, shaky dip of his chin like anything more might shatter the moment. And when he spoke, his voice was rough, low, wrecked, caught between awe and the kind of ache that sat low in a man’s belly. “Yeah… if that’s okay,” he said. “I just—fuck. I wanna remember it.”

You straightened slowly, your breath soft and even, fingers slipping to the sash of your robe. The silk felt cool against your skin, a faint whisper as it slid beneath your touch. You untied it with quiet grace, letting the knot fall loose, the fabric parting to reveal the delicate lace beneath—your lingerie soft and sheer, clinging to you like second skin.

Joel’s eyes were on you now—truly on you—and the way he looked made your stomach flip. Not hungry. Not greedy. Just wide-eyed and reverent, like you were something holy he didn’t know how to touch without ruining.

You stepped closer.

His hands rose slowly, hesitantly, the way a starving man might reach for fruit he wasn’t sure he was allowed to touch. His fingers brushed your hips with the barest pressure—calloused and trembling, like even that much contact might be too much. His thumbs ghosted along your skin, just beneath the lace, pressing in gently like he needed proof that you were real and not some fevered hallucination his mind had conjured from loneliness and want.

“This okay?” he asked, voice rough but quiet, like it hurt to say aloud—like he was asking permission just to want you. His eyes lifted to yours, and they were so fucking open, something vulnerable flickering there, raw and unguarded, as if a single word from you might send him crumbling.

You nodded, slowly, letting your smile bloom soft and slow—something deeper than heat, something that said yes, I want this too.

Your fingers threaded into his hair—thick and unruly, streaked with silver at the temples—and the second your nails grazed his scalp, he broke. Not loudly. Not all at once. But in the way his breath hitched, in the way his knees seemed to go soft beneath him, in the way his entire body leaned into your touch like it was the first good thing he’d felt in years.

His shoulders dropped like a weight had slid off of them, like your hands alone were holding him upright. He didn’t move his own—just kept them resting on your hips, loose and trembling, like he was scared if he held tighter, you might pull away.

And when you tugged gently at the strands, he let out the softest, smallest sound—a whimper, barely there, but so raw it made your chest ache.

He tilted his head into your palm like he couldn’t help it. Like your touch was oxygen. Like he needed it more than he needed to come.

Like he’d been waiting for this—not just your body, but your hands, your care, your permission to be held—for far, far too long.

“You can take this off,” you murmured, your voice barely a whisper, lips brushing the shell of his ear as your fingers toyed with the straps of your lingerie. “If you want.”

He swallowed hard, his throat working visibly, his eyes flicking up to yours again—wide, hesitant, a little stunned.

“You sure?” he asked, and God—his voice when he said it, thick with that gravelly drawl and threaded with something so soft it made your chest ache. His eyes were almost pleading—puppy-dog eyes, sweet and unsure, hidden under all that gruff exterior. The kind of look that said he wanted it so badly he couldn’t bear it if you didn’t.

“Yeah,” you whispered, nodding as your teeth grazed your lower lip, voice as open and bare as the skin he hadn’t touched yet. “I want you to see me.”

His eyes stayed locked to yours, dark and wide and uncertain, but he nodded—just once, soft and small—his voice barely audible as he whispered, “Okay.”

You moved slowly, carefully, like the moment might break if you shifted too fast. Your knees sank into the bed, and you straddled him gently, your body folding around his like a promise, like something he wasn’t sure he deserved but couldn’t stop wanting. His cock—hard and flushed and waiting—pressed up against the thin fabric between your thighs, heat meeting heat, and you felt him twitch slightly, breath catching in that way that made you ache for him.

He was still so nervous, so unsure, like he didn’t know if he was allowed to want this, if you truly meant what you’d said—so you leaned in and kissed him, soft and slow, your mouth brushing against his like you were giving him time to change his mind.

He didn’t.

Joel kissed you back with a kind of desperation that nearly undid you—like he was starving for it, like every nerve in his body remembered what his mind had forced itself to forget. His lips were rough, a little clumsy, but so eager, so full of want it made your knees weak. His hands gripped your hips first—tight, tentative—but then one of them slid slowly up your back, the movement stiff and unpracticed.

