#I hated myself and my body again after all the fucking work I did to build myself up

[lightningfilledsaber]

I'm just so fucking glad to be alive

[inkskinned]

what is with men being mad any time a woman raises her voice where did that even come from. someone posted a video of a small electrical explosion, and the top comment was of course the woman screams. the second comment is women try not to scream challenge, level impossible. i had to go back and watch the video again. there is, somewhat fainty, a little gasp emitted off-camera, more of a yelp than a scream. it is mostly lost in the crack of the explosion. afterwards, you hear her voice, shaken, say, are you okay?

i am helping one of my friends train her voice pitch lower, because she wants to be taken seriously at work. she and i do each other's nails and talk about gender roles; and how - due to our appearance - neither of us have ever been able to be "hysterical" in public. we both appear young and sweet and feminine. she is cisgender, and cannot use her natural voice in her profession because people keep saying she appears to be "vapid". we both try to figure out if our purposeful voice lowering is technically sexist. is it promoting something when you are a victim to it?

a storm almost sends a pole through a car window. in the dashcam, you can hear the woman passenger say her partner's name twice, crying out in alarm. she sounds terrified. in the comments, she is lambasted for her lack of calm. how is that even fucking helping?

in high school, i taught myself to have a lower voice. i had been recorded when i was genuinely (and righteously) upset; and i hated how my voice sounded on the phone speakers when it was played back. i was defending my mom, and my voice cracked with emotion. it meant i was no longer winning the argument: i was just shrieking about it.

girls meet each other after a long summer and let out a little joyful scream. this usually stops around 12-14, because people will not tolerate this display of affection (as it has the effect of being passingly annoying). something about the fact that little girls can't ever even be annoying. we are trained to examine each part of our lives (even joy) for anything that could make us upsetting and disgusting. they act like teenage girls are breaking into houses and shrieking you awake at 3 in the morning. speaking as a public school educator: trust me, it's not that bad, you can just roll your eyes and move on. it does not compare to the ways boys end up being annoying: slurs in graffiti, purposefully mocking your body, following you after you said no. you know, just boy things.

there's another video of a man who is not allowed to yell in the house, so he snaps his fingers when he's excited about soccer. the comments are full of angry men, talking about how their brother is unfairly caged. let him express himself and this is terrible to do to someone. eventually the couple has to address it in a second video: they are married with a newborn baby. he was trying not to wake the infant up. there is no comment on the fact women are not allowed to yell indoors. or the fact that it could have been really alarming or triggering for his wife. sometimes i wonder if straight men even like women, if they even enjoy being in relationships with them.

for the longest time, i hated roller coasters because it always felt inappropriate and uncomfortable for me to scream. one of my friends called me on it, said it was unusual i'm so unwilling. i had to go to my therapist about it. i don't like to scream because i was not raised in a safe situation, and raising my voice would have brought unsafe attention towards me. even when i am supposed to scream, it feels shameful, guilty. i was not treated kindly, so i lack a basic form of self-protection. this is not a natural response. it is not good that in a situation of high adrenaline - i shut up about it.

something very bad is happening, i think. in between all the beauty standards and the stuff i've already discussed - this one feels new and cruel in a way i can't quite express. yes, it's scary and silencing. but there's something about how direct it is - that so many men agree with the sentiment that women should never yell, even in an emergency - it feels different.

is the word shriek gendered automatically? how about shrill or screech? in self defense class, one of the first things they tell you is to yell, as loud and as shrilly as you can. they say it will feel rude. most women will not do this. you need to practice overcoming the social pressure and just scream.

most women do not cry out, even when it's bad. we do not report it. we walk faster. we do not make a scene. what would be the point of doing anything else? no matter what we do, we don't get taken seriously. it is a joke to them. an instagram caption punchline. we have to present ourselves as silent, beautiful, captivating - "valuable."

a woman is outside watching her kids when someone throws a firecracker at them. she screams and runs towards her children. in the comments, grown men flock together in the thousands: god. women are so annoying.

[hadersversion]

I. i can fix him (no really i can)

“he had a halo of the highest grade, he just hadn’t met me yet.”

pairing: rafe cameron x innocent pogue! reader

word count: 1.9k

warnings: 18+ minors dni!! language, soft rafe cameron because my boy just needs some love, slow burn!!

mood board!

“hey,” i said, nudging him with my foot. “hey, rafe, i think it’s time for you to get up.”

i look down at the boy who was passed out on the ground of the beach. his shaved head covered in sand as beer bottles surrounded him. his eyes fluttered open at me, staring at me. “w-where the hell am i?” he said, slowly sitting up.

“the beach, it’s 6:30 in the morning.” i sigh, looking at my watch. “i assume you were at a party here last night and got ditched on the beach by your friends.”

i watched as he looked around the empty beach and groaned, covering his face with his hands and yawning. “fuck.” he mumbled to himself. he ran his hands down once before looking back at me. “thanks, for uh-….”

i laugh to myself. “making sure you were alive? don’t mention it.”

he nods with a smirk. “yeah, that.” we stay there in silence. “i’m sorry, w-what’s your name again? i recognize you from your friends i just…”

“y/n y/l/n.” i nod at him.

“y/n y/l/n.” he repeats back at me, not once breaking eye contact with me.

i feel my face heat up, not knowing what i’m feeling in this exact moment. this is rafe fucking cameron, kook prince and sworn enemy to my friends. he’s not a good person. i know who he is and i should hate him, but when his eyes pierce through me like that…like he knows all my secrets….that’s when i start to question reality. “well, i should get going.” i say, pointing awkwardly to the beach.

“it’s 6:30 in the morning, where could you possibly be going?” he asks, pushing his knees up and resting his arms on them.

i sigh and look around, feeling like i’m in the hot seat. “uh…it’s uh…it’s dumb, you wouldn’t wanna know.” i try to dismiss him.

“no, i wanna know, tell me.” he says, sternly.

i bite my lip and sigh. “towatchthedolphins.” i say in a fast whisper.

“what was that?” he asks with a cocky smile, making me blush. “i couldn’t hear ya, could ya speak up?”

“i’m watching the dolphins!” i say more clearer, looking down at him. “i’ve been waking up early and watching the dolphins. this is like their prime time, so i like to sit and watch them while i have my breakfast.” i admit to him.

i wait there, expecting him to laugh or do something heinous that rafe cameron would do to a pogue. but he doesn’t. he just nods. “cool, i didn’t know that was like a thing.”

did i take one of kie’s edibles this morning by accident? did i actually never wake up to my alarm and i’m still tucked away in bed? or did rafe cameron just have a super normal reaction to something i said to him?

“yeah, right now is the best season for it.” i inform him with a shy smile on my face.

he continues to stare at me with those fucking perfect blue eyes. he rakes over my body once and stands up. did he just check me out? “well, y/n, enjoy those dolphins. i should probably get home before my dad has a bitch fit. thanks again.” he waves goodbye to me before staggering away towards the exit of the beach. my body lets out a breathe that i didn’t even know i was holding and i start to feel tingly inside.

what the fuck just happened?

───✱*.｡:｡✱*.:｡✧*.｡✰*.:｡✧*.｡:｡*.｡✱ ───

after that, i seem to find rafe cameron everywhere. as i ride my bike to work, go to the beach, hang out with the pogues. he’s clouded up my brain and i have no idea what to do. it’s not like i can tell anyone, i’d be marked with a scarlet T for traitor. but my thoughts can’t stop themself from being infiltrated by him.

“yo, y/n, everything cool?” jj asks me, sipping from his beer.

he snaps me from my rafe cameron brain rot, taking me by surprise. “yeah, everything’s alright. sorry, just a little tired.”

a whole group of us hang out by the beach at the boneyard, the usual pogues, some kooks who we invited in to fuck with, and the vacationers. everything was going alright, until i saw him.

“ain’t no fuckin way.” i hear jj spit.

rafe and his friends stroll up to the party, with a few girls scattered around them. i feel my face goes hot as my friends spit their remarks about him.

“what makes this douchebag think it’s okay to just show up here?” i hear kiara say.

“i don’t know but i don’t like it.” john b adds in.

my eyes can’t seem to leave his figure. he looks just as handsome as i remember from the beach. i know i am staring but i just cannot seem to care. but my brain short wires when he looks up, meeting my gaze with a cocky smirk. shit.

i feel my face get darker as i quickly avert my gaze down to my feet. "uh, i'm gonna get a beer. anyone want one?" but before my friends can even answer my question, i quickly make my way over to the coolers. once i know i am out of their sight, i take a well needed deep breathe and try to ground myself. my brain feels fuzzy with thoughts of rafe cameron but i have to push them down.

i bend over to grab a beer from the cooler when i hear a familiar voice behind me. "mind if i grab one?" i quickly turn my head to see rafe, staring into his blue eyes like they were the goddamn eighth wonder of the world.

he's so close yet so far away, i can smell the expensive cologne he has on. my brain gets off of autopilot and screams at me to put space between us, which i attempt to do. but before i can think, i'm tripping over my own feet, almost falling back. but i feel rafe's large hand quickly land on my lower back, saving me from the tumble.

"woah, there, did you already have that much to drink?" he jokes.

i stare at him, my face probably matching the color of a budweiser can. "i...uh...i..um..." i feel myself babbling on, unable to form a single thought as he has his hands on my body. "s-sorry about that. but i...i've only had one beer, i'm just a total klutz sometimes i swear."

he keeps his hand on my back, i can feel him slightly rubbing it, sending goosebumps all over my body. he keeps looking into my eyes, which seems to be his favorite hobby at this point. "well, i'm glad i caught ya." we stand there in silence for what feels like an eternity, until i remember where i am. who i am here with.

my friends.

i frantically look around, making sure they aren't looking at me dying under rafe’s touch. i pull away from him quickly.

"don't worry they aren't looking." he reassures, grabbing my beer and opening it for me. "i assume it's your friends you are looking for." he hands me back the cold beverage, our fingers brushing against each other.

i quickly snap my hand back and look up at him, he has a small smile on his face as he looks down at me. "sorry, but, i mean...you understand, right? my friends don't like you, you don't like them. if they see me talking over here with you...it'll be a whole thing."

"i didn't peg you as someone who cares about what other people thought about them. i don't know, i mean you did admit to me very easily your love for dolphin watching." he smirks as he grabs a can of beer and opens it. "just saying."

i want to hide away forever. "p-please don't mention that to anyone else. please." i beg with an awkward smile.

"i won't, i won't. don't get so freaked out." he takes a long sip of beer. "it's kinda cute." he says so nonchalantly.

did he just call me cute?

this is a prank, this is merely a big joke to him. it has to be.

i can tell i took too long to process what he just said because he nudges me lightly with his elbow. "did i lose you there?"

i shake my head and laugh. "sorry, i'm all good." we stand there, sipping our beers in silence. "why are you here?" i ask with no hesitation, which earns me a wide-eye reaction from rafe. "that was rude but...like for real, why? you never come to pogue parties. i thought we were too beneath you to ever join us."

"i mean, you have a point." he looks down at me with a smirk, which makes me flip him off. he chuckles at me and sips his beer. "honesty?"

"please." i say.

he sighs and looks around. "i'm here to see you."

i choke on the sip of beer i'm taking, too shocked at what he just told me. i watch as he steps forward in concern and tries to put his hand on my back, but i move away quickly. i cough agressively before turning to him. "i-i'm sorry, what?" i almost laugh in his face.

"i'm pretty sure you heard me, y/n. i'm here for you." he admits.

i stare at him, waiting for him to laugh, admit that it was a joke, or even a ploy to mess with the pogues like some kind of goddamn trojan horse. "you're serious?"

"i think you would know if i'm lying." he shrugs.

i stand there, unable to wrap my head around what he just said to me. "you're so full of shit." i blurt out.

he just laughs. "am i now?"

"you're here to see me? the girl whose name you couldn't even remember a few days ago?" i cock my eyebrow at him.

"is it so horrible to believe?" he questions. i look at him, trying to tell if this is real or fake. he waves his hand in front of my face. "i lost you there again."

"i'm sorry, it's just...i'm me...and you're you. we exist on totally different planets...universes." i tell him.

"yet here we are, right next to each other on planet earth." he says.

he got me there.

"y/n!?" i hear kiara yell.

rafe turns his head to the voice calling my name and then back to me. "that's your cue to leave, i think."

i cannot turn away from him, too dumbfounded about the past 5-minute conversation we just had. "you're not slick." i say, starting to walk away backwards so i'm facing him.

"i didn't think i was being slick!" he says, with his hands up in his defence.

"i see through you and your lies, rafe cameron! i really do!" i yell at him as i get further away.

"yeah, i'd like to see you try, y/n y/l/n!" he shouts back, smiling at me.

i crack a smile back to him and flip him off before walking into the crowd, looking for kiara.

she comes up and puts her shoulder around me. "you all good? was he bothering you?" she asks, looking back to where rafe and i were.

i follow her gaze and see rafe still standing there with that same look on his face. "no, he wasn't. i'm all good, i swear." i say honestly. "just having a small talk."

"with the kook prince? no one ever just has a 'small talk' with rafe cameron, y/n." she says, squeezing me tighter.

"well i guess i'm the first person to ever do so." i shrug and continue to walk back towards the boys, trying to hide the stupid smile rafe cameron put on my face.

[simpjaes]

FRENZY ៸៸៸ part two

Jake is experiencing real love for the first time in his life. He’s so infatuated with you that he would do anything to make you understand. And you? Oh, you are in no place to argue with a man who appears to be perfect. 

៸៸៸  part one here ៸៸៸ you must read the first part in order to understand this one!

៸៸៸ sim jake x afab reader 

 ៸៸៸ minors dni

 ៸៸៸ wordcount: 14.2k

 ៸៸៸ genre: stalker au, dark fic, slow burn, smut

 ៸៸៸ content tags: switch!stalker jake, he is gross but on a plus side he’s got a big shlong, obsession, panty stealing/sniffing, toothbrush sucking, shower water tasting, jealousy, manipulation, past trauma involving sa of reader, reader is manipulated into being obsessed with him too, trauma, jake is very insane, he’s thinks you need him to fix you, reader can be lifted and carried by him. 

 ៸៸៸ !WARNINGS! there is intense trauma, past abuse, and conflict in this fic. It’s dark with mentions of noncon and dubcon, and an instance where jake keeps going after reader faints. Everything is consenting between the two but only because he is manipulative and a bad person. if you can’t handle it, don't read it.

 ៸៸៸ a/n: sorry again for the way i had to post this in two parts, still i hope it was worth the wait!

៸៸៸ nsfw tags under cut

៸៸៸ nsfw tags for the whole fic, as in both chapters: masochism (jake), sadism (reader and jake), overstimulation, painful masturbation, praise, worship, dirty talk, blowjob, finger fucking, pussy eating, riding, missionary, mating press,  standing up sex yayyyyy, huge giant fat cock jake, deep penetration, unprotected sex, implied breeding, choking, hair pulling, suffocation, cock warming, crying, begging, hate sex, hitting (m receiving), squirting

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

The next morning, you were late waking up to log into your work account but Jake was still there, drowsy and smiling at you from the moment you opened your eyes. 

You briefly remember the early morning pouting he gave you, hard against you and lips all over you, and in turn you remember how you made a promise to yourself swiftly after rejecting his needs.

Your face heated up the second he said good morning to you, flustered over the fact that not only do you want him, but you want him to want you like that again, despite your rejection. After all, you let him sleep over, and he didn’t try to take advantage of you despite sporting an intense boner through the majority of it. 

He sees the way your eyes check him out upon waking up too, but you stay silent after he gives you his good morning greeting. 

“Are you hungry? I can step out and pick up some breakfast so you can work.” He offers, stretching his arms out wide and tapping you to stand up. “I’m staying again today.” 

Your eyes widen at him, but the smile on your face betrays that little red flag in your head that has forced you, up to this point, to struggle to give him what he needs. 

“I’d like that.” You nod to him, cheeks permanently warmed at the image of your shining boyfriend. “Sorry about last night.” You blurt now, standing up and stretching yourself. 

“It’s fine love, it's just hard to keep my hands to myself sometimes.” He says, intensely watching your reaction.

You lend a pause in your stretch at those words, having heard them before when your ex did things that made your body ache for weeks. There is a pull in your gut hearing him say that before you remind yourself that they’re just words. He just really likes you, and he did stop when you told him to.

He is not your ex. 

“I wouldn’t have hurt you though,” He continues, seeing you deep in thought in front of him. “If you’d have let me, I mean.”

“Jake I–” You stop yourself, feeling a flood of words on the tip of your tongue. “I know you wouldn’t hurt me.” You confirm, now moving forward to hug against him. “I would have–” 

“You would?” His eyes light up, smile brighter than you’ve ever seen before. 

“No, I mean,” You stutter in panic, hugging him tighter. “I would have touched you if you asked.”

His eyes go dark instantly, making his smile seem more eerie than anything as you look up at him. 

“I’m okay with doing the touching, we can work our way up to the other stuff…maybe? If that’s okay?” 

“Oh, baby, that’s more than okay.” He coos out, now losing his appetite for actual food and wanting nothing more than to show you just how good he could really be for you. His arms hug you tightly before releasing you, and he ushers you across the room. “We can talk about this later though, you’re already late, right?”

You nod, feeling a bit better about initially rejecting him and doing just that, moving to the small nook that holds your desk and PC and listening to him slip his shoes on. 

“I’m going to grab breakfast, and I’m gonna stop by my place to grab some clothes.” 

He leaves before you can answer, which is nice because part of you didn’t want to hear your own voice accepting that. 

Accepting that he’s leaving right now, accepting that he’s coming back to stay another night, accepting that you feel perfectly fine with all of this despite your inner demon advising you to run. 

You don’t know who you are in this moment, but what you do know is that you’re safe. That’s what’s driving you to act blatantly against what your own brain is telling you.

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

You’re clinging and Jake is fucking devoted to the feeling of it.

Devoted to the way your fingers, so much smaller than his own, grab him to kiss him. Devoted to the way you kiss the bruise above his brow, and the way you ask him to stay for another night, and another, and another, up until he finds himself doing his and your laundry together just so he doesn’t have to go back home to grab more clothes to rotate through. 

It’s been a week since he’s been in your apartment, rolling around on your bed with you in it, cleaning himself in your shower, washing himself with your soap. It’s like only the two of you exist in this space, where he is the only one to step out and see the sun, solely so you don’t have to.

Or, solely so you can’t. He doesn’t think he’d let you at this point, now that you’re his and you prove it with each kiss and hug. All you need to do is sit and look pretty, sit and love him. That’s what your purpose is in this relationship, he will do the rest. 

Given, he’s also fucked his fist each second he can get in your bathroom. But goddamn do you cling. You whine when he separates himself from you even for a moment, and day by day he can see you come closer and closer to fulfilling his need to be loved by you entirely. 

Your phone hasn’t received any unsavory messages you’ve noticed as well, they haven’t needed you to come into the office, and all you can manage to think is that…you’re in love with being in this apartment with him.

Only good things happen when Jake is with you and you’re growing so attached that you’ve thought more than once to just move him in with you. Your mother would scold you, your ex would kill you, and arguably, Jake would absolutely do it. 

He waits on you hand and foot. Cooking, cleaning, doing your laundry, holding you and giving you some of the best sleep you’ve had in years. You refrain from considering it seriously though, because this relationship is still so new. You don’t want to freak him out or cause an uproar in your already fucked up and unsteady life. You’re throwing yourself in like you always do, but…is it so bad when he’s doing the exact same thing?

Until he’s not, anyway. 

“Love,” Jake starts, tapping his chin with the tips of his fingers as he lounges on your bed. “I need to go home today.”

Your heart immediately sinks. 

“What? Why?” You ask in a voice that plainly shows your panic.

“Well,” He taps on his chin again before moving his hand through his hair. “I’m pretty sure my mailbox is probably full by now, I need to clean out my fridge, and I should probably check my course work.”

“You’re…in college?” 

Jake nods with a snicker, laughing at how he’s given up his entire life for you. 

“Yeah, probably won’t be soon though.” He laughs, shaking his hair out and then looking at you with big, rounded eyes. “Just for the day, I’ll be back before sunset.”

You look down in a disappointed way before nodding to him. 

“Aww, babe. Don’t be like that–” He mock pouts as he turns to you, grabbing both of your cheeks and squishing them up, forcing your lips to pucker before landing a harsh kiss against them. “I’m coming right back, I promise.” 

You nod again, unable to keep a smile from forming on your face. 

“You’re so cute, it’s going to kill me one of these days.” He smiles back at you, hopping up and preparing himself to head back to his apartment. 

What you don’t know is that, while Jake wasn’t lying and that he should at least clean out his fridge, he needed to go home. 

He needs to unload the footage onto his computer, he needs to watch it back, he needs to fuck something.

And so, he does just that. 

The second he gets back to his apartment, it’s almost uncomfortable. Unfamiliar scents, no warmth, rotting food in the fridge, neglected pillows and bed sheets. 

Even so, it’s like he acts on instinct when he walks past everything he needs to do and lands himself at the window. His mind takes over in an instant.

It felt like so long ago when he first saw you from here, knowing you were the most beautiful, the perfect girl for him. Knowing you would love him too, and that you’d never want to leave him. He smiles at his victory, knowing that you’re sitting in that apartment right now thinking about him too. If he knew where he would be now, he thinks his former self may have very well fucked himself to death. After all, he’s felt you, tasted you, and even seen parts of you based on the little image he sent to himself from your phone. Everything happened better than he knew it would.

If it weren’t for your ex, perhaps you wouldn’t have let him stay with you in your apartment. Perhaps you wouldn’t have clinged to him so immediately. 

In a way, he almost wants to thank the man before he eventually strangles the life out of him. 

He’s tasted almost all of you by this point, and each moment it happened is trapped within the files of that little camera there. All of it, for him to remember. Each kiss and makeout session he made sure happened in the view of this camera, and so badly does he want to watch over and over again the moments where you gave in to him. The moments where you needed him. 

He’s quick to push the camera to his pc, uploading a weeks worth of files before placing it back onto the window sill and immediately shoving his hand down his pants. 

Jake shivers at the first unrestricted graze of his hand against his cock, eyebrows falling into that of probably one of the most pathetic faces he could ever make in his life. The relief is so good, so painful.

He can’t fucking help it. After jerking off multiple times a day before finding himself in your apartment with you, it’s hard to only do it once a day within a short time span of a few minutes. He felt so restricted in terms of his release, and he has so much cum to give right now. He’s aching for it. He wants to bleed it dry. 

He wants you so bad at this point, seeing you dangle yourself in front of him and not yet give in to at least going down on him– he needs this. He needs it now. 

Even if it’s not you touching him, he needs to release before he takes it from you. Before he does something stupid and makes you hate him forever. Before he really does become your ex. It felt like he was going insane in your apartment, surrounded by you, only wanting to fuck you, and still not getting to. 

God, the footage is so grainy but it hits his cock so fucking fast. He memorized each moment as it happened, and now watching it in third person makes him feel as if he’s some sort of ghost. Like he’s having an out of body experience and can see and feel you in a completely different light.

In more ways than he already has, even.

He releases within thirty seconds, barely holding his cock when he doubles over at the footage of that very first, harsh kiss you gave him. Sensitive and twitching, his raging length spilled all in his pants, drenches them through even, as his body shakes with the need for more.

And as if it never happened, he takes a firmer hold of his cock now, fast forwarding the footage to each and every kiss, wondering how good those lips of yours would feel elsewhere on his body. How pretty your moans would sound for him, how cute your hand looked gripping your tit in that little nude of yours, how–

He comes again, forcing him to let out a choked sob and drop his head to his desk. God, it hurts. He’s so sensitive, and still, he wants you so bad. His dick is still raging, aching, and begging, especially when he thinks of how you’ve been clinging. How your hands have fucked yourself, and how badly he wants them to stay on him forever. 

God he wishes your fingers could slice him open, leaving painful and love-filled reminders of not who you belong to, but of who he belongs to. 

When he thinks of how he’s only doing this right now because you have your claws buried into him already, almost refusing to let him leave you, he knows he could come another four or five times within the next thirty minutes solely because you cling, and cling, and fucking cling. Fuck..

That’s so hot to him.

He’d let you cage him up in a heartbeat, he’d let you fuck his entire life up and then laugh at him for it. It’s what you deserve. To have a man willing to do anything for you, someone willing to give up everything just to hear you breathe, to have him be that person. 

Third release, forcing him to hold his breath to the point of feeling faint.

The veins on his neck protrude, sweat now dripping down his brow. 

It hurts, it hurts, it fucking hurts.

But it doesn’t hurt enough.

And all day he does this. Until the sun is telling him that he needs to go back to you, until his hair is drenched in sweat and his arm is sore. Until his body feels weak and his cock feels spent, raw, and still throbbing for more. 

It hurts when he puts on a new pair of pants, hurts even more when he forces himself to squat in front of his fridge to clean it out, opting to toss everything into a bag rather than sifting through what’s good and what isn’t. 

Now more than ever does he want you against him, knowing that he’s fucked himself half to death solely to keep himself from scaring you, and still he isn’t satisfied.

At this point, nothing will satisfy him but you. He knows this now.

He’s quick to lock up, even quicker to toss his trash, and finds himself inside of your lobby at a loss.

Goddamn his libido. Goddamn this love for you. 

He can’t stop wanting you, and he can’t just fuck the need away himself at this point. He needs you to fuck his brain quiet, only you can satiate this horrifyingly deep hunger. 

Waiting, watching, waiting, waiting, waiting. 

He’s waited enough. He’s done waiting. 

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

Jake appears at your door right on time, and you were expecting to see his smiling face and big stretched out arms to greet you as you open the door for him.

You didn’t get that though. In fact, you found yourself frozen with the door half open as you stared at your boyfriend and the way his terrifyingly small pupils looked back at you before instantly growing twice the size. So different from this morning, heaving, lips shaking, eyes darker than they’ve ever been. 

Before you can even ask why he’s looking at you like that, you learn exactly why. 

“I’m going fucking insane.” Jake says shortly in a hot whisper, stepping forward and slamming the door behind him. You feel his hands on you instantly, slipping under your shirt and grabbing your waist tightly. “Can’t be away from you, can’t be with you, I can’t stand it.” 

You just listen, feeling him walk you into the living room, fluttering his lips all over your face and neck, only to press you up and against the window with his entire body pinning you there with a slam. 

You’re shocked, unable to do anything but listen to him and feel the way his hands grip and search your entire body for something to hold onto. 

“All fucking day,” Jake seethes out angrily, pulling back from you and grabbing your face to turn it. Almost pissed that you simply exist in front of him right now. “Right there.” He says, pointing directly to his apartment. “I sat right there trying to deal with this.” He presses his hips against you, letting you feel exactly what he’s talking about. “And still, I need more.”

Your brain goes numb. Or maybe it goes hot, you’re not sure. You’ve only recently realized that he turns you on beyond belief, it’s difficult to decipher the difference between horniness and fear right now. 

“Jake–” You turn back to him, now using your own hands to grab his face, forcing his eyes to steady and look at you, as if to bring him back to reality. “Do you need–”

He cuts you off with a harsh kiss, hands running up just to press you harder against the window, his hips chasing whatever he can get from you. Like he’s using you in this moment, as if you’re not real and simply a doll for him to release against and inside of. 

He’s fucking gone. Outside of himself, and you, and the universe as a whole. 

“What I need,” He says, pulling back and stating in an almost demanding tone. “Is for you to take care of me.”

You knew this would come sooner or later, and you’d been trying to work up the courage to do it. You’ve run his patience dry, and you guess it’s now or never at this point.

“Just tell me.” You whisper submissively, wanting to give him whatever he needs solely so that he won’t leave you.

You see his expression soften within a split second, his hips release their pressure against you, and he pulls his hands back.

“Fuck.” He lets out apologetically, demeaning himself for losing his control and being so blatant. Pointing out his fucking apartment to you. “Baby, I’m sorry, I–”

You’ve already made your decision, understanding exactly why your boyfriend broke his composure. This past week proved enough to you that he wasn’t in it to fuck you, and even though his needs weren’t being met, he still worked hard to meet yours, you feel…

Yeah, you’re happy he did this. Even the force didn’t scare you entirely. The only thing that scares you is him leaving you over this. And he watches as you do it, sinking to your knees and reaching out to hook your fingers into the loops on his pants. 

“Baby,” He warns you, feeling you pull him straight to you. “Wait, wait.”

You don’t, knowing that if you were to stop now you might end up talking yourself out of doing this again.

“No,” You shake your head, lifting on your knees just to rub your cheek against the length in his pants. “Let me take care of you, I’ve neglected you enough.”

God, he fucking buckles. Dropping right to his knees in front of you, pulling you in by the face, and kissing you as hard as he possibly can. His entire body quivers, bursting in a euphoric sense of arousal as the hairs rise on his body at the very image of you on your knees for him. 

“You’re so good to me,” He mumbles through kissing you. “So, so good to me.”

And you just let yourself feel it. Intensely, to the point that even your stomach flips at knowing what’s about to happen.

Strangely enough, it flips in a good way. You haven’t felt like this in years, and it brings so much glee to you knowing that Jake is right here, willing to let you make him feel good. Willing to let you feel these things again, willing to make you feel good if you work up the courage to ask for it. And most of all, he’s staying. 

“Stand up then.” You whisper in a smile. “I’ll take care of you, so don’t run back home to do it yourself anymore.”

Jake shakes his head with a smirk, happy to get what he not only wants at this moment, but what he so desperately needs. 

“I did that for you, and look where it got me.” He says, standing and staring down at you. “Nothing will ever satisfy me, only you can.” 

You chuckle shyly, reaching up to fumble with his button only to have him take over for you, dropping his pants and gripping himself. 

“Don’t be so sure though.” You swallow around a lump in your throat at the size of him, proving why you were always able to feel it and not quite ignore it. “I don’t have a lot of practice with this.”

Oh, could you be any more perfect? Any more fucking endearing? With those pretty eyes staring down what he wants to put in you so bad, not even knowing how he’s only ever gotten this hard for you and you alone. Fuck, he could give it to you so good, he could fill you until you can’t breathe, he could keep you forever.

You look so pretty like this, with your lips trembling as you wet them, with the way your smaller hands swat him away as if to ask him to let you try and hold it yourself. 

He could shoot his load right now if you asked him to, looking so fucking docile on the floor for him. He needs to look away, he needs to prepare for this.

“I don’t know if I can, um,” You start, gripping him and noting that he’s thick, there’s no way it will all fit in your mouth without absolutely suffocating you. “Jake, I genuinely don’t know if I can fit all of it.”

He lends you a short chuckle as he takes in a breath, his fingers going down to tip your chin up at him. You feel it pulse in your hand as he looks at you, almost feeling his quickened heartbeat through the vein that runs up the underside of it. 

“Love, I don’t need it to fit.” He smiles, pressing it harder into your palm. “Even this is enough right now.” He lies, pressing his hips forward as if to show you that he’s lying.

He needs it to fit so bad.

You eye him down, feeling the twitch release a little dribble of precum that rolls down and onto your circled fist. It’s been a long time since you’ve looked at another person this way, wanting to taste it, almost needing to. 

Rubbing your legs together, almost uncomfortably, you swallow again as you keep your eyes trained on his before glancing back down. You pull your hands back just to see the way it drops. God, it’s so heavy. You can imagine he’s full of resentment for how long it’s taken you to simply look at it. His cock rages at you, darkened in color and glistening in the light of the setting sun through the window. 

All you can do is stare.

And all Jake can do is stare too, watching you do math in your head of what you need to do with him. He’d take anything, fucking anything, from you right now.

“Mm,” Jake hums for a moment, grabbing your hand and squeezing it tighter. “Like this.” He instructs.

“I know how to give a hand job, you know.” You roll your eyes playfully, despite totally forgetting how to do it now that, you know, you want to. 

“Yeah, don’t tell me that.” He warns, annoyed that you’d even say that right now. “Just, grip me harder–” He closes his eyes, pretending that you’ve never touched a cock that wasn’t his own, noting how your hands have always been gentle with him, save for that day you dragged him around by the shirt in a kiss.

You listen, trying to grip the girth of it as tightly as you can while dragging your hand forward and back, forcing little grunts out of him.

“Yeah,baby–” he encourages you, “Just like that.” He continues to lose himself to the feeling in soft moans, blinking down and now moving his hips in your grasp, fucking forward a bit harder. “Use your other hand too..”

You listen intently, never having to use both hands on a man like this before. You try to squeeze him, offering as much pressure as you can as he swivels his hips forward and back, slicking your hands up nice and wet with his precum. Unbelievable how much he has, actually. 

 You look up when he lolls his head back in a drawn out moan, staring at the expanse of his neck and the way it tenses when he swallows around the same moan. And then, suddenly, in a split second he hangs his head back down and looks at you as if he can see everything you are, everything you ever have been, and everything you ever could be. You gasp at his expression, feeling totally lost and in awe when you see that gaze go dead as he stares back. 

His lips fall slack when his hips pick up pace, essentially fucking your fists rather than letting you do the work. And when you glance away from him, tuning in to the consistent pre-cum spilling out of him, he sees you lick your lips. 

He watches, he sees you want it. 

So, very gently, he places one of his hands on the back of your head, encouraging you to do it. And it’s like he can taste colors when you let him and instantly wrap your lips around the big, swollen head of his leaking length.

The half-moan-half-amazed-chuckle that falls out of him only comes from the fact that you instantly stretch your lips around it, lapping at his tip in an almost hungry way. 

“God, fuck–” He keeps his head hanging forward, watching intently as you take him further and further into your mouth, up until you release one hand and grasp his thigh to hold onto. “I’ve dreamed of this.” He admits, shocked that you’re really going to do this for him.

You blink up at him, trying to smile around the heavy length pressing your tongue down. If you’re going to do this, the least you can do is make sure he fucking loves it. Not to mention, the fact that you’re also enjoying it only drives you to do more. Like the wall inside of you has been shattered and nothing could ever stop you from wanting him in any and every way possible.

He smiles through a deep groan at the way your lips still curl around him.

Never in his fucking life did he imagine you smiling while sliding his cock down your throat. Really, you did that entirely on your own and somehow, he feels even more insane than he did walking into your apartment earlier. 

You’re making it fit, and all he can do is help you, now bracing that same hand on your head and pressing further into your mouth.. 

More, more. 

And when he feels your fingernails dig into his thigh and his cock hit the back of your gagging throat, he chokes out, eyes tearing up, and he sobs out your name in a desperate attempt to compliment you for it. 

That sound alone from him went straight through you, igniting a long awaited arousal within your belly. You feel the drip, relishing in the feeling of being wet for the first time in fucking years. He’s so big, and he’s so suffocating. You want to do this, you want to hear him cry out your name again.

Even when he tries to pull his hips back, you grab onto him and hold his hips in place, pushing your lips further down, depressing your tongue even more as the thickest part of him cuts off your airways. Your throat restricts around him, and you feel proud of it. Proud of choking on him, happy to keep doing it. 

He stutters in awe, gripping the windowsill with his free hand and using the other to feel your hollowed out cheeks. Shit, you’re going to taste him, he’s going to give you all of it, he’s going to–

Shocked, floored, entirely drunk for you, all he can do is watch as you choke. His body did not warn him at all when his cum shoots into your throat, warming your belly with that first swallow around him. 

Your reaction to it is immediate though, as he watches with half-crossed eyes the way you pull off of him and let his cum spurt out and drip all over your face. Down those beautiful cheeks, onto your plush lips, and down your neck.

It won't stop. He just keeps coming. His entire body trembles as he stares at you, and you stare back before closing one eye due to the fact that there is now cum in your eyelashes, and you fucking smile at him.

The image alone keeps him hard as his body finally stops twitching. You, there on your knees, smiling up at him drenched in him. 

“Baby,” He soothes out with a raspy tone. “Fuck, you didn’t have to do–”

“I’m wet. Jake.” You smile, as if you’re admitting this to him to gain some sort of congratulations for it. And in a way, you are. He has no idea how amazing it is to you right now that you can feel your panties go sticky. It feels amazing to admit to him, actually. 

It’s so relieving, it’s so warm, it’s something you never should have missed out on in the first place.

“What?” He asks with uneven breath, dropping to his knees in front of you again, rubbing the cum into your skin with his thumb as he caresses your face. “You are?”

You beam at him, smiling with a nod.

“Really?” He asks again, in disbelief because this was all it took? 

You nod again, leaning back on your arms and watching him follow, hovering over you and slotting himself between your legs with a hungry gaze. 

“Can I feel?” He asks abruptly, crawling over you to the point that your back hits the side table behind you, keeping you from lying all the way down. 

And you nod before you think about it. Wondering if this is how it’s always supposed to be. Always willing, always wanting, always needing. 

He stares at you when you nod, glancing down to your middle then back at you as if to gain another confirmation. 

You nod again, this time wanting to hide your face in your arms. You anticipate it, wondering what it’ll feel like to be touched there again by a hand that isn’t your own after all this time. And when you feel his shaking hand dip into your sweat pants, you don’t even shutter. You don’t shy away.

You’re surprising yourself even, letting out a gasp when he cups your core and looks down at you with a cautious smile. 

“You’re dripping, baby.” He smiles as he balances himself on one arm over you, rubbing his hand back and forth and memorizing the dips and folds he can feel through this flimsy fabric. Then, his more intrusive thoughts spill in an unintentional and needy groan. “Fuck, I bet you’re so tight.”

Words that would make you recoil are no longer scaring you. You can tell he wants to apologize for saying it too, but goddamn, you loved hearing it. In fact, your entire body pulses at the words, feeling his hand do nothing more than hold you there and gently rub. His eyes are pleading though, with his lips pouting as he relishes in thoughts of probably fucking his fingers into you just to see if he’s right. 

Or maybe it’s just you hoping that’s what he’s thinking about. You can’t help the way you clench, letting out a strained breath as you lurch forward and hug him around his neck, squeezing so tightly as you whisper against the shell of his ear. 

“You can touch me– if you want.” You whisper, physically feeling the goosebumps against his neck raise to your lips. “Just go slow.”

You still need to go slow, after all, you don’t know how your brain may react to this, despite loving it at the moment. Relishing in the fact that someone managed to make you feel horny again. You feared that you never could again. God, he’s amazing. 

“I’ll go so slow for you,” He whispers back, twisting his hand in your pants to hook his fingers around your panties to pull them to the side. “Oh, baby, you really do want this, don’t you?” He whispers again upon really feeling you drip, trying to slide his fingers through the slick mess before rubbing circles around your hole. He’s lost his train of thought now, only able to feel one sense at a time so that he can fucking memorize how you coat his fingers entirely.

He moans again from deep in his chest along with you, despite knowing you’re the only one feeling the pleasure of his fingers. You feel his moan vibrate through his throat when you kiss him there, anticipating what it’s going to feel like when he slides a finger in.

And it’s like you see stars when he does, slowly pressing one into you as he wraps his other arm around your waist to hold you in place, sitting back on his knees and forcing you to stand on your own infront of him. 

There he holds you as if he’s afraid you’ll start to fight, relishing the feeling of your wet walls hugging his finger all while you cling to him through it. He was right, you are tight despite how wet you’ve gotten. It’s almost like you’re a virgin despite knowing that you’re not. 

Your body is reacting this way for him, and you’re hugging him, and your pussy is clenching for him. He just knows that if he manages to fit his cock into you, he’d fucking lose it. You’d squeeze him so tight, and he’d fuck it so deep. Fill you up, deeper, deeper, until the only name you know is his. 

He’s losing it again, hearing your little whispered moans against his ear, hanging on him like a fucking pet, god, he wants you to squeeze the fucking blood out of him. You’re being so compliant, so submissive, so–

“Do you even know…” He starts babbling, trying to silence his thoughts by giving them straight to you as his finger slides out, eagerly shoving two back in at a much quicker, much harsher pace. “How much I’ve dreamed about this?” 

You shake your head noting how he’s already mentioned dreaming of you once. The thought has you spreading your legs out to feel how deep his fingers reach inside of you. There’s no pain involved in this, despite his pace not being nearly as slow as he said he would go. You’re not upset, you want him to go faster, you want him deeper, you want to hear him talk.

“So many times, baby, so many times.” He soothes himself more than you through these words, losing himself more and more each second to the feeling of your core clenching his fingers. “You’re even prettier to me right now,” He continues to babble, listening to you hum in his ear at the pleasure you feel. “I want you to take everything from me.” 

“I want you to wrap your legs around my neck, I want you to rub my nose in it, I want you to suffocate me, I want—”

“Shit, Jake.” You moan out his name for the first time at the dirty words. They’re a lot to take in only because you know it truly is a lot, or rather, it should be. But you fucking want that too. You want everything from him, you want everything he wants. Everything. “What else?” You urge him to keep talking.

“I want you to pull my hair,” He says, instantly feeling your fingers slide up his neck and into the thick of it, tugging immediately. “I want you to make it fit here too.” He continues, curling his fingers inside of you, thrusting his own hips against the dense air in your apartment. 

You moan again at his hot words. You’re overwhelmed by how much you want more, how much you’d let him, right here, right now. 

“Keep going,” You sing out, feeling it in your stomach and knowing that this familiar feeling is so much better than you’ve ever felt before. “Tell me, Jakey, fuck–” You continue, huffing at the way his fingers quicken even more. 

“Sound so pretty saying my name, fuck,” He groans now, more level than before as he feels your legs close around his arm, fingers relentlessly hitting the soft spot inside of you. “Tell me that I’d never hurt you, that only I can make you feel like this.”

You nod aggressively as your brain hits a wall, unable to fulfill his request. Every muscle in your body tenses in pleasure as you begin to shake, moving your own hips against his fingers and tugging his hair harder without intention. 

He moans out at how tight you hold him, wanting nothing more than to lay you out and bury himself into you, to feel your pussy jerk him off. 

“Feels so good, baby, right?” He continues to talk, feeling your tight walls try to push his fingers out with each threat of your build up, his mind is spinning. “Say it–” He stutters, feeling his own body react the same way yours is. “Fuck, please, say that you’re mine.”

“I’m yours.” You whisper out of breath against his ear, the hot breath sending him overboard as he immediately pulls his fingers from you and grips his cock instead, ignoring your whimper of the lost build up.

“Yeah,” He cries out, thrusting his hips against his hand. “So let me– please, please let me.” 

His face looks so broken when you stare at him in shock, eyes pleading for you to give him all of it. To give him everything right now. How could you fucking say no to that expression? How could you ever say no to him? 

And still, with your orgasm half-fulfilled, you’re entirely enamored with the way you instantly want it too. As if you’re rushing head first into a brick wall with him, and you stop just to think for a moment.

Should you? 

Do you intend to keep this man forever? Do you want him to leave? Would you be able to picture a day without him? 

It confirms in your brain right then and there. You do intend to keep him. You don’t want him to leave. You could never picture a day without him at this point. 