You felt his fingers fumble at the clasp of your bra.

Slow. Awkward.

A clink. A pause.

Then another tug that clearly wasn’t going anywhere.

You smiled into the kiss, unable to help the way your lips curved gently against his. The affection in your chest bloomed too big to contain.

“Need a hand, baby?” you murmured, teasing soft and warm.

Joel froze.

Literally froze, like you’d just caught him red-handed doing something far more scandalous than trying to get your bra off.

He pulled back just enough to meet your eyes—cheeks flushed, lips kissed raw, brows furrowed in mortified concentration. His hand was still awkwardly stuck on the clasp like it might bite him.

“Shit—God, I’m sorry,” he said quickly, his voice hoarse, the shame already rising like a tide in his chest. “It’s just… I haven’t—fuck, it’s been a while. A long while.”

Your heart swelled. Not with pity—but with something softer. Deeper.

“It’s okay, Joel,” you whispered, your voice like balm, soft and steady. “You don’t have to be perfect.”

He huffed quietly, almost laughed—but it didn’t carry humor, just something strained and bruised, something that lived in the hollow of his chest. He shook his head, gaze dropping as he muttered, “I’m sure the other men you’re with…”

“Joel,” you said firmly, cutting him off before the sentence could reach its end, your voice soft but full of weight. You leaned in a little, pressing your forehead gently to his, forcing him to look at you, to feel how present you were. “I’m not thinking about anyone else right now but you. Okay?”

His breath shuddered out of him in response, his eyes closing like he was holding that truth against his ribs, trying to believe it. After a moment, he nodded, the smallest, quietest movement—just enough to say he heard you. Just enough to say okay.

You smiled at him then, slow and warm, and leaned back just slightly. “Now,” you murmured, fingers slipping behind your back with practiced ease, “let’s get this off.”

Your hands worked quickly, but not rushed—there was no shame in the movement, no hesitation, no apology. Just the quiet, practiced confidence of a woman who knew exactly how powerful she was. The clasp of your bra came undone with a soft snap, the straps sliding down your arms with sinful grace before the lace slipped away completely, falling to the floor like it had never deserved to touch your skin in the first place.

And then—you were bare.

Joel’s breath caught so violently in his chest he almost choked on it.

Your tits were fucking perfect. Full and high, soft but heavy, flushed with heat, nipples tight and begging to be sucked. Lit by the golden light filtering through the room, they looked practically edible—glistening, mouth-watering, obscene in how pretty they were. They swayed gently with every breath you took, right at his eye level as you sat astride him, so close he could’ve buried his face between them and died happy.

But he didn’t.

He just stared.

Wide-eyed, jaw slack, pupils blown so dark they nearly swallowed the color. Like he wasn’t sure whether to worship or drop to his knees. Like it was his first time seeing a naked woman and you were every fantasy he’d ever had—all of it—wrapped in silk, sweat, and sin.

And fuck, the way he looked at you?

It made you wet. Soaking. Aching.

Because his gaze wasn’t greedy. It was wrecked. Full of awe. Full of reverence, like you were something holy and he was already praying.

His tongue flicked out, instinctive, desperate—wetting his lips like he could taste you just from looking.

And finally—hoarse, broken, like it physically hurt to say it—he murmured, “You’re… beautiful.”

You smiled at him then, your hands still resting gently at the back of his head, your fingers idly curling through the hair at the nape of his neck. “You’re handsome,” you said, and meant it—because even flustered, even blushing, even sitting there with guilt in his eyes and wonder on his face, Joel was beautiful. In a way he didn’t know how to carry. In a way you ached to show him.

He shook his head a little at that, bashful, like the compliment didn’t belong to him, like he didn’t know where to put it.

You leaned in slightly, shifting your weight just enough to press your chest a little closer to him, your breasts soft and warm in the space between you, your skin nearly touching his. “You can touch them,” you whispered, your voice low, your lips brushing against the shell of his ear as your breath shivered across it. “I like when people use their mouth.”

Your fingers slipped deeper into his hair, gently tugging at the roots, anchoring him in the moment, steadying him against the flood rising between you.

“Whatever you wanna do,” you whispered. “It’s yours.”