If he wants to have sex with you right now? Why not? You’re sure that if he is truly wanting to stay, sooner or later you’ll feel him pumping inside of you. Why should it matter that it happens now rather than tomorrow? Or next week? Or even next month? 

Instantly upon your snap decision, you stand on shaking legs, watching him watch you. His hand gripping himself harshly to prevent a pathetic and untouched orgasm, cheeks flushed, eyes glassy. 

You smile, dropping your pants, panties, and then lifting your shirt right up and over your head. All he does in response is wince, grip the base of his cock harder, and try to focus on not spilling and wasting his cum on your floor. Brain only slightly trying to distract him with the idea of grabbing those sticky panties to suck them clean. 

“Really?” He chokes, out of breath and standing up, swiping your panties up quickly and crumpling them in his hand.

Then, you feel one hand on you after he drops his length, and the other rubbing those same wet panties against your skin, as if he has a death grip on them and you. Still, he walks you right back to the window and against it, speaking in that same, needy and shaking breath. “Baby, are you sure?” 

You look away, feeling vulnerable and shy but so willing, so ready when you nod and throw your leg around his waist as if to tell him that you’re more than sure. 

He gives you a breathy chuckle, pulling back just to lift his shirt off of him, hang your panties at the base of his cock, and then he grabs your leg and holds it in place. “Right here?”

He can’t tell if he’s even alive right now, with your pussy sitting spread open right up against him as you let him hold you here, your ass is probably looking great for the camera right now. Your panties feel so good in their rightful place, dangling just in front of his balls. You feel so good in your rightful place, right up against the wall with him trapping you here. 

You nod again, pressing your hips forward, proving to him how hungry you feel for him right now. Finally feeling dirty and not hating yourself for it.

“Right here.” You confirm, tuned into his lips and leaning forward to lick against them. “That’s what you want, right?”

He’s stunned by how you take control while still being somehow submissive to him about it. Almost like you’re shaming him for wanting it, almost like you don’t want to admit that you want it too. 

“Is that what you want?” He asks, trying hard not to think about how you’ve shifted entirely within the span of however long it’s been since the two of you started this. Is this how you act when you're horny? 

“How could I not?” You confirm again with a confident tone, watching your boyfriend break in front of you. “Look at you.”

Jake can’t bear to look at himself, he knows he looks just about as pathetic as he’s always wanted. Never quite able to feel pathetic enough to satisfy him, only now understanding why he chased and chased the feeling to have you like this. 

Controlling whether he can stick his dick in you, controlling whether he can fuck off and die. 

That’s how it’s supposed to be in a relationship, but somehow it’s something else between both of you. For him, it’s like you’ve intentionally edged him for an entire week and for you it’s like you finally have control over your own sexuality again. 

You feel powerful, and Jake wants to be entirely at your mercy. 

“No one has ever wanted me this bad and waited.” You finally say to his intense and loving stare. “I want to give you anything you want.”

If he had a tail, it would be wagging so fast right now. It’s like he’s being given a treat for being exactly who you needed him to be, and he doesn’t think he’ll ever stop doing it. 

“I could wait longer,” Jake mumbles, inching his lips to yours and letting his other hand cup one of your tits. “You could make me suffer,” He continues, whispering it right into your mouth. “Could lock me up and starve me of it.”

You lean your face back, a little shocked at his choice of words there. 

“So you meant those things you said earlier?” You ask, remembering how he babbled on about wanting you to suffocate him, about how he wanted you to take everything from him. 

“Do you want me to be honest?” He counters, now pressing his hips forward and letting his cock weep against your thigh. 

You nod to him. 

“I want you to take it all out on me.” He admits, gripping your tit in his hand tighter, hiking your leg up higher. “I want you to control every aspect of my life.”

Honestly, it shouldn’t be a thought that brightens your brain but it does. It sounds toxic, and you can’t even tell if he’s saying this just because he’s horny and is about two seconds from slamming you up and against this window with the force of his cock alone. Somehow, you love the thought of all of it. 

“Every aspect?” You ask with interest. “What do you mean?”

He chuckles as he hangs his head, watching his length pulse constantly against your thigh and the panties hanging off of it. Only then does he release your tit and use your panties as a way to position his cock up, lining up with the wet of your core that is only for him.

“It means–” He starts, sliding into you with a paused moan, hiccuping slightly as he furrows his brows. “I want you to make me cry for you.” He continues with a tilt to his head as he watches the way you wince at all of the strength he has to hold you up like this, to slide into you like this. “I want you to hurt me, and I want you to love doing it.”

He bottoms out after that, holding you in place and feeling your walls struggle to adjust to the tight fit. 

“It’s what you deserve.” He soothes out to you, kissing you once. “To take someone the same way you’ve been taken.”

You recoil instantly, pussy restricting in horror at the reminder of why you never do this with another person, but god the way he lifts on his toes just to plunge somehow deeper into you. The way his lips trap you even more, the way his force is nothing but fucking amazing to feel. All you can do is moan, bump your head against the window, and squeeze him. 

“You said you wanted to give me what I want–” He slides out of you just a little bit. “So, can you?” He pushes back in, listening to you get wetter at his words and feeling your answer when you can’t seem to speak for yourself. 

“I said I’d never hurt you, love,” He coos out this time, watching your body shift up against the window as he picks up some sort of rhythm, taking you the way he’s always wanted you. Right here, against the window. “But I never said that you couldn’t hurt me.”

Why the fuck is that so hot? God, why does a man like Jake offer you so much? Why is he doing this to you? Why is he doing it to himself? Why do you love it? 

You find yourself nodding as you moan out, still not quite adjusted to his size and the way he made it fit into you in such a…pleasurable way. It doesn’t hurt at all, it feels good. 

“Yeah, I knew you would.” He continues to talk as if he’s not internally losing it, but months worth of pretending, several orgasms today alone, and having your pussy hugging him just as tightly as he knew it would? That’s helpful. 

And now, as your fingers grip at him through his harsh and deep thrusts, all he can do is hold your leg against him, lean forward, and stare directly into his apartment window. As if he’s mocking his former self, as if everything in the world has fallen into place. You wouldn’t leave him now, never, you’d be just as stupid as everyone else if that were the case. 

He has faith in you, in himself, in this, and the way you drip all over him. 

He knew you’d be perfect for him. 

It doesn’t take long, really, for him to pull an orgasm out of you when he’s doing it this good. In fact, you don’t even have to reach a hand down to help pull it out of you by the time your body begins to stiffen up at it. 

His pace is slow, his cock is deep, and fuck his entire body is on you. You couldn’t squeeze your hand down if you tried, in fact, you don’t think he’d even consider letting you do any of this on your own. 

His grip is so strong, you can feel your sweat stick to the window as you slam your head down on his shoulder, sliding up and down the window with each of his powerful thrusts. 

It feels so good to do this again.

“Jake–” You hiccup against his neck, listening to his heaved and choked breaths through each thrust. “I wish I had done this sooner.” You manage to get out, body tensing and relaxing by the minute with the threat of an orgasm. “I’m sorry I made you wait so long.”

And honestly, you don’t know what’s gotten into you, nor do you fucking care. If you want to cry, you’ll fucking cry. It’s been too long since your tears hit you out of pleasure, or happiness, or fucking safety. At this rate, you’ll never let this man go. 

“I know baby, I know.” He soothes you, arms shaking as he holds you up and thrusting in as deep as he can go.

You feel him stutter in his pace, his hips stopping as you feel his heavy cock pulsate against your clenching walls. 

“Are you close?” He says, pulling back and looking at you. “Is that why you’re sorry?”

You look at him with glassy eyes, smiling dazed at him as you shake your head. 

“No,” You smile wider, running your hands up and into his hair, remembering what he asked for before. You tug, forcing his head to tilt back so that you can attach your lips to him. “I’m saying it because I want you to always make me feel this good.” You whisper against his pulse point, kissing it hard. 

You feel him lose composure at that, his hips immediately moving again, slamming up and into you so hard that you can’t even hold your head still enough to kiss him there again. 

“Ah, fuck,” He whimpers out, “why would you fucking say that to me right now?” He continues, relentlessly fucking himself against the soft and sensitive spot inside of you. “You still make me feel so insane, only you could do this to me.”

You smile, having learned that he appears to love the torture anyway. 

“You love it though, don’t you Jakey?” You say, loving the way he loses it for you, learning how badly he’s wanted this, seeing him intend to stay. 

And at those words, he can’t take it anymore. Fuck the camera, fuck anything else in the world that isn’t you. He ignores that wince on your face when he slips out of you, ignores the way the panties fall from his length, and focuses entirely on the way you hug him as he carries you straight to the couch. 

Right there, he drops you and watches the way your tits bounce at the motion. 

“I’m fucking obsessed with you.” He says, feeling the arousal run through his veins, knowing you’d love to hear him say that while never knowing just how true it is. “How are you real?”

You smile, hiding your face as you feel his hands hold your thighs open. You know what he’s looking at, and you can’t force yourself to see him do it. Solely because you know it’s going to swell your heart so big that you’d only fear the day he wants to leave it empty.

And you don’t respond either, because you can’t. His fingers are spreading you open and you can hear him drop to his knees yet again for you. You wan’t to look so bad, but still, you fear the love in his eyes.

You fear and want all of it. 

He hears the sharp inhale you give when he spreads you out, really inspecting the single spot on your body that no one on this earth should ever see aside from him. 

“This is where it hurt the most, isn’t it?” He asks, staring into the hole he’s already fucked, watching it beg him for more despite his words that probably stab your soul. 

You’ll never understand how he can take your pain and turn it into something you don’t mind hearing though. Yes, that’s where it hurt the most, and still, that’s where you want him the most. 

“Yeah, baby?” He asks again, reaching an arm up and forcing you to look at him. “This is what you were so afraid of?” He continues, dipping down and rubbing his face directly into the folds and inhaling a deep breath. 

“Y-yeah.” You choke out at the feeling, in awe of how you knew his eyes would make you terrified. He still stares up at you as he does it, pointing his glare straight through you and into your fucking spirit.

Only Jake can make you fear nothing else in this world aside from the thought of losing him. 

“I’ll make it better,” He says, boosting his ego at the way your legs wrap around his head. “You’ll always want me here,” He continues, cooing out with each taste and lick of your budding arousal. “You’ll never want me to stop–” 

No man has ever wanted you this bad while having you, even as you experienced the trauma of just that. Your ex wanted you physically, but something about the man drying to drown himself in your pussy right now makes you feel like he wants you on a level far deeper than what’s possible.

He’s eating you out like he wants to eat you whole. Like he could devour you, and never spit you out of his mouth. 

“Shit, shit–” You moan, hands shooting down to his hair yet again, finding yourself loving the way his grown-out roots feel softer than the harsher dyed section of his hair. You tug harder than you have before, feeling his tongue search and yearn for everything you have to offer him. 

“Mhm.” He mumbles with a mouth full of pussy, rolling his eyes back at how you do just as he suggested before. Rubbing his nose in it, letting him continue to lose himself in the point of all of his problems. 

And it’s as if you forgot that this only happens to reach a point of coming. The experience alone feels like one long and drawn out orgasm already, it doesn’t take anything at all for him to get you there. 

It’s like he already knows it too, because you go entirely silent with a held breath as he holds your hips and buries his tongue deep inside of you. He wants to feel it, he wants to taste it. And he suffers for it, really, neglecting his own cock and knowing he’s going to come through this alone anyway. 

As expected, he does. Upon the first gush of your slick hitting his tongue, his cock pulses, his balls squeeze up, and he can feel it shoot out of him each time your pussy shakes against his suffocated mouth.

And your hands, so perfect in his hair, pulling without even knowing. You’re everything he’s ever wanted, this is more than he could have ever asked for. 

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

By this point in your relationship, the two of you have moved so quickly that it doesn’t even scare you. In fact, if it slowed down at any point, you’d probably be preparing a suicide note simply because you don’t want to be in this world without Jake. 

Since the first time you got intimate with him, it’s like it hasn’t stopped. You’re shocked at his thirst for you and even more shocked that someone so fucking perfect would waste his breath on you even for this long. 

It hasn’t been that long, really, since the first time you touched him. A few days at most, but it’s like that moment solidified a lot for the two of you.

One, he’s not going to be sleeping in his own bed anytime soon or, ever, really. Two, you’ve learned through at least two more sessions of Jake’s mouth on you that he really does want you to live up to his requests. He makes it known how badly he wants you to make him suffer, how badly he needs you to give him everything he wants. Thankfully, he’s patient with your reluctance. And Three, your ex is no longer a threat. 

Each message you receive, you just hand your phone to Jake and he takes care of it. 

It doesn’t even translate in your head that you’ve been barred from answering your mother’s calls until the police show up at your door for a wellness check. Where, of course, Jake answers,

“Yeah, she’s here.” You hear his voice as you lay flat against your bed, heaving breaths as if he didn’t just have the tip of his dick in you. “Why?” You hear him question. 

A few more muffled words and you hear the door close and his footsteps making his way to your room. 

“Cops.” He dead-pans, “Your mom thinks you're dead.” he adds with an eye roll. 

Your internal panic, a feeling you had once been so accustomed to that now feels almost foreign, takes over your body.

“Fuck, my mom!” You say in a fast breath, rushing onto your feet and throwing on a pair of his soiled sweatpants. 

Jake hangs back but listens to your conversation from your hallway, listening intently to how you speak to other men, cops or not. 

“Yeah,” You say, scratching your temple with shame. “I guess I didn’t realize she was calling me so much.” 

Try five times a day. 

“I’ll call her now, sorry for wasting your time.” You continue with that nervous chuckle that you used to use on him during your dates. 

And then you’re back in the room, looking at him with a raised brow. 

“Why didn’t you tell me my mom has been calling?” You ask, a little annoyed that it’s gotten to the point of freaking your mother out. 

Jake shrugs, then looks at you apologetically. 

“I don’t like when she forces you to talk about it.” He finally says, sulking his shoulders and huffing out. “I don’t like that she tells you to be careful around me.”

You roll your eyes, relieved that he’s just being himself and wanting to keep you happy. 

“Still, you should have told me. She’s going to have a fucking heart attack thinking he showed up at my work place again.”

Jake’s entire brain stops working, his body going rigid as if the cold air outside is hitting him in full force. 

Your eyes immediately widen as you slam your hand over your mouth. Fuck, you forgot that you told her in a hushed tone, explaining that it’s okay. That Jake wouldn’t let anything happen to you. 

Fuck. 

“He what?” Jake says, dumbfounded at the slip of your words. 

“Jake, wait–” You try to get an explanation but he’s not having it. 

“You haven’t been at work, what do you mean he showed up?” He glares, chest heaving as his heart rate picks up. 

“It was from that day when you first stayed over,” You look at the floor apologetically. “I didn’t want to talk about it…” You trail off, feeling his energy hit you in the face at how he’s completely shifted from that loving, soft boyfriend you’re so used to. 

“You kept that from me!?” He seethes out in disbelief. This whole time he thought he fucked your ex up enough to prove what would happen if he even fucking tried it. By you explaining that it happened just after Jake found him, that’s a direct insult.

A threat.

A fucking death wish.

“I didn’t–” You stutter trying to explain yourself. “I didn’t think it would matter since you were here. You were keeping me safe.” 

“You lied to me?” He continues interrogating you, coming up to you and practically demanding an answer through his eyes.  

You look away, nodding. 

“You said you wanted me to keep you safe, what would have happened if you had to go to work again?” He drones on and on, seemingly stuck on the fact that you didn’t tell him. “What would happen if they called you to go in today?” 

Already you’re starting to cry, feeling stupid for not making a bigger deal out of it. To be fair, not talking about it helped and you did intend to tell him at some point. That just…never happened. 

“I would have asked you to stay with me at work.” You say, feeling numb as the fear of losing the man in front of you steals your every thought. “I’d have not gone. I’d have quit. I don’t know!” 

Jake backs down at your words, only able to soften his rage if you’re the one who causes it. 

“Baby,” His soft voice shocks you when you feel him come back to himself, as if to comfort the fear he just instilled in you. “I’m not mad.”

Yes he is, you know he is. 

“Now you’re the one lying.” You argue, pushing him away only to feel his grip on you tighten. 

“Am I?” He asks, urging you to keep talking. “Are you mad at me now?” He continues, intentionally pushing your buttons. 

“Mad that I should have already known?” 

“Mad that I didn’t let you talk to your mom?” 

“Mad that I’m keeping you safe, while you keep putting yourself in the position to be hurt by him again?” 

You stare at the floor. 

“Mad that this is your fault?” 

Yeah, you are mad. 

“Fuck you, Jake.” You break, feeling his strangling fingers on your skin scratch and leave welts when you force yourself away from him. “Fuck you for all of that.”

“What else?” He presses, hanging on specific words. “Fuck me for what else?” 

You just stare at him, and he can see the anger in your eyes. 

“For not being there when it happened?” He asks gently. “For not killing him when I had the chance?”

When he had the chance. 

“What do you–” You try to ask, but he just continues, closing back in on you. 

Somehow, you need it, despite wanting to pull away every time. 

“Fuck me for wanting this from you, right?” He says, much closer to you and dipping down to kiss you. “Fuck me for wanting you to be this mad, hmm?” 

You break again, something deep within you spiraling into a different type of insanity you’ve never felt. You don’t feel trauma, you don’t feel scared, you feel…enraged.

“Fuck me for thinking you look perfect,” He whispers against your lips. “Fuck me to fuck me, fuck me to fight me, fuck me.” 

The repeated words fit into your brain like they belong there. Like this anger is supposed to be filling you with pleasure rather than dread. Like you’re supposed to feel just as in love as you are mad. 

“Just fuck me, baby.”

And god fucking dammit. How does he crawl into the depths of your brain, like a fucking roach, and kiss all of the areas you don’t know exist? How the fuck does he wake shit up inside of you that you never dreamed of having, or feeling, or wanting.

“I hate you.” You say, and meaning it too. 

Because you don’t think you’ve ever loved someone more than you do now. 

“Yeah, I bet you do.” He smiles, dipping his hand down into the sweats you put on and sliding into the same slick he had spilling out of you just before the pigs showed up. “I love it.” He chuckles against your lips when you refuse to moan at his touch. 

You’re pushing against every good feeling inside of you right now, thinking only of how this rage spills out of you and against his fingers. 

“So wet to hate me–” He says, pressing and pressing and pressing for you to just fucking– “Hit me.” 

He sees your eyes shine at the very thought of how badly you must want to do that, unknowing of how much he wants it too. Needing it almost. 

And oh, the moan he lets out when your weak hands raise to shove him back. He plays off of it, stumbling back to your bed just to fall on it. Waiting, knowing you’ll come take him for all he’s worth.

“Come on, love.” He encourages you. “Make me sorry.” 

You hate him, and you hate that you love it. Love that he loves it, fucking adore that he wants this, he wants to let you do whatever you want to him. 

To kick, cry, scream, release everything that’s been trapped in your head for years.

You don’t even falter, feeling it bubble up and overtake every thought. Dripping down your legs as if this is the only way you could ever fulfill your own pleasure again. Only now to you slide the pants back off of you, so horny out of your mind that all you can manage is to feel these emotions drip for him. 

He watches you straddle him bare from the waist down, sees your breath shaking, and your lips quivering.

Jake knew you had it in you. 

“Take them off.” You demand, rolling your eyes at the way he looks up at you with pure bliss.

“Hit me first.” He offers, feeling his cock strained against his own pants that he haphazardly threw on when he heard the knock at your door. “Hit me, and I’ll fuck the hate out of you.” He lies.

“Take them off.” You repeat, cold hands reaching down as you do it yourself, lifting just enough to shove them down far enough.

And god, the breath is knocked clean out of him with the way you just take him. You slide down perfectly, bottoming him out in one motion. He can see now that you need this perhaps even more than he does. 

“God, come on baby.” He moans, feeling you just sit still on him. 

“Jake,” You warn, running your cold hands up to his neck on instinct. “Shut up.” You squeeze. 

The smile that forms on his face is pornographic at best, and drunk at worst. You see him love every instant of it, and you don’t want to admit that you do too.

You didn’t know it would feel so good to have a man’s neck in your hands, squeezing it just to shut him up. Releasing it just to hear him gasp out a praise. 

“So good,” He praises, eyebrows knitted together as he loses himself to the way your pussy chokes his length. You’re not even fucking him, you’re just– “So perfect.” He continues, nearly wailing out at the immense love he feels inside. 

And then, you do. You hit him. Power hungry and entirely at a loss for your own pleasure, you land a harsh and loud slap right against his face, only for him to moan louder. 

Only for him to fuck up. 

Only for him to grip your sheets so tight that you hear a rip. 

Again. You slap him, feeling your anger slowly fizzle with each frantic moan he gives back. 

Again, and again.

“Shit, you love that, don’t you?” He manages to say, feeling his cheeks sting with red-hot passion, only to be hit again, and again. “God, make it hurt.” 

At this point, you know that you could never give him enough as the rage leaves your body entirely and it’s replaced with nothing but the need to just….fuck him. Never in your life have you ever been blinded by a need so badly, save for safety.

And you have that now, don’t you? You have Jake now, right where you want him, right he wants to be. He wants you to feel this, he made you feel this. 

The first bounce felt like pure agony, slamming his cock into you by your own force, feeling him stretch you open, hearing it slap and echo against the walls. 

“Make it hurt?” You finally say, pinching his cheeks together and forcing him to look at you. “I don’t think I could hurt you enough if I tried.” You admit, quite truthfully, mind you.

Jake gives you a crooked smirk. 

“Try it anyway.” He coos, feeling the way you repeatedly arch your back just to ride him faster. “Could fill you up, right here, right now, flip you over and make you take it if you’re so worried that you can’t.” 

It runs through you like a cold shiver. You don’t want to give up this power, you want to try. 

“That’s big talk for someone asking to be choked right now.” You dead-pan at him, voice even and calm. You continue to move your hips, listening to his repeated moans with each breath. “So loud and needy for it too.”

Jake nods proudly and drunkenly, reaching his hands out to yours and forcing them back on his neck. 

“I could be needier.” He says, pressing your hands against his airways. 

You take over for him, choking his remaining words out of him and forcing him to moan. 

“You said you’d make me take it?” You seethe out through your own pained moan, riding him so hard that you feel sensitive. “Like you think it would hurt me?” 

He shakes his head rapidly, implying that you’re wrong to think that. Wanting to tell you that if he made you take it, you’d love every second of it. You wouldn’t tell him no. 

“After promising you never would, Jake?” You question still, knowing he can’t answer. You squeeze harder as you watch his face darken, the blood rushing to burst in the whites of his eyes. “Is that it? You want to hurt me so that I hurt you back?”

He nods in a daze, wanting nothing more than to die like this now, or some other day. To hear your voice, feel your hands, and know that you’re fucking him through it. 

“You don’t scare me.” You finally say, releasing the grasp and listening to the sharp inhale he takes in. “As much as I wish you did, you don’t.” 

That’s all it takes really, knowing that he could work you like a puppet and you’d still love him. Why else would you say that? You wouldn’t fuck him like this if you didn’t mean it. Your mother long forgotten, the anger gone, it’s just a raw form of you and him right now. 

Everything you’re saying is more truthful than he ever thinks you’ve been with him. 

“Want me to?” He finally asks with a wet gasp as he continues to catch his breath. “I bet I could.”

“You can’t.” You say, now slowing your hips as your legs tire out, bracing yourself on his shoulders to take a breath. 

“I can.” He says, immediately overpowering you. He sits up quick, flipping you right over and onto your back. “I can make you feel anything I want.” He whispers darkly to you. He grabs your legs and pushes them to your chest, lost entirely from this reality. “Anything you want.” 

You just stare up at him, willing to accept his words even more when he slams his length into you, so deep that you feel nothing but the pain of it. 

For the first time, he’s hurting you through pleasure alone. 

“Could make you love it too,” He continues to dote on himself as he watches the sparkle in your eye dim. “You love it already, don’t you?”

“I’m not afraid.” You manage to mutter out through a guttural groan, wincing at the way he drives himself into you at such a speed that all you feel is pain. 

“I can’t take you seriously when you talk like that.” He chuckles, feeling entirely in control of whatever entity is running his body right now. “I see you baby, you’re terrified to lose me.” 

Your eyes die in that moment, because out of anything in this world, he’s pinpointed your biggest fear. 

“So pretty when you’re scared too,” He hums out, not relenting at all with the force of his hips when he lets your legs fall around him, and he finds himself burying his face between your tits. “Maybe I should threaten to leave you.”

Instantly, you cry. 

“Just so I can eat up these little tears you have for me.” 

You wish he would shut up. 

“So I can taste the way you come on me, and feel your pussy try and lock me here.” He smooths over your nipple at the words, slowing his hips and pulling out just to the tip. “Your body tells me more than you know, love.”

Your eyes roll up when his pointed thrust shoves your body across your sheets, your hands reach for his shoulders, clawing for any sense of normality to this moment. 

“So quiet.” He lightens his own voice now, letting it fall against your collarbone in a tone just above a whisper. “So stubborn.” 

Your mind awakens at the insult, hoping he’s right. 

“To think I’d ever leave you.” He smiles, lifting up to meet your lips. “I’m not going anywhere.”

He tastes your tears and it’s just enough for him to forgive you. 

To forgive you for not hitting him enough, for not choking him until he died. To forgive you for even thinking you’d need to talk to your mother, and for fucking lying to him. 

And only now does he go quiet, fucking you will full intent now that he’s already in your head at every turn and corner. He can tell with the way you don’t even realize your previous orgasm. 

With the way it bubbled out and down his balls, hugging his cock so tightly that all he could do was keep fucking with your mind, toying with threats only to silence them. 

And then, you inhale a sob, and breathe out his name, so pretty to your ears, even more beautiful to his own. 

“Don’t leave me.” You chime out, body numb and emotions threatening you into a panic attack.

“I’m right here, love.” He chuckles. “You’re shaking.” 

You are. More than you can even comprehend, your body is shaking from feeling everything and nothing at once, all the way up until you do feel something. 

“Ah, shit.” You cry out, hugging his body so tightly against you. “Right there–”

And Jake does it, angling his hips to repeatedly hit the spot inside of you. Knowing you’re sensitive, knowing you can take it, knowing that he can’t when he feels every drop in your body push him out of you. 

Instantly he plunges back in, listening to the wet sounds of all that love you must have for him. He can barely move in this suffocating hug as your body shakes and quivers more than it ever has, even through your past traumas, even through the cold nights this city offers. 

He has spent you and fucked you dry. 

“There she is,” He echoes into your ear. “The girl of my dreams.” 

The only energy left in you is enough to give him a smile before your tunnel vision fades into nothingness. 

It feels calm in the darkness he gives you, and even calmer when you wake up feeling as if all of this was a dream. 

It wasn’t though, because you can feel the way you’re still leaking all over your bed. Your own slick mixed with his, and you don’t even remember when or how he orgasmed because he certainly was taking his time before you initially fainted, but you’re glad he did. You think he is too, with the way he clings to you like a puppy, as if he didn’t just fuck reality straight out of you. 

Lending you the gift of floating, and of pain you find yourself to love. 

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

Waking up the next morning felt like you were a new person and you couldn’t be happier to see the saddest version of you die. The only fear you need to have is that Jake may some day choose to leave, and he said himself that he never would. 

You trust him more than anyone, more than yourself even, considering he’s managed to force you into facing so many versions of yourself that you didn’t even know you had. 

This is the first morning you’ve woken up without your skin crawling and you can’t help but shake him awake, destroying that blushed and sleeping face of his. 

“Jake,” You shake him, feeling him stir instantly and lend you a crooked smile. “Wake up.”

You listen to his morning stretch as his body vibrates in a yawn, and then he’s nuzzling his face even further into your naked chest. 

For what feels like hours, you find yourself engaging in pillow talk. Logging into work? Long forgotten. Calling your mother? Forgotten. The pain in your body? Ignored.

You tell him everything. Every detail of your life, your first memory, your first laugh and cry. All of the times your heart has been shattered, your least favorite colors and favorite words in the world. And he just…listens.

He nods, he smiles, he coos and kisses you throughout all of it. 

And then–

“You know, a while back before we met, I came home and noticed some of my things were missing and messed with. I can’t help but feel like he’s known where I’ve been this whole time.” 

Jake stiffens in your grasp before relaxing. It happened so fast that you don’t think anyone but you would have noticed it.

“Some of my panties were gone, and the batteries in my toys went missing weeks ago–not that it matters now or anything.” You continue, watching his face intently. “ At first I thought that maybe I was just forgetful but– now i know that it really was him.” You pause, smiling at him. “I’m just kind of waiting now, wondering if he’s ever going to try and do it again.”

“Do you want me to kill him?” Jake chuckles out as if to offer a funny little solution, one that he has genuinely considered more times than he can count. And he should have already, honestly.

You feel warmer at the way he makes jokes, but you know better than anyone that Jake jumps into action driven only by rage at times.

“He won’t come near you again, love, haven’t I proved that to you already?” He continues, imagining the blood of his man on his fists again. Imagining the way his bones would crack so beautifully. 

You nod in an almost shy way to him.

“You’re safe with me.” He says, wrapping his arms around himself as you cradle him. “You’re safe with me.” He continues, repeating it more to himself because he feels as though he can’t fail you again, “You’ve always been safe.” 

You haven’t believed words so deeply until you met him. 

“He already fucking knows–” He whispers shortly, cutting himself off. “I’ll kill him.” He whispers a bit louder, uncaring if you heard that first slip of his words.

Something in your brain floods at those words. A confirmation that you’ve seen him break before, and it wasn’t your imagination. Your protective, loving, and sweet boyfriend has a side to him that you’ve yet to truly see. Those words were more believable than any of the sweet things he’s ever said to you. 

And still, you almost want to encourage it, reminding yourself of the image of your ex the day he showed up, all bruised up. And then to the image of Jake with his own little battle scar.

Deep down you think you knew what happened.

And you still wonder how such a perfect man fell into your lap? Your bruised up, pain-loving boyfriend, breaking his soft persona and showing you a glimpse of something that feels….unnervingly beautiful to you.

Unsure, almost, you feel. As happy as you are that he lied to you, you try to not think of how Jake found your ex with nothing more than an out-of-context description of your abuse. You try not to think of the way he looked away from you when you mentioned the items in your apartment that went missing. 

You try not to think about how close he lives to you, and how he always managed to show up when you couldn’t hang out. 

How all of his interests matched your own, up until he never spoke about them again when he started staying with you. 

How he only looks at you, how he only talks to you, and about you.

How he always knew what to say to you.

You try not to think about how you saw him toss his own laundry into your washer many nights ago, seeing a glimpse of what you thought could have been a pair of your own missing panties. Or how he always accidentally picked up your toothbrush rather than his own in the mornings.

You push those thoughts far into the back of your mind, knowing that you were just being paranoid, grasping to not trust a single person in this world as you fall into this life with him. Even if all of those instances were with purpose on his end, you know you’d simply accept them as normal. You’d accept him, you wouldn’t think twice. 

Jake is your only safety. He would never do anything to harm you, he’s proved that. 

You hold his head tighter against your chest, breathing out a sigh and accepting everything at face value, pushing back the slight doubt in your head that everything he has done for you, to you, and with you, isn’t normal. 

“Did you tell him already?” You sigh out in a calmer tone, soothing him with your fingers in his hair. “That you’d kill him? Is that really why you had that bruise?”

Jake stiffens under your grasp briefly. 

“What do you m–” He starts. 

“I won’t ask how,” You cut him off. “But thank you.”

He relaxes, thumbs now rubbing hearts into your skin, stomach bubbling in butterflies. 

“I did.” He now admits reluctantly, feeling dangerously close to a truth you don’t need to see or know about. “I couldn’t just let another person think that you still belong to them.”

You pause, then nuzzle closer to him. 

“I knew from the first time I saw you that I wouldn’t let anyone else touch you.” He continues, spilling and spilling. “I knew that you’d be mine.”

You try not to think too hard about it, asking out gently and instead choosing to just love him harder.

“When was the first time you saw me?”

Jake goes silent and tries to read the air in the room, sensing how relaxed you are against him. 

“Eighteenth of October at the supermarket. We both made spaghetti for dinner that night.” He lies, never intending to admit that the first time he saw you was through your window. Never admitting that he actually already knew you by that eighteenth of October. That he followed you to the market.

He says it so confidently, and the fact that he’s right about what you cooked should scare you. The fact that you must have seen him that day too should make you feel unnerved.

You choose to ignore that too. 

“Was your spaghetti good?” You ask, allowing yourself to spiral into the safety that he offers you. The image of your bruised ex boyfriend bringing joy to you, the idea of Jake keeping his promises making your stomach tingle with even brighter joy.

“No.” He admits with a chuckle. “Yours was probably better.”

“You really would kill him, wouldn’t you?” 

Jake nods.

You trust him. 

He’s not lying. 

He would never lie to you. 

Him knowing what you cooked that night is a coincidence. Him remembering the date and month is just him being mindful. Your lost panties must have gotten tangled in his laundry, surely. He found your ex because you probably let sensitive information slip without realizing it. 

He met your mother and uncle by coincidence. 

He’s the perfect man by chance, and you’re lucky to have him. 

“I love you, you know.” You say, feeling him immediately shift away from your chest to look at you.

The look in his eye when he’s immediately getting on top of you, it’s still as if he’s about to wisp away with you in his arms to another realm. You’ve already been there before, and your body warms at the thought. 

“What did you say?” He asks, voice shaking and somewhat far away from your own dissociated reality. 

“I love you.” You say again, watching his lips quiver, and feeling his hands squeeze you. 

He did it. He’s won. 

And at the end of the day, you don’t think Jake could ever lose. After all, you’ve never felt so safe in a grasp as tight as this one, as painful as this one. You’ve never wanted a man to leave his fingerprints on you so bad. 

As you look at him, seeing him lose himself from reality, you follow suit. Losing yourself with him, feeling that painful grasp on you turn into begging hands. Swelling him under your palms, soothing his stinging skin with your lips, listening to him encourage you, knowing that if your ex ever tried to step into this room, he wouldn’t make it out alive. 

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

oh, the horrors, amirite?

this is the last of the fic. there is not a part three.

taglist: @skzenhalove , @taetaemylovie, @soocult, @nyanggk, @grilledbananas, @dneltrise, @becc09, @nielle002, @sjyfolder, @sd211, @moonmoongi, @sweetiewolfie, @ksnooppy, @woongkification, @laxatives4hre, @hiddensideofmoon, @mywaaw, @beomstarz, @multifandombtvh, @heeverseblog, @floclover, @elliesuh, @iloveleeknow, @crazydelulu, @dasa3040, @sluttyhee, @bethroedtojae, @cherryunie, @hiamlili, @seojunandsoju, @parksunghoonsgf, @jungwon-xo, @fxiryeon, @jwnghyuns, @juliesblogs

[purplecoffee13]

A Bit Jealous*

Summary: “Harry is a frat boy and a douchebag who pushes your every last button, but you hate that he’s talking to another girl.”

Wc: 1.8k

Tropes: fratboy!harry

Warnings: SMUT, praise kink, jealousy and a bit of possessiveness

A/N: hey guys! Sorry for being so MIA the past weeks, I really couldn’t get myself to write for some reason. I still have some difficulty with it, but I did cook this little blurb up for y’all. Hope you like it! All the love xxx

General Masterlist

Blurb Masterlist

"You're just full of surprises, aren't you?"

You groan in frustration at Harry's words, pushing him onto his bed before straddling him. "Shut up."

Harry doesn't protest as you occupy his mouth with yours, tongues dancing around each other with a passion that makes it seem like it's the first time. It's not; you've been hooking up for the past three months.

You hated Harry— you still do. You didn't like him and his frat bros walking around campus like they owned the damn place. But after a bad break-up and one too many tequila shots, you ended up in Harry Styles' bed anyway.

You could've shot yourself for your own stupidity, but you didn't. Sleeping with Harry became a habit instead. A past time, you told yourself, to hold you over until someone new came along. But three months have gone by, and there has yet to be someone new.

Harry had wanted you from the first time he saw you. If not for your killer looks and pretty smile, then for your hatred towards him. He'd always liked girls with a temper, and whenever he'd see you around, a part of him would hope that you'd re-direct your hatred and just give him a chance. Just to sleep with, of course. He didn't want a relationship.

"Thought you said Saturday was the 'last time'." Harry taunts you with your own empty promises in between kisses. It's true, you did say that last weekend. Harry has been a bad habit that you need to quit, but any time you try your willpower just isn't strong enough.

"I changed my mind." You respond, putting his cap on your head and taking his shirt off. Harry smirks at the sight of you. He always thinks you look quite cute in anything that belongs to him.

"Of course you did." He flips you over. You let out a yelp as you are being turned onto your back. Harry leans back and pushes your skirt up, leaving you in nothing but your skimpy panties that reveal your excitement by the apparent wet patch on them. "Let me catch up then, yeah?"

"Yes— oh my... fuck!" The air is knocked out of your chest as Harry dives his face right into your pussy. Your hands fly to his hair for some kind of control and your legs close up with each lick that makes you shudder. When your back arches in response to his assault on your clit, Harry takes his focus off of you for a second.

"Stay still," He growls, pushing your thighs away. "and spread your fucking legs."

It is hard to follow his orders perfectly, mainly because of the drinks you have had, but you stay relatively still as Harry continues to eat you out. You have to refrain your eyes from rolling to the back of your skull at the way he sucks your clit. His hands stay on your thighs, massaging them as he works you towards the prospect of a climax. The rumbling of the house party going on downstairs puts a thought inside your head.

"Did you lock your door?" You ask breathily, waiting on a verbal answer. You look over at Harry, but he doesn't pause. Instead, his face stays buried inside you as he shakes his head, and you let out a whimper that is too desperate for someone who claimed last week was the last time you ever wanted to sleep with this guy.

It seems to motivate Harry, as he only speeds his movements. Your breathing starts to get more erratic, and you are once again squirming for an escape. It is like your body knows this orgasm is going to be very intense.

And your body was right. You come hard, explosively even, falling apart under him with a cry of his name. Ever the gentleman, he helps you ride out your high before he finally comes up for air.

"Shit..." you pant, watching Harry move until he's laying next to you. You turn your head to him, unable to keep yourself from smiling at the stupid grin on his face. He is always so proud about making you come.

"You were jealous." He says, and your joy falters at his words.

"What are you talking about?" You scoff, frowning at his words. You roll your eyes for extra measure, but it doesn't seem to convince him.

"That's why you pulled me upstairs, didn't you?" He asks again, and when you sigh, the grin on his face only spreads wider.

"Admit it! You were jealous I was talking to Gigi."

"Maybe I was." You shrug.

"Don't deny it, you— wait what?"

You reach for his pants unzipping them as you sit more upright. Harry follows your movements, staring at you wide-eyed as he observes you.

"Maybe I was a bit jealous. Maybe I don't really like the idea of you fucking someone else." You tell him, a sultry voice coating your words as you take his cock out of his pants. You push him further against the bed, positioning him so he is now sitting against the headboard.

"Maybe..." you trail off, letting his tip trace over your entrance. Harry gasps in anticipation, thoughts too blurred and too curious to see what you're going to say and do. "I don't like the prospect of sharing you. Of not having you fuck me raw anymore."

With that said, you sink yourself down on Harry's cock, hands resting on his shoulders for steadiness. He grumbles out a few profanities, his head shooting back and eyes shut tightly

"Wouldn't you hate that? It feels too good like this, doesn't it?" You rasp in his ear, slowly beginning to bounce up and down his cock. Harry lets out a moan—something he doesn't do often—grabbing onto your hips as he watches his cock disappear in you repeatedly. His eyes trail up to your concentrated face; jaw slack and small 'uh's leaving your plump lips.

Your tits bounce slightly, still restrained by one of those corset tops you often wear when going out. It drives him crazy, those tops. The way your breasts spill out of them a little bit, but enough to leave the rest to the imagination. And God does he imagine things when you wear those types of tops...

He peels his eyes open, takes in the sight of you, and lifts his hands from your waist to undo your top. He easily pulls down the zipper in the back, and before you know it, your bare chest is being massaged by Harry's hand. He bites his lip as he plays with your nipples, reveling in the way you whimper at the sensitive touch.

Your hips move rhythmically, driving Harry's cock in and out of you at a pace that is making the both of you dizzy.

"Fuck, I didn't know jealousy could look so pretty." Harry rasps, his eyes locking with yours. The corner of his mouth tugs up at your inability to handle that compliment. You've never really known what to say when he's being nice to you for a change, and the asshole likes to fluster you. It's why he even compliments you in the first place, you are certain of it. "But here you are... riding yourself on my cock because you hate to see me talking to another girl."

"Shut up." You frown, closing your eyes at the increasing bubble in your stomach that you feel is about to explode sooner rather than later. You change the angle in which you move your hips a little bit, allowing Harry's cock to hit a particularly sweet spot.

"So possessive..." He challenges you some more, and you put your hand over his mouth as a response.

All of a sudden, you are being flipped onto your back, Harry now hovering above you. You whine at the change of position, not yet having been done with that one certain angle yet. Like he can read your mind, Harry assures you,

"I'll get deep in there, baby, don't worry."

The words and the caring tone in which they are spoken causes for a fire to erupt in your tummy. Doe-eyed, you stare at Harry, silently complying as he throws your legs over his shoulders. When he thrusts his hips forward and drives deep, way deeper into you, a small scream leaves you before you can stop yourself.

Harry is quick to place his hand across your mouth as he begins fucks you with slow, deep thrusts. Tears stream down the side of your face as Harry hits your spot over and over again, each time feeling more euphoric than the last, and each one brining you closer to an orgasm.

With the way you grip his hand tighter with every passing second, Harry knows that you are very close.

"Are you close, baby? Gonna come again?" He asks, a wave of satisfaction filling his veins when you nod frantically, all sorts of noises leaving the mouth muffled by his big hand. Your eyes roll into the back of your head when Harry starts slowly circling your clit, the pleasure becoming too much to handle.

"C'mon baby, you can come again for me. Just for me." He says softly, leaning in closer so there is nothing to do but get lost in his pretty eyes. "You're mine to fuck, and I'm yours, hmm? Does that sound good to you?"

A muffled 'yes' is the only comprehensible word that leaves your mouth as you finally explode. Head tilted backwards, you let your orgasm wash over you like a tidal wave that is so strong that the only option is to let it consume you, and just go with it. The traces of Harry's fingers on your skin elongate the ecstatic feeling in your body, and even as your body moves along with the aftershocks of your orgasm, you fear you have never felt so high before.

Your climax triggers Harry's. The way you are pulsing around him proves too much and it shows in the erratic thrusts and unstable breathing pattern that manifest in desperate pants. You try to fixate your eyes on the way he crumbles above you, the knowledge that his sperm is coating your walls filling you with a moronic amount of pride.