His breath shuddered in response—just a single exhale—but it sounded wrecked, like you’d just undone something in him that had been locked tight for years.

His hands rose slowly, big and broad and calloused, shaking just slightly as he brought them to your chest. And when he finally cupped your tits—gently, reverently, like they might melt in his palms—you swore you saw his lips part in pure awe.

His thumbs brushed over your nipples—light, tentative—and his gaze flicked up to meet yours, wrecked and open and begging for approval.

You nodded.

And he leaned in.

Your fingers tangled tighter in his hair as his mouth closed around your nipple, warm and wet and so gentle at first, like he was still afraid he might do it wrong. But the moment he sucked—just a little, just enough to pull a quiet gasp from your lips—you whimpered, the sound leaving you before you could stop it, breathy and broken and so full of want it made his cock twitch against the inside of your thigh.

He froze for just a heartbeat, pulling back only slightly to glance up at you, lips still parted, a little swollen now, his eyes dark with something soft and searching.

“Am I…” he paused, his voice rough and low, so unsure, like the words tasted foreign in his mouth. “Am I doing good?”

God. God.

Your chest rose with the breath you sucked in, your eyes already glossed with it, your lip caught between your teeth as you nodded—hard, fast, desperate for him to understand just how much he was ruining you.

“You’re doing so good, baby,” you whispered, voice trembling, your hips already rocking forward, chasing friction. “Fuck, Joel… you’re making me feel so good.”

His eyes widened slightly at the praise, his breath catching in his throat, like he didn’t know how to carry those words—but needed to.

You cupped his face then, pulled him back to your chest, your thighs squeezing tighter around him as his hands cradled your hips and his mouth returned to your breast with more purpose now, more hunger.

He moaned against your skin, low and desperate, sucking softly, his tongue flicking over your nipple just to hear the way your breath stuttered.

“Shit,” you breathed, voice barely holding together, your body already flushed and trembling from the way he touched you like you were something precious, something sacred he didn’t know how to handle but wanted to try.

You pulled back just enough to look him in the eye, your thumb brushing gently over his flushed cheek, your chest still rising fast from the weight of his mouth. “Lie down,” you murmured, the command soft but firm, wrapped in something far more tender than dominance. “Get comfortable.”

Joel obeyed without a word, shifting beneath you with a quiet grunt as his back met the sheets, but his eyes—God, his eyes—never left you. They dragged down your body like a prayer, following the way your hands slipped beneath the waistband of your panties, tugging them down slowly, baring yourself to him inch by inch until there was nothing left between you. His breath hitched audibly when he saw you, the heat of your pussy glistening in the low light, your thighs already slick with want, your confidence quiet but undeniable.

You crawled back onto the bed, slow and deliberate, your knees parting as you straddled his thighs again, his cock thick and flushed and waiting, twitching slightly where it rested against his stomach. Your breasts—red and swollen and slick from his mouth—bounced gently with each movement, catching the light like they’d been made for him.

And then—just as you were about to reach for him again—Joel sat up.

“Wait,” he said, voice low and rough, and a little breathless.

You stilled, your hands settling on his chest, your brows lifting slightly. “Yeah?” you murmured, brushing your thumb along the curve of his shoulder.

He looked at you—so shy, so unsure, like a man who didn’t know if he was allowed to ask. His cheeks were flushed, his lashes low, his voice softer now than you’d ever heard it.

“Can I…” he hesitated, swallowed. “I don’t think I’ll last long if you—if you use your mouth. Can I just—can I be inside you?”

You smiled, “Of course you can,” you whispered against his mouth, your lips brushing his with a sweetness that made him sigh into you, the sound barely audible but heavy with relief, like the permission alone had eased something he’d been holding for far too long. “I want you to.”

But before he could move—before he could even think—you reached down, your hand slipping between your bodies, finding his and lacing your fingers together. Gently, deliberately, you guided his hand downward, slower than necessary, not for hesitation but for effect—for connection—until his fingers rested at the slick heat of your entrance.

“Here,” you said, voice breathy, your eyes locked to his. “Feel.”