Slowly, Harry stills inside of you. You're still a bit in awe of that element he seemed to be in just now. It looked so fucking sexy and the image of it seems to be burned into your brain forever now. Harry lifts his head, the signature arrogant smirk back on face, a quiet laugh sounding from the back of his throat.

"You should get jealous more often."

You hit him in the head with the pillow next to you.

[elliespassagerprincess]

house wife reader x mean ellie 👀 ellie works long hours on the weekdays and takes out all of her anger on her docile wife who cooks all her meals, does all of her laundry, cleans the entire house, and make sure ellie’s satisfied 24/7.

Satisfied - (ellie williams x housewife reader)

hi anon! mean ellie? hell yeah. I hope you don't mind, but I added my own twist. I hope you enjoy <3

Pairing: mean ellie x housewife fem!reader

requests are open, feel free to leave one!

HUGE warnings: toxic relationships, murder, gore, violence

Summary: in which you were the perfect housewife

authors note: I'm literally trying to empty out my request inbox, so be ready because there's a bunch of fics coming your way!

"so when last have you seen her?" The police officer asked as he sat across you.

"well she went out yesterday and she never came back"

you saw him look at you and Ellie's house as he was taking notes.

"Any arguments?"

"No"

once again you saw the pen write something on some paper. You wanted to know what exactly he was writing about.

What was talking him so long? You wanted him to fucking leave.

"Thank you for answering these questions, we'll call if we need anything else" the officer said as he stood up.

"Thank you for your hard work! Do I need to walk you out?" You asked with smile

"no, I'll show myself out" was all he said as he walked towards the front door.

As soon as he was out of sight you got up and ran to window to check if he was gone. You watched his car pull out the driveway, and you let out a sigh of relief.

fucking finally.

You ran to you and Ellie's shared room, and between heavy breathes you said "she almost caught us baby".

You walked towards the bed, where Ellie's decomposing body lay. Flies circled her body, her skin was pale and cold to the touch.

You put some of her hair behind her ear "it's ok now, they'll never catch us" you whispered

You loved Ellie. And you would anything for you. Anything including quitting your job and becoming her housewife.

In the beginning you hated it, staying home, cooking, cleaning. But when Ellie praised you, you fucking loved it.

And soon after you became the stereotypical housewife. Cute outfits, aprons that matched whatever you wore. You always woke up before her, to prepare her favorite breakfast. You cooked her dinner.

You fucking did everything.

The two of you were happy. Until Ellie got a promotion. She got more work, the pressure was getting worse for the poor girl.

Ellie came home late and most nights she barley even slept. You tried supporting your wife as best you could. You tried cleaning the house before she came come. You did all her laundry, you even chose her outfits most days.

But it was never enough for her.

One night you cooked Ellie's favorite meal. A prideful smile was on your lips as you put the plate in front of her.

This would cheer her up. You knew it would.

Ellie glanced down at the plate, and she looked back at you. The dark circles under her eyes looked even darker than they did yesterday.

"You are so fucking pathetic" she started.

"I work all fucking day to come to this shit? And look, this table is dusty" she added.

Ellie got up from where she was sitting and she threw the plate filled with food onto the floor. "You have cleaning to do, and don't fucking serve this shit again" she walked out of the dining room and you sat there mouth agape.

This was the first time she's ever said anything like that to you. You sobbed in the kitchen that night. You felt sick to your stomach.

Everything you did was for Ellie and for the first time she wasn't satisfied with you.

Your main mission in life became to serve. To serve her. But what do you do when the one you did everything for, wasn't satisfied?

The next morning you woke up bright and early, and you cooked Ellie a widespread of breakfast. Fruit salad, bacon, eggs pancakes and so much more decorated the table.

You heard the bedroom door open and you saw her walk out, she glanced at the table

"I'm not hungry" was all she said and she walked out the front door.

You were shattered.

Since that day everything you did was wrong.

You couldn't clean right.

Her fingers ran along the cupboard, and she looked at you with a frown.

"Can you not clean right? Should i get a maid? Because you cant do shit"

you couldn't do the laundry right.

you stood in the doorway watching Ellie fit on her suit. She looked herself in the mirror before she made eye contact with you.

"It's still wrinkled and there's a stain" she pointed out.

"fix it" was all she said before she threw the clothes on the floor.

You couldn't even cook right.

Ellie only had one spoon of her food before she pushed her plate to the side

"what's wrong?" you asked

"this is disgusting"

it hurts. Every insult Ellie hurled at you hurt.

You knew she was stressed but it didn't give her the right to take her stress out on you.

One night you tried talking to Ellie. But she didn't want to. She didn't have energy for this.

"Don't you have a house to clean? Oh wait you can't even do that right" she said through a chuckle.

You snapped.

You let out a scream as you grabbed the lamp on your side of the bed. You jumped onto the bed, and you shit her over and over again.

"I"

*hit

"am"

*hit

"the perfect"

*hit

"housewife" you yelled.

Blood littered the walls, and your hands. Heavy breathes left your mouth as you looked at the scene.

"Oh Ellie I'm sorry! This room is filthy! I'll clean it"

you scrubbed the walls, you changed the bedding and you gave her a bath.

Everything was back to normal. It was all clean.

You looked at her decomposing body. She looked peaceful and she wasn't being mean anymore.

This was the girl you fell in love with.

You gave her a kiss on the forehead before you muttered "its time for breakfast" and you left the room to start making your girl breakfast.

You weren't sure how long you were going to get away with this, but for the time being you were happy.

She was better dead anyway.

[poppy-metal]

twisting urself up in knots abt craving a rougher more frenzied touch from ur husband after the baby’s born ur body’s changed but ur libido hasnt and u dnt know how to ask for more so ur becoming more closed off meanwhile everytime yall do have sex art’s fighting demons to not stick his thumb in ur ass and plow u into the mattress

it's literally ridiculous like yall are STUPID. I feel like eventually you'd just blow the lid off during an argument YOU started because you're moody and horny and arts wearing a knit sweater and looks so fucking hot and dilfy you want to kick him. you want him to bend you over and slap your ass and beat your pussy up on his dick. and he won't!!!!! you yell at him for something stupid and simple like putting your babies toys away wrong (he wasn't) and art is so lost puppy about it all, he just wants to fix it, he hates seeing you upset. and eventually you just spit out - "you think I'm ugly!!" and burst into tears.

art almost cries himself because that statement has never been more untrue and his baby is sobbing and it's somehow all his fault and he sweeps you in his arms and kisses the top of your head so so tenderly. "baby, what's wrong? you know that's not true." when you don't answer him he pulls back, holds you at arms length. "hey. it's not true. you're fucking beautiful. like, it hurts how pretty you are."

you bottom lip wobbles. "th - then why don't you touch me anymore?" you say pitifully and art rubs his hands up and down your arms, his brows pinched in confusion.

"I do - I do touch you. am i.... is there a way I should be touching you that I'm not?"

you look away.

art implores you gently, "baby, please. talk to me."

"how you touched me when we were." you flushed. "trying for our baby. you don't touch me like that anymore, you don't- you don't fuck me like that.... anymore...."

art is quiet. his cheeks get pink. his hands squeeze your arms. he fumbles for what to say for a second and when you start to pull away he tightens his hold, almost loosens it, but then he sees the wide eyed expression you make and keeps his grip firm.

"you want me to -" he clears his throat. he's got alot of thoughts right now, "you want it like that with me? again?"

you look at him, incredulous. he seems shy about it. insecure, even.

"art that was the hottest sex of my life. I think about it when I touch myself next to you while you're asleep."

oh.

"oh."

you look at his chest, embarrassed by your outburst. you'd essentially thrown a tantrum over not getting dicked down the way you wanted to be and you felt like a brat. but he was your husband, dammit. you should be able to communicate to him. even about embarrassing things. and what was so embarrassing about wanting him, anyway? he was fucking hot.

"I miss you fucking me like - like I'm a slut." you mumbled the last part. aware your baby is just in the other room, put down for a nap. you don't want her to wake up and hear mommy and daddy talking about this stuff - even if she can't understand it. "you were so out of control back then - like you couldn't get enough of me and were just taking what was yours." you bite your lip. "I liked that."

art is so relieved. he'd been harboring guilt for the way he acted like an animal when he was trying to get you pregnant. he'd just..... he had a thread of control he was used to maintaining and it fucking snapped. he'd been working on keeping it intact ever since because that's what he thought you wanted.

"you liked it." he echoes. almost in wonder. he's looking at you like you're everything he's ever wanted given to him wrapped in a little bow. the mother of his baby. the love of his life. his wife. the girl he wanted to spend the rest of his life with. and the girl he wanted to bend over a bed and pound into without restraint. "that's - im glad you did." his ears are burning, cherry red. he naws on his bottom lip. "I wasn't sure you wanted to be treated like that again. it was - I was -" he chuckles, a flash of dimple. "- well I wasn't exactly gentle with you."

"I know." you tell him. you sway into him, his arms go around your waist and your arms hook around his neck. your fingers finding the babyhairs curling at the base of his neck and playing with them. "you fucked the shit out me."

your vulgarity makes him laugh - makes you giggle too. he quiets and when he looks at you, your whole body shivers. his pupils are dilated. his hands venture down your body, cupping your ass in his big hands and squeezing.

"I wanna have you like that again." he tells you, honest. his voice is soft and earnest which just makes his next words all the more intense. "I want to fuck you so hard you don't ever doubt how bad I fucking want you." he grips your ass hard, makes you gasp. "need that thought out of your pretty little head as soon as possible, actually."

you're breathless. "my mom," you tell him, "we can have her babysit- a- and we can have a night just the two of us."

he licks over his teeth, already thinking of your body under his - naked and twisted in pleasure as he teases that hot little pussy.

"I'll get us a hotel." he tells you. "do all the things I've been wanting to do to you - "

you nod eagerly "yes -"

the baby starts crying. but you're not disappointed. you feel tummy flutters as art kisses your forehead, lingering for a moment - before he goes to check on your daughter. god he's so fucking hit.

you wonder how he'd feel about you calling him 'daddy' in bed.

[bookshelf-dust]

soul made of honeybees

billy hargrove x fem!reader

gif by @biillys

word count: 6,418

warnings: brief swearing, mentions of smoking, reader deals with body insecurities/dysmorphia, uses exercise as a punishment, all of the struggles that come with trying to accept oneself

synopsis: on a journey of becoming more active and trying to be happier in yourself, you find billy, who helps you develop a healthier relationship with exercising and shows you that your body should be celebrated for all it does for you.

a/n: well, what do we have here? my creative juices have begun to flow again, and this is the first fic to be born of that particular affair. in my head i’ve set this in the late 80s, maybe early 90s, where i imagine billy still works at the pool during the summers when he’s home from college. this is a situation i’ve found myself in over the past year, and i wanted a chance to explore it in this way and sort through some of my own experiences. i hope you will enjoy it. as always, happy reading! <3

————

Jane Fonda is a fucking fantastic woman. But right now, you hate her. 

She manages to look stunning and effortless with each kick of her legs; while you are sweating profusely, your shorts are up your ass, and your fingers are swollen from overheating. 

You hate exercising in the moment, but once her thirty minute video is over and her group of people in tights and tiny shorts are gone, admittedly you do feel better. Rinsing the sweat from your face, feeling your muscles ache the next day—it brings you some sort of satisfaction. 

Your body likes that you’ve gotten more active. 

But your own hatred for your body was the reason you allowed Jane Fonda into your home to begin with. Sick, right? You know it’s bad, and yet each time you squat, crunch, and press, you can’t stop yourself from wishing you were shaped differently. From looking at the toned and athletic bodies in Miss Fonda’s videos and imagining what it would be like to feel that comfortable in your own skin, to be so graceful and…perfect.

So, you continue to push yourself, in hopes that you’ll become more appealing, that if you keep doing this, there will come a point where you aren’t totally and completely disgusted with the body you’ve been given. 

Because at this point, you’ve truly convinced yourself that you cannot be happy in your body. Even if you have noticed your strength levels increasing and really want to push yourself more. But you won’t let that positivity ring free like the woman on your television always wishes you would. 

“You did a great job!” Jane’s voice rings throughout your living room as the workout video ends, and you scramble for the remote, having had enough of these cheery attitudes for one morning.

You sit back on your hands, stretch out your legs, and try to steady your breath. Your knees have carpet burn, and you can feel sweat dripping down your temples. 

You may be a heaving mess, but you need more. The workouts have gotten easy, and you need something new. 

A woman runs by outside your window in a bright pink leotard and blue jogging shorts, matching pink leg warmers meeting her tennis shoes.

I could try that, you think. Maybe I’d like running. 

You certainly didn’t like it in school, but most of that was the result of shitty phys-ed teachers and the fact that you were never the athlete those instructors wanted you to be. 

You push off the floor and stalk to your room, digging for the sneakers you know are buried in the back of your closet. You have to try this. You need to keep pushing yourself. And if you don’t do it now, with this sudden spark of energy, you probably never will. 

Five minutes. You can run for five minutes. And if you feel like you can after that time is up, you’ll do ten. 

You squeeze your eyes shut as you’re tying your shoes, shoving away the thoughts telling you that you’ll definitely not look as cute as that woman on the street or any other woman that goes for a run, their ponytail swaying and their cheeks perfectly pinked. 

But what does it matter? You have to try. You have to be productive and make something out of yourself. You can’t deal with the pulsing, clawing thoughts of self-hatred anymore. Your body has to change.

The only problem is that you haven’t yet realized your mindset must too.

The heat that swallows you up when you step out of your front door is almost enough to send you right back inside. But how disappointed will you be in yourself if you retreat that quickly? 

You let your body begin to walk before your brain can start to argue. Your street doesn’t really have a sidewalk, so you keep to one side as the cyclists and other joggers do, ensuring you won’t be in anyone’s way. Subconsciously, you’re already making yourself smaller even though there’s no one outside to judge you. 

You look down at your watch, noting the time, and start to run. Not as though you’re being chased by a serial killer—or a man—but enough that it counts as a run. Those first few seconds are blissful. You feel like a little kid as the adrenaline spreads through your veins. Like your mom has just called you in because dinner is ready, like you're racing against the sunset so that your feet land inside the door just before the streetlights flick on. 

You forgot what it was like to move your body in this way. To feel this momentary freedom. You make it about three minutes before your side starts to hurt, a telltale sign that you haven’t done this in far too long. The heat is starting to get to you too, but you said you’d go for five, and that’s what you’re doing. 

It’s pitiful, the way you press yourself to the inside of your front door, trying to catch your breath from that little bit of work. Why did it hurt so much more than everything Jane Fonda tells you to do? 

Maybe you’re not meant to be the athletic type. Or maybe I need to eat something, you think. I need to make a plan for myself. That could make it easier. 

You can’t eat with your shirt sticking to your back though, so you strip and turn the shower on, practically jumping under the cool stream of water. But not before you glance at your body in the full-length mirror hanging on the wall. Your hands find your stomach, eye each stretch mark and bit of cellulite. Each extra-soft spot of skin, every part of you that doesn’t conform to the vision you have in your head. 

You wish that five minute run had fixed everything. That you could magically look like an aerobics instructor and be happy in your own skin. Your eyes fill with tears, and you think for a minute that it could be better to just stop before you get ahead of yourself. What’s the point? You don’t know if you have it in you to wait and see results. And you know you won’t turn into someone else, won’t form a new shape…and then you’re spiraling. You can’t think of a single reason why exercising is worth it.

Because it can be fun. Because it pushes you and makes you stronger. You shove this tiny voice away and let your gaze flick back to the shower, where you’ve completely abandoned your cold sanctuary. You hop in and start scrubbing your hair, trying to think of anything that isn’t your body in that mirror, anything other than how much you looked like a fraud trying to fit in with everyone else. 

————

You continue on this way for a while longer: running in the mornings, doing as many of the Jane Fonda videos as you have access to at work, drinking more water, blah blah blah. One of the perks of working at the library is that you can check out as many tapes as you want. But you’ve done all of Jane’s workouts, and you need more. 

You could swim, but when is the community pool ever not full to the brim during the summer? You could try jazzercise. No. That’s just not for you. You could…go to the gym. 

The pool also has small gyms for both women and men, and you know the men’s one is usually very busy, but most of the women in Hawkins take part in other forms of exercise. And if you went in the mornings…you might have the place to yourself. You might could try and tone up. 

God, this sounds so stupid. 

And your heart rate picks up just thinking about doing this very new and very big and very embarrassing thing, but you want to do it. You’re going to try. 

Hopefully you’ll just go unnoticed. This is a totally normal thing for people to do, right? 

The community pool opens at ten during the week, but the doors to the gyms open at seven. And that’s what time you get there, out of pure fear that you’ll have to interact with another human and make a fool of yourself. But the universe must be looking out for you on this particular morning, because the door is unlocked, and you slip in without any hassle. 

Billy isn’t a morning person. He never has been, but an excuse to get out of his hellhole of a house before anyone else is up to fuck with him? Yeah, he jumped at that opportunity. 

Usually the manager opens the gyms and stays to open the pool during the summer, but he volunteered. Especially because he can usually get in a workout before his shift technically even starts. 

He’ll bench as much as he can without a spot, work on the pull ups he never tells anyone he struggles with. It just feels good to be able to use his muscles and push himself. Billy is proud of what his body can do, what it does for him, how it protects him—and he’s not ashamed to admit that.

His body is one of the only things he has control over, and he’s heard his share of people talking about how vain he is, how he shouldn’t spend so much time doing this or that. But he doesn’t give a fuck. He’s built a body he’s proud of and feels comfortable in, and truthfully he feels like everyone should be comfortable in their body without anyone else pushing them to look another way. 

Billy is leaning against his car, hands tangled in his hair in an effort to tie it up, a cigarette dangling loosely from his full lips when he sees you for the first time. 

He watches you get in your car, bag slung over your shoulder, interested only because he never sees another soul here this early. 

You’re pretty, he thinks. Your hairline shines in the morning sunlight, damp with sweat, your neck the same. Your sports bra peeks through your pale shirt, and one of your slouchy socks is hiked up higher than the other. You’ve clearly just finished working out, but he thinks you look breathtaking. 

There’s something about you. Something light and sweet that he can feel even from this distance, like something is telling him you have a good soul. 

The next time Billy sees you, you come out of the door looking frustrated—he assumes at yourself. He doesn’t want to bother you, but he would like to talk to you at some point. 

You turn around when you go to unlock your car door and lock eyes with him. Your heart stutters at the fact that someone has caught you, probably knows you were exercising. But he is gorgeous. You give him a small smile, and climb into the driver's seat. All you can think on the drive home is that it must be nice to be so effortlessly gorgeous. 

————

You continue on this way for weeks. Close to a month. You workout, you wave and acknowledge one another. This other person who you share this tiny thing with and who you are not judged by. 

On this particular day, you decide to be brave though. You packed a swimsuit, and you’re going to speak to that gorgeous boy and hope he doesn’t get freaked out by you. 

You place your weights back on the rack, the muscles in your thighs pulsing, your arms feeling like jelly. You’ve only worked your way up to the set of fifteens, but that’s something, right? 

You’re sweating, and dread walking outside into the swath of steadily climbing heat and humidity. Your heart pounds at the prospect of speaking to him. 

With your bag over your shoulder, you push open the door and step outside, jumping almost immediately. “Shit!” 

Billy laughs at your reaction, both because he hadn’t expected to frighten you, and because your jolt was pretty entertaining to witness. 

“I’m sorry,” he chuckles, “I didn’t mean to make you lose your shit, it’s just too hot to stand anywhere without shade.”

You lean against the cool metal door behind you. “Fuck,” you sigh. “My survival skills are clearly not what they should be.”

Billy laughs into his drink, taking a swig from the Coke he bought at the vending machine. 

“You headed out?” he asks, subconsciously fussing with a belt loop. 

“Well, yeah, I was. But um, I was going to ask a favor from you, if that’s okay?” You must sound like a dumbass, speaking to this man for the very first time, only to ask him for something.

“Shoot,” Billy responds.

“Do you think it’d be okay for me to swim a few laps in the pool? I know it’s not open yet, and I haven’t even told you my name, but I promise not to be a bother or anything. I just kind of wanted a chance to swim when there was no one else around, you know?”

Billy finishes his drink and tosses the can in the recycling bin inches from your hip. It lands with a resounding ping. 

You start to think this was a very stupid idea, and that maybe you should’ve just kept yourself at home like always.

“You can totally say no—”

“Yeah, sure I don’t see why not—”

Your words clash together and the both of you start to laugh. You raise your hand, gesturing for him to continue his thought. 

“It’s fine by me if you swim a little. I doubt you’re gonna trash the place.” He grins at you, dimples forming in his cheeks. “I’m Billy, by the way.”

A heat rises up your neck and washes over the tips of your ears. You tell him your name and thank him for letting you bend the rules. 

“Ah, fuck the rules. It’s just a community pool,” he winks, opening up the gate for you and telling you to have at it. 

You’d put your one-piece on underneath your workout clothes this morning, and you try to ignore the prick of shame, even disgust, that you feel having put your body in it as you wade into the pool. 

The water is cool, and as it drenches you, you feel lighter, somehow. You swim out to the deep end and push off the wall with your toes, propelling yourself underwater and kicking for as long as you can go while holding your breath. 

The little girl that still lives within your soul leaps to the surface, giddy with each push off the wall, each stroke of your arms underneath the water. She is excited. Free. 

She isn’t thinking about what your stomach looks like in this swimsuit or how stupid you probably look with your sloppy swimming skills. 

You swim for maybe twenty minutes, or at least until your shoulders are aching. You kick over to the wall, hoisting yourself up just that little bit so you can prop your elbows up on the warming concrete. 

You feel so light here that it almost makes you forget why you came. 

You hear footsteps and Billy appears from around the corner, a fluffy white towel in hand. 

“You getting out? I figured I’d come and make sure you hadn’t drowned.” 

You giggle. The sound makes him smile, pearly white teeth on display. Your eyes are drawn to his, where the summer sun has multiplied his freckles so much that they blanket his nose and the tops of his cheeks, washing over his temples. 

“I appreciate you looking out for my safety,” you say, climbing up the short ladder. Billy holds out a hand to help you steady yourself as you stand. You’re hesitant to take it because you’re all wet, but your hand moves before your mind takes control. “Thank you.” You give him a shy smile.

He grins at you and hands you the towel. You wrap it around your shoulders and follow him back under the awning when he starts walking away. Billy leans up against the cold brick wall and you stand, a little nervously, in front of him, trying to think of what to say. 

“I’ll admit, uh, it’s been nice to see someone else here so early in the mornings.” Billy lets out a huff of a laugh. “I was gonna ask though, why’d you pick this shithole to workout in?”

You pull the damp towel tighter against your torso. “It’s a quiet shithole,” you say. “And this whole exercising thing is pretty new to me, you know? I didn’t want to be somewhere people could see me like that.”

You realize how self-deprecating that comment was, realize you’re being too upfront, and try to quickly cover your ass. “What about you?” you ask, daring to make eye contact just to make sure he’s not disturbed. 

“Well, it came with the job,” he laughs, “and I love working out. Always have. Plus, it might be a shitty place, but the older equipment is a lot better than what newer gyms are using. So it works for me.”

Huh. 

“Oh. Nice.” You chew on your thumbnail. What a fuckup you are. 

Billy tilts his head, trying to encourage your gaze to raise to his. “What just happened?” he asks, a teasing lilt to his voice. 

You look at him, his sunglasses pushed up into his hair and arms crossed in front of his chest. “It’s nothing…I just don’t really know what to say to someone who enjoys the gym? Who has a positive relationship with it and everything.”

A crease forms between Billy’s brows. “You’ve been crazy consistent with it, but you don’t like it?” He asks you, but based on your body language and how you’ve acted the past month every time you head out, everything adds up and Billy knows the answer before it even leaves your mouth. 

You shake your head, ashamed that you even brought this up. “No,” you laugh nervously. “I hate it. I only started because I’m unhappy with myself? So it’s more of a punishment than something that brings me joy.”

Billy’s chest squeezes at your words. That is exactly why he started working out all those years ago. To make himself stronger because he was ashamed his father had power over him. Because he wasn’t good enough for anyone, so out of anger he made himself more powerful.

But he doesn’t want you to feel that way. You shouldn’t be working out purely to punish yourself for some absurd reason your mind has come up with. 

And even though Billy has had very minimal interactions with you, he likes you. He wouldn’t wish the horrible thoughts he’s had for himself on anyone else, but he gets the feeling you already know. 

“Well, I’m not gonna berate you or nothin.’ But uh, if you ever want help, or want to workout together so it’s not so miserable, let me know alright?”

You smirk at him, hoping to make the situation a bit less awkward. “Are you implying you’re the reason working out would become less miserable?”

Billy laughs, glad to see you’re not totally opposed to the idea of him offering help. “Yeah. But really, you shouldn’t have to hate it y’know? If I can help you figure out not to hate it…I’d like to try. And we could get to know each other better.”

Billy fidgets with the lighter in his pocket. He’s weaned off cigarettes, but he keeps loads of lighters around so he has something to occupy his hands with. If not, it’s usually not a good situation for him to be in. 

Your heart squeezes at the genuine quality in his words. You feel like you’re a lost cause at this point, but there’s a big part of you, the soft and squishy and easily flustered one, that wants to take him up on this offer. 

You nod, wrapping up your towel so you can drop it in the bin and go get changed. “Okay. I’ll think about it, Billy. Promise.”

————

“One more.”

“I can’t, Billy. I told you, I’m not strong enough for this shit.”

You swear when you’re frustrated. Billy has learned that over the past few weeks. 

He crouches, leveling with you. Your knee bounces, the dumbbells in your hands sitting on the tops of your thighs. “Yes, you can. You’re already up to twenty-fives for your presses. Try one more for me and then you can rest a minute.”

Your eyes well with tears that you quickly blink away as you settle back against the bench. This is the point in a workout where you just start to hate yourself. You think it’s pointless, you know you’re body hasn’t changed enough, you feel like total shit—everything just feels fucked.

You use your knees to help lift the dumbbells and slowly lift them to the appropriate height, making sure to protect your shoulders like Billy taught you. You inhale and raise them up. Your arms are shaking, especially your non-dominant one which is really fighting this shoulder press, and you’re not sure you’ll be able to lift them fully until you do. 

“Fuck, yeah!” Billy’s voice reaches your ears just as you’re lowering your arms, completely out of breath. You set the dumbbells on the floor. 

Billy is thrilled for you. He can see the progress you’re making, how much stronger you are and less hesitant to try new exercises.

When you look up at him the expression on your face tells him you are not thrilled. 

“Hey, hey, hey, what’s the matter?”

You stand and walk over to the mirror that covers one whole wall. You put your hands on your hips and bite the inside of your cheek. “Billy, will you look at me, honestly?” You gesture to your body. “This is the matter. I don’t look any different than the first day I showed up here, do I? Even if I’ve been busting my ass, I’ll just never—”

You stop, rubbing your hands down your face and over your bloodshot eyes. 

“You’ll never what?” Billy locks eyes with you in the mirror. 

You set a hand on your chest, nails digging into your skin. “My body will never be good enough for me. I’ll always look at every other person that walks by, jealous that they have the figure I want and I’ll never have. Why did I have to get stuck with this shit? Why couldn’t I be given a body that I’d be happy with. Life if fucking hard enough, why couldn’t I have this one thing?”

“And you’re just so effortlessly gorgeous, you know that? I wish it was that easy for me, too. It’s just like, why am I even doing this anymore when I know I’ll never look the way other women do? I’m bullshitting myself, aren’t I, Billy? Working out like it’s gonna do anything.”

You exhale and drag your arm across your nose, avoiding Billy’s gaze. 

“Hey. Look at me.” Billy’s tone is firm. “Listen for a second, will you?”

“You are getting stronger. You’re using heavier weights all around. Shit, you’re up to fifty for your deadlifts. Hold your arm up for me—yeah, and squeeze, yep. Look at that.” 

He taps his index and middle finger on your bicep, on the bit of muscle you’ve grown and shape you’ve built. “You are absolutely not bullshitting yourself, you hear me? If anything, you’re bullshitting yourself by thinking you can’t be happy in this body. You don’t have to look like other women. Who the fuck put that idea in your head? I don’t know if you see how I look at you, but I think you’re gorgeous, and I love to see you becoming more comfortable in the movements you do, in your own strength. Your body does so fuckin’ much for you.”

Billy is still keeping eye contact with you in the mirror. You can feel the warmth of him behind you, and you swear you sweat more because you know he’s right and you know you are getting stronger but fuck you just can’t believe that. You look at him and you just wish you were that lithe, that comfortable in your own skin. 

“I’m doing this with you—hey, take a deep breath, alright?” He clocks the way you’re shaking out your hands, trying to keep yourself from breaking. Crying. Screaming out of frustration. “I’m doing this with you because I used to be just like this, you hear me?” 

He hates being vulnerable, fucking despises it, but he knows that giving you this information, giving you this little pathway into his life just might save you right now. 

“I worked out all through junior high and high school because I fuckin’ hated myself, and I thought if I could get bigger, if I could make myself look intimidating, then maybe other people wouldn’t treat me like shit. That part worked in some places, but I didn’t like myself any more because I hadn’t sorted through any of my mental shit.”

He says your name. Slowly. You like the way it sounds when he says it, hating the way it sounds when it leaves your own lips. 

“I know we aren’t all that close yet, but I see so much fuckin’ potential in you. I’m not gonna let you suffer with all this shit alone. I know you hate your body, but this is the one you were given, and there’s no point spending so much time destroying yourself over that simple fact.”

You turn around to face him, your hands on the sides of your neck, rubbing as if that will stop the emotion from rising in your throat. It doesn’t work. Billy’s eyes move back and forth between yours, across your face, tracking every change in your expression. He recognizes what you’re doing, trying to suppress all of this. 

“C’mere.”

You go before your mind can fight back. Billy takes you in his arms, tucking your face into his chest, resting his chin on your shoulder. 

You breathe unsteadily into his skin. You don’t care that he smells like sweat and you smell like sweat and that you’re shaking and tears are slipping from your eyes. His arms are strong, and the feeling of his biceps squeezing you closer, his hands running up and down your back, it makes it all feel like it’s okay. 

“It’s just so fucking hard, Billy,” you mumble, lifting your head up slightly. “It’s not fair. I just want to be pretty and normal and have a body I can accept like everyone else.”

Billy gently touches his index finger just below your chin, coaxing your gaze up to meet his. “I know it is. And I mean it when I say that you are pretty. Honestly, you gotta think about how many ‘pretty’ people there are out there, people who have the bodies the tabloids tell them to have—and are absolute dicks. Hell, that’s how I was in high school.”

Your eyes crinkle at the corners, signaling that he did get a little joy in you having admitted that, even if it’s not a full on smile. His thumb swipes down your cheek, mopping up the little track left by a tear. 

“Point is, this, what I’m holding right now, is your body. No one else would know it like you do, know how to take care of it, know where each mark has come from or each thing you’ve put it through. Each thing it’s gotten you through. You can accept it, because I’m going to help you get to a point where you can look in the mirror and not shit-talk yourself.”

You pull back a little, pressing the palms of your hands to your face, your elbows slightly poking the top of Billy’s rib cage. “I’m just so scared.”

“I got you, you hear me?” He pulls your shirt away from your collarbones just so it’s not sticking to your skin so much. “You don’t need to be scared. Not with me.”

You nod. And you keep doing that until it feels a little more believable. 

————

Billy can’t stop looking at you. 

And he really needs to focus before he runs off the sidewalk and into the road. 

But for the first time in the few months he’s known you, you look free. You look happy. You look all of these things and you’re running. There’s a baseball cap perched backwards on your head, one of his from forever ago that he lent (gave) you when you mentioned you didn’t have any. 

He can smell the sunscreen you’ve slathered all over yourself, see the sweat dripping down your spine. This is the first time you’ve felt brave enough to go out in just a sports bra and a cropped sweatshirt, bright colored biker shorts covering the tops of your thighs. Your frilly socks make it too, just because it shows how much more comfortable you’ve gotten with doing this. 

It turns out you never hated running. You just needed to do it in a different atmosphere, with different thoughts running through your head. And having a good running partner helps, too. 

“There’s a bench up here if you want to rest a second before we finish,” Billy says through a rather aggressive exhale. You’re glad the sun is setting, because that makes it so much cooler than when you try to run in the morning with the sun beating down on you and seeping into your veins.

You sit down, taking a long drink from your water. Billy crouches on the sidewalk, shaking out his hair and retying the mess of a bun he was wearing. 

“You’re doing so good today,” he tells you, winking at you from his place just a few inches to your left. 

You grin into your water bottle. “How long was that?” you ask. 

He rises and sits down next to you, his arm slung behind your back on the bench. His thumb brushes the shell of your ear, rubs over the little hoop you’re wearing. You watch as he does a little math in his head, checking out where exactly you are. “Little over two miles, bee.” 

Bee. Your heart skips every time he says that. It’s a very new thing, but it sort of slipped out one day, and you’ve loved it ever since. 

“What movie you wanna see this weekend, honeybee? My treat.”

When you’d asked why he chose that name for you, he’d teased at first, telling you it was just because you’re so damn sweet. But really it was a little more sappy than that. 

“Well, you are sweet. And bubbly when you want to be. But think about how much shit those little fuckers get done. How persistent and focused. They’re all cute and fuzzy n’ whatever, but they’re like, badass lil’ things, y’know?” 

Your knee bounces excitedly on the pavement. “Really?” That’s the farthest you’ve run so far. And you didn’t even hate it. You had…fun.

Billy laughs, throwing his head back a little and bearing his neck to you. It shines with sweat and it almost looks like he’s glowing. “Fuck yeah. You’ve been kicking my ass this week. I hate running.”

“But you do it with me,” you say.

“But I do it with you.”

You reach over your shoulder and squeeze his hand. “I like running better when it’s with you. Just for the record.” He squeezes back, lifting your hand up gently to press his lips to it. 

“I’m proud of you, you know that?”

A crease forms between your brows as you meet his gaze. “What for?”

“For not giving up.” You start to argue with him, but he continues before you can belittle yourself even the slightest bit. “You’ve kept at this, at trying to get yourself stronger and to try and feel more comfortable in what your body can do. I know you probably still wish you looked like some fuckin’ model or some shit, but I can see how much you’ve eased up, you know?” 

You nod, giving him a small smile. “I do still wish that sometimes. It would be easier. But I’m getting better, I think. I hate to tell you you’re right—,” he shoots you that cocky, prideful grin, “but my body does do a lot for me. I’m starting to accept that it can do a lot for me…” 

You trail off, tapping the toes of your sneakers on the concrete below you. “And I did squat with the bar and those little plates yesterday without a spot.” 

The spot in question was watching you carefully from a few feet away, ready to sprint if you needed help. 

“Yes, you did, bee. You’re kicking ass.” That dimple forms in his cheek, and you know he’s about to say something smart. “Speaking of ass—”

You stand abruptly, turning around quickly so that the area he’s speaking of isn’t directly in his face. You’ve learned he has a staring problem, specifically with that part of you. Not that you mind. Maybe that’s where your pride comes in.

————

The sun has slipped beneath the horizon by the time Billy slips his key into the gate, pulling it securely shut behind him. The first spattering of stars are trying to show in the purple-blue sky. 

The pool is calm, empty, and lit only by the pale bulbs built into it and the two light poles on either side of the patio. 

It was Billy’s idea to sneak in for a late night swim. He thought it would be fun, and he knows you hate swimming in an overcrowded pool. But truthfully, he just wanted to give you another space where you could feel completely without judgment and just exist. 

“What’s the plan here, Billy? I didn’t even think about taking a detour to get a swimsuit.” 

It’s true, you’ve felt so carefree around him that you weren’t overthinking, overanalyzing a scenario like this. You weren’t worried about running inside and finding the most full coverage bathing suit you have because you’re afraid of Billy seeing your body. But right now…you just feel calm. Your body isn’t perfect, but it’s okay if he at least sees your legs. 

Billy is already slipping off his shoes and taking off his shirt. “That’s because the point of this is being spontaneous, bee.” He walks to the far end of the pool and dives in, just in his little running shorts, before you can even blink. 

You’re nervous, just that little bit because this is so different from something you’d usually do, and now you’re just stripping? You’re just living and having a good time? Who the fuck are you?

You step out of your own shorts and pull off your socks. You’re left in your underwear and your little cropped sweatshirt. You register, as you walk down the stairs, that your underwear are blue, and you look just like Lisa from Weird Science. It makes you smile. 

You track Billy’s movements once you're up to your waist and realize he’s heading for you. He squeezes your ankle beneath the water before coming to the surface, a wide grin on his face. His necklace is stuck around his back and on instinct you reach out to straighten it. 

His eyes drag up and down your figure. “Hi, gorgeous.” The low drawl of his voice makes the tips of your ears burn. 

You wade a little deeper into the water, circling behind him. When you’re drenched up to your chest, you splash him. Billy cackles. It is possibly the most joyous sound you’ve ever heard. 

He dives for your waist, hooking an arm around you and swimming off, making you howl with laughter before you have to hold your own breath when he pulls you out deeper than you are tall.

He hoists you up out of the water and gently tosses you to the side, letting you fall into the water on your back. The adrenaline coursing through your veins is magical. 

You keep playing with him, playing, like you’re both kids who’ve never been in a pool before, until you’ve run through most of your energy. You try and teach him a game you played as a child, where one person spreads their legs and your goal is to swim between them without touching their skin, even as they move their legs closer together each time. 

It’s silly, because you inevitably know you’ll touch your opponents legs, but it’s fun. You don’t think about anything else when you do it. He teases you though, trapping you with his calves most times so you automatically lose. 

Now though, you and Billy stand nose to nose, at a depth where you’re not up to your chin so that you can actually speak to him. “This was a really good idea,” you tell him. You push some of his wet hair out of his face and then, rather than pulling away, you set your hands on his shoulders. 

He wraps his arms around your waist. “This okay?” he asks, lowering one arm so he can show you he wants to lift you up. You give him a sweet yes. 

Billy’s hand grips your thigh, coaxing you upward so you can get your legs around his back. You adjust your arms behind his head, him respectfully keeping his hands on the backs of your thighs. He steps back just that little bit more so he can submerge himself further in the water now that you’re held up. 

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you smile for this long before,” Billy says. His blue eyes flick back and forth between your own. 

“You’ve given me a lot more reasons to.” Your hand cups his cheek and he swears he could fucking collapse. You’re so gentle with him and Billy never knew he even wanted that. But now he craves it. Craves you. 

That cocky smirk you’ve started to recognize before it even begins makes an appearance. “Yeah? Can I give you one more reason to?”

You hum in agreement, and then Billy is pressing his lips to yours. They’re damp and he tastes a little like chlorine, but…he was right. You smile brilliantly into the kiss, and you’re not sure you stop the rest of the night either. 

————

please let me know if you liked this! feedback is always appreciated!! comments and reblogs mean more than you know. <33

note: none of the gifs or images i use are mine! i get most of my images from pinterest or here, and gifs from about the same. please let me know if i ever don’t credit someone properly!

[sweetnans]

Bakugo x reader. Established relationships, roast/goofy with each other. Fluff? Idk

Note: Please pardon if I misspelled something, english is not my first language ♡ Enjoy whatever this is :)

It was your favorite time of the day, finally bedtime. The best part of it was that Bakugo finished early at work-like he never does- so it'll be the two of you instead of only you in bed.

After a good meal that he made himself, the two of you went straight to the bathroom of your shared bedroom and started to prepare for bed.

"The floor is cold" You tip toed from the cold tile of the bathroom to your side of the bed.

He only hums in response.

Once you were under the sheets of the bed and curled up against you boyfriend is when started.

"Please, don't put your hand above my belly" you asked shutting your eyes, ready to catch sleep.

"Why's that?" He responded, his voice clearly off because of your comment.

"I'm about to piss myself"

He grunted. Same thing all nights.

"No fucking way we're doing this again, go back"

"I don't want to, its cold outside"

"I'm not waking up in the middle of the night soaking wet for your childish manners"

"Fine"

You ran to the bathroom. Winter in Japan was the worst, he could back you up in that but not this time when his comfort was part of the game.

In your way back to your bed you saw him sit up straight leaned against  the bed frame with the biggest scold you've ever seen.

"What?" You asked completely quiet in your place. Being cold is a mental state after all.

"What are you wearing?" He even turned the light on to see clearly who's face was on your t-shirt.

"Oh, this?" You pointed straight to Midoriya's face. "It came to my office today in the mail, the fabric felt nice in my fingers so I concluded that it must feel nice to sleep on it...you like it? do you want one? I could definitely do that for you" You teased. His face showed exactly the otherwise.

"I hate it, take it off" He turned off the light and put himself back on the bed.

"You wish" you snorted. His commands were nothing to you. "Besides, you love having us, me and Deku, in your bed"

"Tch, I don't know which one of you I hate more"

When you were done and once again in the bed he started to move his body against your back.

"Put your feet between my legs if you're cold" He mumbled out.

"Nope. You rubbed your feet against mine last time and it felt weird.

"Jesus fucking christ, you're terrible" He grunted obviously annoyed, it made you giggle.

After a while when you started to believe that he was asleep, he started to rub his nose against your hair.

"Did you use my hair products?" He asked.

"No" It was a weird question but you were practically usted to it, 5 years into the relationship took out the best of Katsuki even the bad parts.

"Good"

"You're such an only child" you removed yourself from his arms. "Selfish bastard" You joked.

"I'm smelling myself all day so when I come home I expect to smell you and smell something different than myself...I like your smell"

"You're right" You let him win because you were tired. He envolved his arms around your body and you started to draw imaginary patterns in his hands. "Why am I dating such a loser?" You mumble loud enough so he can hear you hoping that you could get under his skin.

"Why did I marry you in the first place?"

You furrowed your brows knitting them together over your nose.

"We are not married" Not that you care.

He hummed in positive.

"And I'm not a loser".

You can't help but laugh. You made it. You got under his skin.

Do not edit or reupload my works elsewhere! All rights reserved.

[petew21-blog]

I hate myself

I just hate my reflection now so much. His face looking back at me. I know it's my reflection now, but I still can't get used to it.

I never planned on swapping bodies with Zahir. But after what my father did, I had no choice

My father was not always a good parent, but he was great with money. He established a very fine hotel, which he planned on turning into a family business. None of my siblings were interested, because they all had their lives and their jobs. My siblings are all much older than me. I was foolish enough to think that they didn't want to help my father. But after many years of helping out instead of studying, I found out throughout that my father was a monster. He never treated people with respect, bullied his employees, and had many homophobic and transphobic comments to people, which didn't help the business, but he didn't really care as long as he had enough income.