Joel’s eyes snapped to yours, wide and glassy, full of disbelief, like he hadn’t expected you to give him this, too. His throat worked around a hard swallow, the tips of his fingers twitching against the soaked warmth of your cunt, already glistening for him.

“For me?” he asked, the words almost reverent.

You nodded, biting your lip, your breath hitching as his fingertip brushed just barely against your entrance. “For you,” you whispered, your voice trembling with heat. “I’m so wet, Joel. For you.”

He made a soft, broken sound in the back of his throat—part groan, part plea—and you could feel how badly he wanted this, how hard he was fighting to hold on to whatever control he still had.

“I—” he started, and then sighed, rubbing the back of his neck with his free hand. “Shit. My back’s bad. And my knees—”

You smiled, warm and teasing, as you leaned forward and pressed a soft kiss to his cheek, your voice turning playful as you reached for his cock and lined him up against your soaked entrance. “Gonna make me do all the work, huh?” you teased, your hips already rolling slightly, letting the thick head of him slip just barely into your folds.

“I’m sorry,” he muttered, flustered, completely undone now, blinking up at you like you’d just caught him stealing something precious.

“I’m joking, Joel,” you said with a breathless laugh, your fingers slipping into his hair, your lips brushing his as you began to sink down slowly, inch by inch, the stretch burning in the most perfect way. “Relax. Let me bounce on your cock.”

Joel exhaled like he’d been punched in the chest, his hands gripping your hips instinctively, not to control—but to anchor. His eyes were locked on yours, wide and dark and filled with something that looked dangerously close to awe.

And then you sank down—fully—his cock stretching you wide, thick and throbbing and buried so deep it felt like you couldn’t possibly take more.

Your cunt clenched tight around him, soaked and fluttering with every inch he filled, your thighs trembling from the fullness. You held still, just for a moment—breathing with him, grounding yourself—as your body adjusted to the sweet, overwhelming ache of having all of him inside you.

And Joel?

He fucking unraveled.

His head tipped back against the pillow, jaw slack, throat arched, eyes squeezed shut as he let out the most broken, shaky moan you'd ever heard tear from his chest.

“F-fuck—oh my God,” he gasped, the words tumbling out of him like they weren’t meant to be said out loud. “Fuck—sweetheart—I—I can’t—”

His hands gripped your hips like he didn’t know what to do with them—torn between holding you down and worshipping you. His whole body trembled beneath you, his thighs tight, chest rising in frantic, ragged bursts like he was trying not to cry.

“Jesus Christ,” he breathed again, voice high and wrecked, cracking under the weight of it all—awe, hunger, helpless fucking need. “You’re—fuck—you’re so tight—so warm—I can’t—fuck, baby, I can’t—”

He looked up at you like you were about to ruin him—eyes wide and glossy, mouth open, chest rising fast.

“Please,” he whimpered, voice shaking so badly you felt it in your cunt. “Don’t—don’t move yet. I—I need a second.”

You nodded gently, cradling his face, letting him breathe through it—letting his cock throb deep inside you as your walls fluttered around him, gripping like a fucking vice.

But when he finally exhaled, when the tension in his shoulders dropped just enough—you moved.

A slow, teasing grind of your hips. One long, drawn-out rock that pressed your clit right against the base of his cock, dragging every inch of him against the softest, tightest parts of you.

Joel gasped.

His eyes slammed shut, his fingers digging into your hips like he didn’t know whether to pull you down or beg you to stop.

“You okay, baby?” you whispered, lips brushing his cheek.

He nodded—too fast, too desperate—his head barely bobbing before he choked out, “Yeah, just—fuck, slow down—please. I ain’t gonna last long if you—”

You leaned in, pressing your forehead to his, anchoring him in the heat between your bodies, and whispered against his lips, “That’s okay. You don’t have to last long, Joel.”

Another grind. Wetter this time.

His breath hitched violently.

“Just let me make you feel good.”

And then you rolled your hips again—slower this time, deeper—and his hands shook on your skin, his whole body going tight beneath you as he gasped and swore again, his voice barely holding together.

“Goddamn,” he groaned, one hand slipping up to your waist, fingers trembling, the other rising to your chest like he couldn’t help it. You guided him, curling his hand around your breast, moaning as his thumb grazed your nipple.