I was closeted. And afraid to come out to my father. I knew our relationship would change after that, and I was right. After coming out to me, he never treated me the same. But he still kept me around to help him. Again, I was too naive to think that he was trying to be a better person. Nope. He got himself a new wife to impregnate and get another son. And after that he disowned me. As if I was nothing. As if I didn't help him enough to hold the place together.

I was furious and depressed. I kept checking the news of the hotel every single time I had a bit of free time. He pretended that he managed well, but it was all crumbling. And then he promoted Zahir. One of my friends who worked his way to the top by kissing ass and lying. Sorry, ex-friends now. He presented my ideas for the hotel as his own the second I left the building.

I hated him. I hated both of them from that moment. Revenge was on my mind daily now, but I had no idea how I would even attempt that.

I stumbled upon a website. It claimed to change your life for the better. Yes, you needed to pay a LOT. But I was desperate. I'm sure you understand. I sent the money and waited

I felt a nauseating feeling in my stomach. I closed my eyes. Something was happening.

I opened my eyes. YESSSS. I was back in my apartement at the hotel. Fuck yeah. It worked. I have my life back

But then I noticed some of my stuff was misplaced. The paintings on the walls were down, much more garbage on the ground than I was used to. I had a really bad feeling. I looked down

"What the fuck" a strange voice now escaped my throat. Manly, but not mine. And down below was a different view than I was used to.

Abs. I never had abs. I would kill to have abs like these, cause the gay community is so toxic about your body.

But I knew this wasn't my body. The skin was darker than my own. Maybe the website gave me a better body along with improved life

I went to the bathroom. And the second I saw my body I thought I was gonna vomit right at that spot.

Zahir

Fuckin' Zahir

That stupid freaking website turned me into Zahir

This must be a horrible joke. I turned into my enemy. A homophobic fucker who worships my father.

I looked at myself. His curly hair, his beard. I have to admit Zahir is not a bad looking guy. Maybe it could be good to be in his body. He is hot, has a great body. Maybe I could score some cute guys looking like this. And maybe I could convince my father to let me take over the hotel. I would be happier and so would my father

Ok, let's see what this body can do

I took off my new clothes. Zahir's hairy legs, hairy balls and a pretty nice dick were now available for me to explore. I entered the hot shower.

I flexed the muscles. "Oh yeah. Not bad" I touched every ridge that I now possessed. I sniffed my hairy armpits. The reeking smell hitting my nose. If I were in my body I would have been already hard at that moment

I got down to my dick. Playing with the foreskin. Feeling the weight of my new hairy balls. They were a bit larger than my own. I started jerking my new dick. Thinking about being in a new body and fucking some hot guy with it. But no matter how much I tried I couldn't get it hard.

"How do you like being impotent?" a very familiar voice could be heard behind me

I turned around and saw my old body standing in the doorway

"Zahir..."

"Not anymore, honey. I'm you now. I have to say, It's gonna get some getting used to being in your fat gay body, but nothing that a few regular trips to the gym wouldn't fix"

"Wait, you're okay with this?"

"Are you kidding? I'm now in the body of your father's heir. All I need to do is come to him and tell him I'm straight and sorry. He'll welcome me with open arms"

"Zahir, you can't do this. You can't ruin my life like this"

"Ruin your life? Honey, look at the body you now have. You should feel lucky to be looking like me. And I can't wait to tell your, sorry MY FATHER, about you stealing money and leaking secret information. He's gonna be so pissed when he finds out"

"I didn't steal anything. You can't just pin shit on my and expect it to work"

"Maybe you haven't, but I have. And I got all the evidence. Anyway, i see you're busy getting to know your... not really working manhood, thanks for that as well by the way. And I hope to never see you again. ZAHIR"

"So that's my story. That's why I hate looking at myself in the mirror"

"Right... Maybe start with something more believable next time I ask about your backstory"

"Whatever. You asked"

"Hey, the guy that was here the last time asked for you. He said that he would leave a good tip if he could piss on you"

"He knows damn well that it will cost him more. No tips will change that"

I took a shot of vodka. "Alright, let's do this. Gotta earn those money"

I looked back in the mirror at Zahir's face. God, I hate myself so much

[carakook]

Shut Up .・。.・゜✭・.

╔═*.·:·.✧ ✦ ✧.·:·.*═╗

“If I fuck you, will you calm the fuck down and listen to me?”

🔞FOR MATURE AUDIENCES🔞

Pairing: Kim Namjoon x Reader

Synopsis: After taking a job as a co-writer, you quickly find that you and your “boss” just don’t get along. Constantly butting heads, disagreeing on things, and he isn’t even nice about it. He’s a fucking dick. He’s always criticizing you in embarrassing ways, but you’ve tried to be patient, ride it out. Over the short time you’ve worked here, the tension has built quickly, and it is clear both of you cannot stand each other. Unfortunately, today is the day you reach your limit after he humiliates you in front of several of your coworkers… and the “conflict resolution” is definitely something you did not expect.

Genre: Enemies to lovers (or hookup in this case), workplace affair.

Pairings: Boss/Writer!Namjoon x Co-writer!Reader

Word count: 7.5k+

Warnings: 18+, Heavy smut!! Hate sex, protected sex (wrap it up), rough sex, face fucking, light slapping (not in the face), a bit of spit play, face fucking, cussing, crying (sort of), heavy conflict, degradation, arguing, name calling, a bit of teasing, cum eating? (Sort of), dry humping, face humping, being slapped with dick (lightly), Let me know if I missed anything!

⚠Disclaimer⚠:This story does not in any way reflect the character of those who are mentioned, it is totally fiction and just for fun. Please don’t take it seriously.

A/N: Hiiii! This is my first one shot. I’ve actually had it in my drafts for a long time but never posted it, I decided to finish it recently and post it here. I hope you like it! I love writing, have soooo many drafted one shots/full on fanfics with each of the boys. A looot of them are with Jungkook, can’t help myself. He’s my lover… 😭 Anyway, if you guys end up liking this I’ll post more. Thank you so much for reading if you do!

╚═*.·:·.✧ ✦ ✧.·:·.*═╝

.　 . • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆

There aren’t many things you regret in life. Because if you allow yourself to regret things, you overthink. Overthinking is never a good thing.

See, it wasn’t awful at first. But the moment you met Kim Namjoon, you could tell he had a problem with you. What? You didn’t know. You still don’t know. But he never bothered hiding it.

You powered through, because this was sort of like a dream job for you. You loved writing music, writing lyrics. It was hard to even find a job like this to begin with. So when you got the callback, you jumped at the chance. You were so excited to be working here, and you were familiar with Kim Namjoon. You thought his songs were beautiful, his writing style seemed similar to yours.

Boy, you were wrong.

Not even a week into working here he was heavily criticizing you. But again… you pushed through. Because you were new, he had a right to be picky. This was his studio, he was technically your boss… technically. So you tried to be patient and listen to his criticism.

Which didn’t last long. Because he was not subtle. Arguably, there is a difference between constructive criticism and being blatantly rude and picky. Namjoon was straight-up rude. And at times it was embarrassing.

Nothing you did seemed to satisfy him. Every single time you brainstormed with him and the team, he disagreed with you. Every time you proposed lyrics, he rejected your ideas. Every time you so as much opened your mouth, he had an issue with what you had to say.

You tried to be patient… you genuinely did. But you don’t like feeling disrespected or embarrassed. And you certainly don’t take shit from anyone. So the last two weeks you’ve both been bickering, and the tension is noticeable not only to you and Namjoon but to the entire damn team.

The worst part about it all? You are so fucking attracted to him. He makes your tummy swoop with butterflies. He smells good. He’s tall, his dimples are fucking adorable, and his body… god, he is to die for. The sexual tension is prominent.

If only he wasn’t such a dick.

Today pushed you to your limits. Never in your life have you been more embarrassed.

It all started with a song he was working on. He played the beat, and immediately you were inspired. You got excited. Your attitude was bright, and you immediately jotted the lyrics down on your paper when they came to mind. You seriously thought today would be the day he’d be proud. He would agree. You felt good about it.

Only for him to burst out laughing when he read the lyrics. That wasn’t even the worst part. It’s bad enough that he laughed at you in front of the entire team. But what he said next is what made you lose your shit.

“Oh- shit. You’re serious?”

He stared at you for a moment, taking in your very irritated expression. And then he fucking laughed again.

“Fuck, Y/N. I thought this was a joke. God, I wish it was a joke because it would be hilarious if it was. It sounds like a fucking kids-bop song. You can’t be serious.”

And that’s when all hell broke loose.

You went off on him. In front of everyone. For three minutes straight you cursed him out, waived your hands around, and made it clear how much you cannot stand him and how rude he has been. How humiliated you feel. You’ve always been praised for your writing, so why the fuck doesn’t he like it? You are fucking pissed.

Maybe it wasn’t a good idea to cuss your boss out in front of everyone… but at this point, you don’t care. If he gets you fired by the company, oh-fucking-well.

Namjoon stares at you for a moment once you’re done. Your chest is heaving, your cheeks are red, and your brows are furrowed angrily. Clearly, he didn’t expect your outburst. His nostrils are flared and his jaw is tense, it even does the little tick thing that drives you crazy. Fuck him for being so hot. Fuck him for being so damn hot and such a dick.

He raises a brow at you, tongue in cheek, making that angry face that would be incredibly attractive if it weren’t directed at you. He lets out an angry huff of air before speaking.

“Studio. Now.”

He points at his studio as he says this as if you’re too stupid to understand his words. This pisses you off even more.

“You’re not my fucking boss.”

He scoffs at you, briefly smiling at your bold choice of words. You infuriate him just as much as he infuriates you.

“Actually, Y/N, I am. Studio. Now.”

You know that technically, he is your boss. But you refuse to listen to him after how humiliated he made you feel. In front of everyone, how dare he speak to you this way? Regardless of his weird hate for you. Besides, he can’t fire you. He may be able to request it, but you know that he won’t. From what you’ve heard, It took forever to fill this position. He was picky when it came to hiring someone… which makes this more confusing. You can’t figure out what his issue is with you, especially when he is the one who helped pick you for the job. Regardless, you know that he doesn’t have the patience to do it again. He’s full of shit.

You stand your ground. You won’t back down this time. You’re tired of the disrespect.

“No, Namjoon. Whatever you want to say, you can say it here. You’ve already embarrassed me, so go ahead, do it some more. I’m sure you get off on it.”

No longer smiling, his gaze is dark. He’s pissed. Now he’s a bit embarrassed… that’s what he gets.

“I won’t ask again. You can march your ass upstairs, or I can carry you. Your choice.”

You say nothing, surely he wouldn’t do that. He’s bluffing. Regardless of how harsh he has been towards you, you know that he wouldn’t cross that line. You hope that he doesn’t. The last thing that you want is for him to touch you. Not because he makes you uncomfortable, but because you already have enough dirty thoughts about him. You hate him, yet he turns you on in a way you’ve never felt. Lust driven by pure hatred, it’s a dangerous thing.

But of course, you were wrong, and he never ceases to surprise you. Never underestimate Kim Namjoon.

You stay silent, secretly hoping that he will just back down and continue the brainstorming session. But is Kim Namjoon the type of man to back down? No. He never has been.

He strides over to you quickly, taking big steps in your direction, causing you to miss your chance to run.

He swiftly grabs your waist and hoists you over his shoulder, his fingers digging into your thighs. You don’t even have time to react before he starts carrying you upstairs to the studio. He has no trouble doing so either, carrying you as if you weigh nothing.

You come to your senses and swat at his back while you yell profanities at him, demanding that he put you down, threatening to report him, and telling him that he’ll be fired by morning if he doesn’t stop.

But you know that he won’t. This company would never side with you, no matter what Namjoon did. They relied on him. They didn’t rely on you. You were replaceable, even if it would be difficult. Namjoon is not replaceable.

“Resume the session. If you finish before we’re done, you’re free to go. This may take a while. Don’t interrupt us.”

Hurried nods are sent in his direction, no one dares protest him or intervene. Cowards.

He kicks the door open to the studio, entering with ease, making sure not to hit your head on the doorframe as he walks in. You wish he would have hit your head, knocked you out, hell even thrown you over the staircase. Anything to avoid this humiliation he has cursed you with. You almost wish you would’ve just kept your damn mouth shut.

But the damage is done now. No point in backing down.

He throws you roughly on the couch sitting opposite his desk and then closes the door, locking it before facing you.

You glare at him, chest heaving, heart beating out of your chest. You’re just as pissed as he is. Yet, you still find yourself clenching your thighs together, irritated at the fact that he turns you on so much. You shouldn’t be horny right now… yet you are. The way he squeezed your thighs… fuck. Fuck him. God, fuck him to hell. You hate him.

“What the fuck was that?” You nearly growl at him.

He stands in front of you, arms crossed, looking down on you as if you’re nothing more than a pesky roach that he wants to squash.

“I told you, you could walk, or I could carry you. You made your choice, clearly.”

Fuck him.

“Fuck you, Namjoon. This is ridiculous.”

He laughs. He laughs at you.

Fuck him.

“You are ridiculous, Y/N. Why are you even here, if you can’t take criticism?”

“Are you fucking kidding me? I can take criticism, constructive criticism, something that you are apparently incapable of giving. You’re so fucking mean to me and I’ve done NOTHING to you.”

“No, I-“

You cut him off, unable to control your mouth.

“And another thing, it’s only me that you speak to this way. I’ve yet to see you speak to anyone else the way that you do me. What is your issue with me, why do you hate me so much?”

“Maybe if you-“

You cut him off again, and his jaw does the tick thing. He’s getting angrier, but you do not give a fuck.

“No, this isn’t on me. I earned my spot here, I was hired for a reason, and everyone else respects me, why don’t you?”

“Because-“

Again.

Fuck him.

“There is no reason, you obviously have some sort of sick vendetta against me. You’re fucking insufferable!”

“Me? No, you-“

Again.

And he’s had enough.

“No, fuck you Namjoon, fuck you and this weird ass game you’re playing, you—“

He borderline growls before he pins you on the couch.

You don’t even have time to register what he’s doing, and if you did, you’d slap the shit out of him.

That’s what you tell yourself, anyway.

His lips crash into yours as he hovers over you, one knee perched in between your legs, while his other leg steadies him. He grabs your face with force, so rough that you swear he could break your jaw if he gripped you any harder. His other hand is on the back of the couch, steadying him the same and pinning you in place.

The kiss is no different. His lips assault yours, and he wastes no time in forcing his tongue into your mouth. He kisses you with vigor. A kiss unlike any you’ve ever experienced before. You’ve only ever been kissed like this in your dreams, the same dreams that wake you up in the middle of the night leaving you touch-starved. It’s fucking aggressive and rough.

And of course, you kiss him back. You don’t want to. Yet you do. You don’t want to give in to him. But you do. You can’t help it. As soon as he made his move, you were under his control. He has that way about him, he’s easily able to affect people. You were a different story. You always defied him, disagreed with him, challenged him. Yet, this is the way that he tames you, even if only for a minute. Shit. You’re weaker than you thought.

He nips your bottom lip before pulling back, your jaw still in his grip. His nostrils are flared and his breathing is rigid, as if he’s just as shocked as you are at his actions.

And he is. He has no idea why he just kissed you. He has no idea what came over him. He just wanted you to shut the fuck up, and he acted on impulse. And now he has a raging hard-on, which pisses him off even more. He doesn’t want to want you, in the same way that you don’t want to want him. But you both do.

He whispers, searching your face, studying your reaction.

“Do you ever just shut the fuck up and listen?”

You clear your throat, still trying to come down from the rush of the kiss, adrenaline running through your veins.

“I-“

“Do you know how fucking irritated you make me?”

Suddenly, you have no fight left in you. You feel intimidated. Fuck him.

“Then why-“

“Am I gonna have to kiss you every time you need to shut the fuck up?”

You blink at him, unable to respond. You have no idea what to do, or how to react, and are becoming distracted by the puddle seeping between your thighs.

You haven’t had sex in over a year. You haven’t been able to grow interest in someone enough to give them that piece of yourself again. Your last situation-ship left you simply sick of men. Sex wasn’t appealing enough to go through that again. But, of course, as if the universe is punishing you, Namjoon awakens your sex drive.

You nervously bite your lip and clench your thighs, not even realizing what you’re doing. You’re on the verge of tears, overwhelmed with anger and lust. And this doesn’t go unnoticed by Namjoon.

He looks down at your thighs, and you immediately unclench them. Your cheeks betray you by reddening, thanks to the smirk that very clearly gives away that he knows exactly what you’re feeling right now.

He keeps his eyes on your thighs for a moment before looking up at you. He smirks, raising a brow, giving you a crooked smile that tells you he knows your dirty little secret. Your jaw is still firmly in his grasp.

“Is that it? You’re sexually frustrated? Is that why you’re being such a bitch?”

You try to wriggle from his grasp, embarrassed, angry, horny. You’re starting to wish he would just fire you. Anything to save you the embarrassment of his knowing glare.

“Fuck you.”

He chuckles, bringing his face closer to yours, so close that you can feel his breath touch your lips.

“Yeah? Fuck me? If I fuck you, will you calm the fuck down and listen to me?”

You blink at him again and say nothing. You want to protest, tell him how gross he is, tell him how much you hate him, tell him that he’s the worst. Yet, his idea just makes you hornier. You’ve never had hate sex, and oh fuck, you’re sure that it would improve your mood, even some of the tension between you two.

But it pains you to even admit that. It’s humiliating. He has humiliated you enough.

He moves his hand to the back of your head, angling it upwards so that he has better access to your neck. He places his lips on your jaw, running his teeth up it, leading to the crook of your neck, keeping his lips on you as he speaks his next words.

He grabs your wrist with his other hand, leading it to his crotch, coaxing you to feel him. And he’s hard. So hard that you’re certain a button will break on his jeans. Fuck. He feels giant… You’re so fucked.

“Do you see what you do to me? Never in my life have I had anyone piss me off to the point of getting a fucking boner.”

You can’t help but whimper at his dirty words, but you make sure to bite your lip, preventing yourself from begging him to take you as you so desperately want to. You aren’t one to beg for anything. And you hate him even more for bringing you to that point.

“I’ve thought about fucking you so many times, Y/N. Fucking you to the point that you don’t even remember your own name, and my name is the only thing that you can scream. I just wanna fuck you until you shut the fuck up.”

“Please, just… do it then.”

Word vomit. You thought it but didn’t intend to say it. Yet, you said it. Of course, you did. You’re on the brink of cumming just from his filthy words.

He kisses your neck before speaking. And you can feel him smile as he does so.

Fuck him.

“Oh, Y/N, baby, hearing you beg makes it so tempting. I never thought you’d be the type, considering the amount of shit you talk.”

You croak out, suddenly feeling defensive, “I’m not. I don’t beg for shit.” You weakly push at his chest, even though you both know damn well you don’t want him to stop.

He laughs, pulling back to look at you, keeping his face close.

“Yet, here you are, begging for my cock like a desperate whore.”

You frown at him, feigning offense, when in reality his degradation is making you even more desperate. Why? You don’t know. You’ve never liked being degraded, in fact, nothing turns you off more than being called names… but hearing it come out of Namjoon's mouth? Fuck.

“I’m not a whore.” You whisper.

He tilts his head at you, amused.

“Fucking obviously, you’re acting like you’ve never been touched before. Are you this needy with other men?”

“There are no other men.”

He studies you for a moment, carefully calculating his next move. The way that he looks at you makes you feel insecure, as if he’s a judge on one of those cooking shows, trying to figure out whether he likes the taste of you or not. You have the urge to push him away and take off, his gaze is too goddamn intense.

He is too intense. Never met a man like him.

“Stop looking at me like that.” You mumble, looking away from him.

“Like what?” He asks, furrowing his brows. Amused.

“Like you think I’m the most vile thing on earth.”

He’s taken aback by your response, almost looking offended. Because that is the last thing he was thinking. If only you knew.

“Vile? Baby, I’m so hard for you right now that it hurts, do you know how hot you are when you’re pissed? Fucking annoying, but soooo hot.”

You squirm, your cheeks pinking again. You didn’t expect that. You expected him to laugh in your face and agree. He grunts as he takes in your facial expression. If only you knew what you truthfully do to him. He closes his eyes and scrunches his brows, taking a deep breath before he pulls away from you, leaving you considering getting on your damn knees and begging for him to touch you again.

He chuckles while shaking his head, eyes still closed as he speaks. As if he’s in pain from pulling away from you.

“Yeah, fuck, and you’re cute when you blush. This is fucked. I can’t stand you, yet you’re so fucking cute. What the fuck are you doing to me? Huh?”

Fuck. He’s making this hard. You’re so overwhelmed. So pissed, so horny, you wanna push him away and cuss him out some more, but also you’ve never wanted another man more in your life than you do him right now.

Both of you stare at each other silently for a moment. His jaw keeps doing the tick thing, and you squeeze your thighs tighter, rubbing them together to relieve some pressure. His eyes flick to them, and you don’t even bother hiding it this time. As humiliating as it is, his cock is hard and bulging out of his jeans. So you can’t find yourself caring too much at the moment.

What really makes his resolve waver is the way you’re looking at him, which you don’t even realize. Normally you look at him with such disdain, as if he’s the vile one. But right now? Your eyes are wide and glossy, your lip stuck between your teeth. You’re looking at him almost sweetly. The desperation in your gaze is impossible to hide.

He loses it completely.

“Ah, fuck it.” He declares before grabbing you by your hair again as he sits on the couch. He tugs you roughly into his lap and starts devouring your mouth again.

You let out a little huff of air as he does this, not quite used to the rough handling. But god, it’s fucking divine. You feel as if all of the anger you’ve held for him comes rushing out in the form of kisses and touches. He feels the same.