“Touch me, Joel,” you whispered. “Just like that. You’re doing so good.”

And he was—his cock throbbing inside you, his mouth open, eyes wide and overwhelmed, his voice breaking as he tried to keep himself from losing it. But your pussy was gripping him so tight, soaking and pulsing and grinding down with every slow, filthy roll of your hips—and he was ruined.

“Shit—darlin, please—I can’t—” Joel gasped beneath you, voice catching as his fingers dug into your hips, trying desperately to still you, to slow you down, to regain any control over the way your body was grinding down onto his, slick and hot and perfect around him. His head fell back against the pillow, his chest heaving, eyes squeezed shut like he was holding on by a thread.

But you didn’t stop.

You moved faster now, hips rolling deep and steady, your thighs trembling from the pace, your cunt clenching around him with every thrust. Joel’s hands flew to your waist, gripping you hard, like he could physically slow you down—but even as his fingers dug into your skin, his hips bucked up to meet you, chasing your rhythm like his body had stopped listening to him.

“Darlin’,” he gasped, voice fraying, wrecked, “you gotta stop—I’m serious—fuck, you gotta slow down or I’m gonna—”

But you didn’t stop.

You moved harder.

And Joel’s breath hitched, eyes wide, mouth open like he was trying to warn you and couldn’t remember how.

“Shit—shit,—stop movin’—I can’t—I’m not gonna hold it—fuck, I’m gonna come—you’re gonna make me come.”

His voice cracked on the last word, his grip trembling as he tried to slow you, tried to guide you off him—but his cock twitched violently inside you, and his hips snapped up in betrayal, chasing that edge like he couldn’t help it.

And then he broke.

With a sharp, shuddering gasp, his whole body arched beneath you, thighs shaking, eyes squeezing shut as he came hard, release spilling into you in thick, pulsing waves. His hands clamped down on your hips, not to stop you anymore—but to hold on, to anchor himself as the pleasure tore through him, brutal and sudden.

His jaw clenched, breath catching in his throat as he moaned low and hoarse, like he was in pain from how good it was.

You gasped softly at the warmth spreading inside you, the way his cock twitched with every pulse of it, the way he moaned your name—broken, wrecked—like a prayer against your collarbone, his breath shuddering as it spilled from him.

And then—he pulled you in.

His arms wrapped tight around your waist, dragging you down against his chest, like he needed you closer, needed to be grounded in the heat of your skin. His face buried in your neck, breath ragged, hot and frantic, his whole body still trembling with the aftershocks. He held onto you like he thought he might float away if he didn’t—fingers digging into your back, too tight, too desperate.

You didn’t move.

You just stroked your fingers slowly through his hair, soft and patient, cradling the back of his head like he was something fragile, like you were holding a man coming undone quietly in your arms.

And Joel? He didn’t even lift his head.

He couldn’t.

His chest rose and fell in sharp, uneven waves, his cock still buried inside you, twitching with sensitivity, every part of him too much—too raw, too fast, too gone. He pressed his face deeper into the curve of your neck, like maybe if he hid long enough, you wouldn’t see how red his cheeks were.

“Fuck,” he rasped finally, voice hoarse, choked, mortified. “I—shit. I’m so sorry.”

The words were slurred, mumbled into your skin, thick with shame, like they physically hurt to say.

“I didn’t mean to… I mean, I wasn’t trying to—fuck, I didn’t think I’d—”

He cut himself off, groaning in frustration, still unable to look at you. Like he was bracing for disappointment. Like you were gonna laugh. Like he’d failed some unspoken test.

“I didn’t mean to come that fast,” he whispered. “That’s… not how I wanted to do this.”

“Shh,” you whispered softly, stroking his hair a little slower now, your touch more comfort than seduction. “You don’t have to be sorry, Joel.”

You pulled back just enough to look at him, brushing his sweat-dampened hair from his forehead, your gaze tender, reverent. “You did so good for me,” you murmured, kissing the corner of his mouth, your voice a hush of affection. “Made me feel so good. So warm.”

His eyes fluttered open, glassy and unsure, and when he looked at you—really looked—he almost broke again.

“Look at me,” you whispered, thumb brushing his cheek. “Please.”

And when he did, you kissed him—slow, deep, soft enough to make him sigh against your lips. His mouth opened to you like instinct, and he almost whimpered into it, the sound desperate and sweet, like his heart was leaking out through the press of your mouths. He held onto you tighter then, arms curling around your waist, pulling you down against him like he didn’t want any space left between your bodies.

He didn’t say anything for a long moment.

He just breathed.

Held.

Tried to remember what it felt like to be this close to another person without losing something.

And then—so quietly you almost missed it—he whispered, “I don’t wanna go.”

The words cracked something in you. Not lust. Not even longing. Just something bare and soft and aching.

You kissed his jaw, then his cheek, then the corner of his mouth, and whispered back, “Then don’t.”

And he didn’t.

He stayed.

Wrapped around you, still trembling, still catching his breath, holding you like you were the only safe place left in the world.

˖⁺‧₊˚ ♡ ˚₊‧⁺˖

TY FOR READIN - LET ME KNOW UR THOUGHTS IN THE COMMENTS !!!!

[lyvhie]

★ ˙ ̟ ─── . “get you there”.

| summary | haechan fucking you until you see stars and pass out. | cw | smut, oral (f), unprotected sex, squirt, passing out 😔, pet names. | a/n | i did this as a way to redeem myself for my accidental clickbait, FORGIVE ME YALL 🥺

To be honest, you had no idea how long you'd been there, lost in it.

It started off silly. Just a casual comment about your now very inactive sex life, shared with your friend, Haechan.

A small get-together had happened at your place earlier that night, but somehow, Haechan ended up staying way longer than planned. The conversation had drifted into the late hours, soft voices under dim lights, both of you relaxed in that quiet, familiar way that only years of friendship could create.

You talked about past relationships, about the weird things people did in bed, the good, the bad, the awkward. The air between you was even more comfortable than usual. Maybe that’s why things slipped out so easily. Things you never thought you’d admit. Things like the fact that you’ve never actually had an orgasm.

That—that caught his attention.

He looked at you a little differently after that, a spark lighting in his eyes as he leaned in just a bit and said, “I can make you get there, if you let me.”

Stupid man with stupid words. And you were just as stupid, because you really said yes.

Which brings you to the present—legs spread wide, back arching, and Haechan’s mouth glued to your cunt, his tongue working your soaked hole with shameless dedication.

How long had you been like this? You weren’t sure anymore.

Your legs were starting to ache from the position, trembling from the strain and the overstimulation. You’d long lost count of how many times he’d made you cum, even though he’d told you to keep track.

Your fingers were buried in his messy hair, tugging hard, not sure if you wanted to pull him closer or push him away. But he wasn’t giving you a choice, his tongue was relentless, thrusting into you with obscene precision, his mouth noisy, wet, ravenous.

His arms were hooked beneath your thighs, hands gripping them tightly as he anchored you in place, pulling you down even harder against his mouth.

He was devouring you, absolutely shameless, his nose brushing against your sensitive little bundle of nerves with every eager thrust of his tongue.

The room was filled with the slick, lewd sounds of wet sucking, your broken moans spilling freely, mixing with the soft, desperate hums coming from his throat, he was enjoying this. And you could feel it.

Not just in the way he moaned into you, but in the subtle grind of his hips against the mattress beneath him, chasing relief he was clearly denying himself in favor of feasting on you.

That familiar pressure began to build in your core once again, your body wound so tight it barely took anything now. And before you could even brace for it, you were cumming. Again.

Haechan groaned into you, loud and guttural, as his tongue welcomed your release like he’d been starving for it. He drank every last drop, licking you clean with long, purposeful strokes, your soft mewls only making his smile grow against your soaked, trembling cunt.

Honestly, you could’ve come again just from the sight of it.

He slowly hovered over you, capturing your lips in a messy, fevered kiss, his tongue coated with the taste of you, of both of you. It made your head spin.

You were so dazed, so far gone, that you didn’t even register the sound of his pants being pushed down, or the way he settled smoothly between your legs, hands caressing your thighs like they were something sacred.

Not until you felt him.

His cock, heavy and flushed, dragging through your folds, the tip brushing against your clit with maddening precision.

You gasped, overwhelmed, your hands flying to his arms as if to keep yourself ground, or stop him.

“Hyuck,” you whimpered, breathless and spent. “Gimme a break… please.”

He dragged his tongue slowly along your neck, warm and wet, just as his cock slid up and down your slick folds teasingly. The tip circled your entrance, barely pushing in, just enough to make your walls flutter around nothing.

“A break?” he murmured against your skin, lips curving into a smirk as he nibbled at your pulse. “After everything I gave you?” He pulled back just enough to look you in the eye, his cock still resting right at your entrance, heat pulsing between you. “You’re so selfish, you know that?”

His hips rolled forward just enough for the head of his cock to catch on your entrance again, making you twitch. He didn’t push in, of course he didn’t. He just stayed there, smirking.

“All those pretty sounds you made,” he whispered, trailing his hand up your thigh, spreading you wider. “All those orgasms I handed to you…”

He nipped at your jaw, gentle but firm.

“And now you want to rest?” He chuckled, the sound vibrating through your skin. “After laying there, whining, taking everything like a needy little pillow princess?”

His fingers found your clit again, drawing slow, torturous circles, just light enough to make your whole body jolt, overstimulated and aching.

“You should say thank you, pretty,” he murmured, brushing his lips over yours. “And let me take care of you, hm?”

You whimpered, eyes fluttering shut as your hips gave a weak jerk toward his fingers, your body betraying any protest your lips might’ve formed. You were exhausted, wrecked, even, but the way he touched you, spoke to you, looked at you… there was no way you could say no.

Your fingers curled tightly around his biceps, bracing yourself. “T… Thank you,” you whispered, the words barely audible, thick with embarrassment.

He chuckled, a low, condescending sound that sent a fresh wave of heat through you. “I didn’t know you were obedient like that,” he teased, voice dripping with mockery.

And before you could even fire back, before you could think, he drove into you with a sharp, hard thrust. Your breath caught in your throat, a startled gasp slipping out as your body clenched around him instantly, your walls molding to every inch, the sudden stretch stealing whatever witty comeback you had.

His moan was downright pornographic and it had you clenching around him nonstop. The way he throbbed inside you, thick and heavy, made it obvious he was in heaven, or at least somewhere damn close.

He started to move, slow at first, rolling his hips in a steady rhythm that let you feel every single inch of him. And fuck, he was savoring it. Savoring the way your slick, gummy walls pulled him in greedily, clenching and fluttering like your body didn’t want to let him go.

But his slow, gentle thrusts didn’t last long, his hands clamped down on your hips, fingers digging in with an almost bruising grip as he picked up the pace. His thrusts turned rough, relentless, his hips slamming into yours with enough force to rock your body up the bed with each movement, as he pounded your already sensitive, abused pussy.

Slick, wet slaps echoed through the room, the sound of your cunt squelching obscene as he drove in deeper, harder, hitting that perfect spot again and again like he knew it by heart.

“Fuck,” he moaned, voice ragged, breath catching as you clenched down on him tight. “Gimme one—fuck, baby, gimme one more.”

It wasn’t like he even needed to ask. At this point, you had no control over your body, especially not with the way he was pounding into you while his fingers pinched your clit, only to soothe it with a teasing, gentle rub right after.

Your entire body responded to him like a live wire, tension building faster than you could process. Then, without warning, a gush of wetness burst from you, soaking his lower abdomen and the sheets below as your body trembled violently, nerves on fire from the overwhelming pleasure.

“Fuck—look at that,” he moaned, eyes wide in surprise, a slightly disbelieving smile curling on his lips. “So messy for me. So fucking good.”

You spasmed beneath him, body jerking as every muscle finally gave out, going limp all at once. He was so turned on by how completely he’d unraveled you, it took him a few seconds to even register it, until he stilled inside you, balls deep, as he spilled hot ropes of cum into your waiting cunt.

“Shit,” he hissed, breath ragged, brushing damp hair from your face and noticing how your eyes fluttered, your body still twitching softly. “You passed out?” he asked with a soft laugh as he leaned down to kiss your forehead. “Yeah… I’ll take that as a thank you.”

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