His hand leaves your hair and he grips your hips, roughly grinding his hard cock onto your pussy. Dry humping like fucking teenagers as you make out aggressively.

Your hands come to rest on his face, framing it as they tremble slightly from the overwhelming emotions. You don’t hold back this time either, licking into his mouth wantonly, letting out little grunts and mewls that make his cock strain and twitch inside of his jeans.

His hands leave your hips to grip your ass, and he fucking groans into your mouth. He slaps it once, testing. When you let out a whine, he slaps it much harder this time, making your body jerk slightly.

He laughs into your mouth and says breathily, “Fuck, you really are a whore aren’t you?”

You bite his lip hard when he says this. You hate it. You love it. You grind down harder onto his clothed cock. He reaches back up to grip your hair and tugs your head back, pulling on it harshly and pulling you away from his mouth.

He grins when he hears you whine at the loss of his lips. “You wanna fucking bite me, huh? Uh-uh, fuck no you don’t.”

He pushes you off of his lap and lets go of your hair, you look up at him with heavy-lidded eyes and confusion. Honestly, you already look fucked out and he’s barely done anything. You’re just touch-starved, so every little kiss and touch is fucking you up. You’re craving relief from both your sexual frustration and the building irritation he’s caused you over the last month.

Before you even realize what he’s about to do, he grabs your hair again, his grip much firmer this time. It actually kind of hurts… yet you don’t stop him. He pushes your face roughly into his clothed cock, and grinds onto your face as he spreads his legs wider on the couch.

Oh fuck.

He grunts as he starts nearly smothering you. When he feels a bit of your drool gets onto his crotch, he yanks your head back, he laughs again, “Bet your big fucking mouth is great at sucking cock. Should we find out?”

You just glare at him. Don’t wanna give him the satisfaction even though every single thing he has done so far has made you borderline cream your pants.

He clicks his tongue, “No? Don’t have anything to say now? Isn’t that funny…”

Fuck him.

He keeps his grip tight on your hair as he uses his other hand to fumble with his zipper and button. Once it’s undone, he whips his cock out. It hits the fabric of his rumpled shirt and is already dripping precum.

Holy. Fuck. His cock is huge. A good nine inches.

He yanks your head forward again, literally smearing your face all over it, humping your face again. His head falls back and he grunts at the feeling. Your skin is just so soft, and the way your makeup is already becoming fucked up is making him go crazy. He’s always loved sloppy sex. And you are fucking gorgeous like this, he thinks.

He grabs his cock with his free hand as he tilts your head back, starts slapping your mouth with it, your cheeks too. The precum starts stringing from your cheek to the tip of his cock, and you can see his pupils dilate even bigger, he almost looks like he’s about to lose control.

He says uncharacteristically softly, “If you want me to stop, pinch my thigh real hard, yeah?”

If you had even a single moment of free thought, you would’ve probably been thankful that he gave you an out. You know despite him being a huge piece of work, he’s not a bad guy. So the fact he’s setting boundaries in your favor, even in the heat of the moment, is comforting. He cares about your safety and comfort. It’s the bare minimum of course, but most men lack even that. It’s why you stopped having casual sex to begin with.

But you don’t have a moment to think because pushes your lips down onto his cock abruptly, your mouth opens on instinct and he shoves himself inside. Doesn’t even ease into it, he just straight up plows his cock inside of your mouth until your nose is pressed against his pelvis.

You cough, and gag, already drooling all over him. Fuck it’s hot. You’ve never been face fucked like this before, but you’re starting to think maybe you’ve been missing out on good sex if this is how good rough sex feels.

You can’t even imagine what his cock would feel like inside of you if it feels this good in your mouth.

When he sees tears start to form, he pulls your hair back, strings of spit and precum connecting from your mouth and onto the tip of his cock. Fuck, it felt so good feeling your throat constrict around his cock. His resolve is wavering heavily. But he’s trying to remain patient. He smirks at you, stroking his spit-covered cock lazily directly onto your lips, causing beads of precum to escape his tip and cover your lips like lipgloss.

“Fuck, look at you. And you haven’t said a damn word. So pretty when you shut up.”

Your cheeks flush and you say petulantly, “Fuck you.” Because even now you don’t wanna give him the satisfaction.

That’s short-lived though because he starts fucking your mouth again. He shoves his cock inside and starts thrusting into your mouth as if it’s a goddamn sex toy. He hits the back of your throat with every thrust, causing you to gag and cough, your hands squeezing his thighs hard but not pinching.

You can take it.

He grunts out, “Fuck… I swear to god I’ll fuck your pretty little mouth every goddamn time you mouth off from now on Y/N, since nothing else has worked so far.”

Each word punctuated by a harsh thrust, he grunts our, “Just shut. the. fuck. up. Fuuuck.”

He keeps fucking up into your mouth, not easing up even for a second. Your eyes roll back in your head, and all you can do is take it. His thrusts only become sloppier and wetter. His head is thrown back and his abdomen starts clenching hard. But he knows you need to breathe. As much as he wishes he could just cum down your throat; he has other plans…

He pulls your head back again, he’s already feeling a bit too close to cumming. He doesn’t wanna cum too fast, he’s certain it would give you more to talk shit about.

He gazes down at you with heavy-lidded eyes, his mouth parted slightly and his breaths coming in fast. You look utterly fucked. Your makeup is ruined completely now, your eyes are red and teary, and your pretty pink lips are swollen. His stomach flutters, because he thinks you have never looked prettier.

He’s always thought you were so pretty. It’s one of the reasons he can’t stand you. He isn’t supposed to want you. You’re his coworker, technically his subordinate.

But none of that matters now, does it?

He doesn’t look much better, his shirt is covered in wet spit and his boxers are ruined too. He should’ve taken his clothes off… but luckily, he thinks it’s so much hotter this way.

His cock twitches against his belly, and he strokes your cheek with his free hand. He murmurs, “You good?”

You nod stupidly at him even as drool dribbles down your chin and your mascara runs onto your cheeks. There’s nothing to say really. You’ve never enjoyed having a dick down your throat so much. And he has effectively shut you up.

He nods and guides your head up, kisses you deeply. His eyes roll back as he tastes his precum on your tongue. So fucking good, he thinks.

He guides your pliant body to lay down on the couch, and then he settles in between your legs, his hands stroking up and down your thighs as he looks you over. God, there is so much he wants to do to you. He wants to use you but also wants to make you come undone as many times as possible.

Maybe then you’ll be more tolerable. Maybe this is what you both need, he rationalizes.

But he’s getting impatient. His cock is standing tall as he looks down at you, visibly pulsating, jerking upward now and then. And fuck, it’s making you impatient too. So much so that you whine at him, “Fuck, stop looking and just do something.”

His jaw ticks. He’s getting irritated. That’s what you think, anyway. But in reality, he’s preening on the fact you’re just as impatient as he is. It gives him an excuse to cut the foreplay and fuck you stupid.

You want him to do something? Oh, he will.

He lets out an almost mocking laugh, “Yeah? Want me to do something about it? You sure?”

You groan and roll your eyes at him, scooting your ass closer to his pelvis on the couch, his cock dripping so much precum, you have no idea how he’s not losing his mind right now. You certainly are. In fact, he’s starting to piss you off again.

Right as you’re about to talk shit, he can immediately tell. He grabs the front of your button-up and he rips it open. Doesn’t unbutton it like a normal person, but fucking rips it open, sending buttons flying on the floor of the studio. You let out a grunt, and blink at him in surprise with your mouth open.

You liked that shirt. Fuck him.

“Fucking seriously? You’re ruining my clothes now?”

Your patience is almost nonexistent at this point. You have drool and precum drying on your chin, you’re so horny it hurts, and he just ripped your shirt open like a wild fucking animal.

But him? It’s like he’s not even paying attention. His eyes are averted downward, tongue flicking over his lips. He looks almost stupid like this. What the fuck?

You look down to see what he’s gawking at, and… Oh. Oh. Kinda slipped your mind that you aren’t wearing a bra today. You were running late this morning and forgot to throw one on. Oops.

Namjoon doesn’t even look at your face at this point. His eyes are glued to your tits. He feels kind of ridiculous, getting this worked up over tits. He’s seen tits many times, it’s nothing new. But something about yours has him salivating, has his cock jerking upward.

He reaches down and starts lightly slapping the sides of your tits, watching them jiggle with a gaze full of hunger, he rasps out, “Not the only thing I’m gonna be ruining.”

One hand remains playing with your tits like they’re fucking stress balls, and Namjoon would argue that they absolutely are. The other hand reaches down and lifts your skirt, causing it to pool around your waist. He looks down a bit further, begrudgingly tearing his eyes away from your perfect tits, his other hand pushing your ruined panties to the side. He groans, nearly growls when he notices how wet you are. Fuck. He’s so close to losing control.

He dips a single finger into your sopping heat, just barely. Moves the creamy juices around before pushing his finger fully inside, squeezing your tit hard in his other hand. Your hips buck up involuntarily and your head falls back against the couch. You fucking hate yourself for the desperate noise that claws out of your throat.

Namjoon is no better, the moment he feels how wet you truly are, he lets a sound that sounds no better than the one you just let out. His breathing picks up, his heart starts beating faster, and his cock is so hard at this point that it’s actually painful. God, you are just so tight. Your pussy is clenching around his finger as if it’s trying to swallow him whole.

“N-Namjoon— please. Fuck. Please.” You beg again, don’t even care how pathetic you sound. A single fucking finger isn’t enough for how badly you want him right now. Want to be filled up and fucked hard. He’s barely moving it too. Just lightly grazing your walls, and it’s so frustrating. You just want to cum. Get it all out.

Namjoons resolve finally breaks when he sees a trickle of creamy white drip out of your pussy and onto the couch, he can’t take it anymore. He genuinely wanted to tease you, make a fucking mess of you. Make you beg and cry for him because of how much you piss him off. But not even he is strong enough to stall, he needs you. Now.

One last slap to the tit, he pulls his hand away and hastily reaches over for his wallet on the side table next to the couch. He pulls a condom out, brings the wrapper up to his mouth, and tears it open. And fuck, that’s so sexy. Your pussy clenches his finger again at the sight, and then he jerks it out of your pussy with a grunt.

You whine at him, almost feeling offended. But Namjoon knows damn well he’s going a little crazy because he just got jealous. Jealous of his own fucking finger. Should be his cock, not his finger. What the fuck are you doing to him?

He doesn’t warn you before he stuffs the same finger, accompanied by another finger, into your mouth. Nearly making you choke just like you did on his cock. Then he tosses the wrapped condom onto your bare chest, “Put it on me. Quick.”

You don’t even hesitate, you grab the condom with shakey hands and fumble it out of the package, all while sucking his fingers clean of your own juices. It only turns you on more, tasting yourself on his skin.

You reach for his cock, grab it with one shaky hand and his hips buck into it a bit. He lets out a little hiss through his teeth because of how sensitive it is, neglected for too long. That’s how it feels, anyway.

You roll the condom onto his cock snuggly and then look up at him expectantly with a desperate but wrecked look. Give him the best ‘fuck me’ eyes you can muster up. He keeps his fingers in your mouth. Doesn’t even move. Again, drawing it out. Attempting to, anyway.

You whine against his fingers, and would probably be begging him if you could talk. But Namjoon can’t take it anymore, lucky for you. He moves his hips forward and uses his free hand to position his cock at your entrance.

The moment the tip is sucked into your tight hole, he snaps. Literally, he snaps his hips forward, burying himself to the hilt. You cry out even with your mouth around his fingers, sounding muffled and wet. Your back arched obscenely because fuck you didn’t expect him to just go in like that.

You’re not complaining though, fuck no.

His head falls back like yours, and he stays like that for a moment, his teeth grit and eyes clenched shut. He removes his fingers from your mouth and grabs your face with one hand, smooshing your cheeks, the other hand coming back up to your tit and squeezing it harshly, as if he just can’t help himself. Squeezing so hard that it kinda hurts. But fuck, it feels so good. You’re starting to realize maybe you have a thing for shit like this.

Doesn’t help when you feel his cock twitching inside of you. It’s just enough stimulation to make your pussy start throbbing around him.

It’s pathetic how close you already are. But god, it feels like he edged you for hours. Even though he barely did anything. You guess you just kinda forgot what actual dick felt like compared to your fingers or a toy.

He starts moving his hips slowly, trying to be patient while your pussy adjusts to his size. But your patience left the moment he entered you.

“Fuck. Go faster, please.”

Your voice sounds high-pitched and a bit loud which you don’t even realize. You can’t control it. He clicks his tongue at this, gives your face a little shake as he says, “Thought I told you to shut the fuck up? Unless you want all of your coworkers to know you’re letting your boss fuck the shit out of you like a whore? That what you want?”

He pulls back out and then slams in again. You let out another cry, body jolting at the force. And he starts just pounding into you.

You asked for this.

How the fuck are you supposed to be quiet when he goes from 0 to 100 like that? Holy fuck.

“Oh, so you do? You want them all to know I’m making you my slut after humiliating you for your shitty writing? C’mon, speak up. Can’t hear you. Use your fucking words.”

All while snapping his hips harshly into yours, out one moment, deep inside the next. You can barely take it. You swear you can feel him in your fucking stomach. Hardly even register his degrading words because you can’t think, can’t speak, can’t even control the loud noises coming out of your mouth, although you desperately try.

Tears prickle your eyes, not because it hurts but because you’re overwhelmed. He’s so hard to figure out. Acting like he’s gonna tease you one moment, and then fucking you like he’s trying to split you in half the next.

He lets out a grunt at your lack of response and ends up squishing your cheeks harder, forcing your mouth open. He leans down slightly and fucking spits in your mouth and then stuffs his fingers back in your mouth, “Actually, just shut the fuck up. Keep your mouth busy and shut the fuck— ah, fuck— the fuck up.”

Fucking disgusting. Fucking hot.

The way his words falter and he loses train of thought for a second makes your pussy clench deliciously around him. Because it’s confirmation that he is just as affected as you are. Just as fucked up right now.

You both look a mess. Your shirt is torn open, your skirt all crooked and pushed up to your waist, and your panties aren’t even fully off. His shirt is still damp with spit, his pants only halfway pulled down and now there’s a creamy white stain on the front of them from your juices dripping down his dick.

It’s heaven, honestly. Or maybe hell. You aren’t sure. But it feels so fucking good.

His hips piston into your cunt hard and fast, and you do your best to focus on sucking his fingers, but the pressure is building fast. You can feel your pussy start to flutter, your clit throbbing, begging to be paid attention to. He can feel it too, it’s making him go crazy because of how responsive you are.

He slams home one more time before staying there, swiveling his hips in a circle so that his pelvis brushes against your clit each time, giving it the minimal amount of attention that has you nearly seeing stars, almost there, but not quite.

“Need more?” He pants out.

You nod your head quickly, his fingers covered in your saliva at this point. Dripping in the essence of you just like his cock. He nods back, removes his other hand from your hip, and settles it at the bottom of your belly, pushing down and placing his thumb over your clit. He starts flicking it fast and starts fucking into you again, picking up the pace so that the room fills with wet squelching noises and skin slapping.

The way he’s pushing onto your tummy while rubbing your clit, Jesus fuck… it’s intense. Makes it feel like he is inside of your stomach. So fucking deep.

Yup. That does it. The stagnant pressure starts building rapidly, he can feel it too. Your pussy starts tightening and fluttering beautifully around his girth. You’re making the prettiest noises, still quiet thanks to his fingers stuffed in your mouth but he can hear you the perfect amount.

God, it’s so perfect, he thinks.

You, you’re not thinking at all. He really is fucking you stupid. Your eyes are continuously rolling back and your hips buck into his thrusts desperately, quickly approaching your climax.

He flicks your clit back and forth, fast but precisely, “C’mon baby, give it to me. Fucking cum all over me. Make a mess. Ungh— god you’re such a fucking slut.”

And that sends you. Out of everything, something about Namjoon calling you a slut just fucking does it for you. You let out a muffled moan, that would be a scream most likely if his fingers weren’t sheathed into your mouth. Your legs tremble and your body shudders through the force of your orgasm.

Your pussy throbs violently, walls rippling around his cock as you finally see those stars. It feels fucking amazing, makes tears fall down your cheek. You can barely breathe because of the force of how fucking good it feels to cum on his cock.

This is his end too. He simply can’t hold back when he feels the vice grip of your pussy desperately trying to keep his cock in place, the rippling of your walls nearly feels like vibrations. He lets out another groan, but it almost comes out like a whine. Very subtly. His face is scrunched up and his mouth open as his hips stutter, his cock spilling and filling up the condom.

It goes on and on. Neither of you thinking about how much you hate each other, only thinking about how good it feels to be together like this. He swears he’s never had sex better than this. You feel the same.

The reality of it all is hate sex is unmatched. Especially when tensions build for so long and you both act as if you can’t stand each other… who knew a fuck could’ve helped with that?

At the last twitch of his cock, when your pussy becomes overstimulated and sore, he collapses on top of you. Both of you panting harshly, catching your breaths as your hearts beat in unison.

He removes his spit-covered fingers from your mouth, and he places lazy little kisses on your skin. He isn’t even sure where, too fucked out to pay attention, just anywhere he can reach while he rests on top of you. It’s an oddly tender gesture. A little sweet, even.

It’s silent for a few minutes. And you both start to realize what you’ve done. You just fucked your technical boss… he just fucked one of his co-writers.

Definitely shouldn’t have happened.

He can’t find himself regretting it though. He feels so light, that he could almost smile. As much of an excuse as it was at first, it genuinely helped with the tension. He’s not quite as irritated with you. Does he like you now? Fuck no.

But the more post-nut clarity comes to fruition… the more he thinks he can tolerate you. Maybe even work with you, compromise with you.

You on the other hand… you don’t know how to feel. You don’t regret it, because fuck, it did help with the tension. You feel lighter too. Not as sensitive. Not as hateful.

Maybe it was for the best. It’s not like anyone has to know, anyway. It’s like couples counseling sort of… except you’re definitely not a couple, and you both still cannot stand each other.

But you can tolerate each other now that most of the tension is gone for the time being.

“You good?”

He tears you away from your thoughts, and you look up at him with bleary eyes. It makes you feel sort of warm and fuzzy inside knowing despite his dislike for you, he’s still checking to make sure he didn’t cross any lines.

Well, he crossed several lines. But, you aren’t complaining. You’re glad he did. Glad he reduced you to this.

“I’m fucking great.”

That earns you a little chuckle. He sighs a breath of relief, was worried he went a bit too hard or did too much, especially since you didn’t set any boundaries beforehand. But you took what he gave you and you took it like a fucking champ, he thinks.

He reluctantly gets off of you because now that you’re both a bit more clear-headed, the couch feels a little too small, and he doesn’t wanna crush you.

His softening cock is still inside of you, so he braces a hand on the couch and slowly pulls out, both of you hissing at the feeling. He watches in awe as your juices flow freely out of you. God, what a pretty pussy, he thinks.

He dips a finger back into your heat, causing you to let out a little noise of surprise. But he removes it quickly, brings his finger up to his mouth and sucks it clean.

“Mmm. Yummy.” He says, wiggling his brows.

Ugh.

He pats your thigh before getting off of the couch, taking the condom off, and tying it up to chuck it in the trash. He stuffs his soft and sensitive cock back into his underwear and pulls up his pants, feeling utterly satiated now. Bubbly and light, even though he won’t show it. He makes his way to the little fridge in his studio and he grabs two bottles of water, tosses you one which you barely catch.

You gulp down the water gratefully, parched considering he stole most of your fucking spit. Asshole.

He begins walking into the bathroom attached to his studio as he says, “C’mon let’s go get cleaned up. Then we can look at those lyrics again and see if it still sounds like kids bop now that I’ve fucked you stupid.”

At your immediate glare, he lets out a laugh, and shrugs innocently, “What? Pussy is magic, can change a man’s mind about a lot of things. Now hurry up, you’re a fucking mess.”

And with that, he’s stepping into the bathroom.

Yeah. Fuck him. Still insufferable.

But god, you really do hope to fuck him again.

[wettvagina]

ex for a reason

CONTAINS: p in v , infedility , pussy eating

ıllıllııllıllııllıllııllıllııllıllııllıllııllıllııllıllııllıllııllıllııllıllııllıllııllıllııllıllııllıllııllıllı

Chewing on your bottom lip, you tugged on the hem of your dress for the fifteenth time tonight, on your list of regrets, coming to this stupid college party was on the top of it, coming right after, was wearing this particular dress tonight.

The strapless black dress clung onto your skin, kissing the dip of your waist and curving at the wave of your ass, your boobs bounced with each step you took as you wondered around the house which was littered with swaying, half-concious bodies.

The dim lights were no assistance in finding your way to the exit, taking a sharp turn, you were met with a sliding glass door, with no ulterior motive, you slid the door open, finding yourself on a large, blustery balcony.

As you turned your head, your eyes met with those familiar, sultry green eyes, the eyes which transported your brain to a whole other location, taking you back in time forcing you to replay those woeing memories you made with the owner of those green eyes.

You found yourself stuck in place, as his green eyes traced down your body, you felt a sudden heat florish in your chest, making your heart drum. Your breath pace increased alongside your heartrate, causing your palms to moisten, you gulped before locking eyes with him, Eren Yeager, your ex-boyfriend.

You watched as his eyebrows raised and he took a step back, your body tensened and you attempted to exit, "Yo." his tempting voice spoke up, you kept your face straight, attempting to quickly manoeuvre yourself out of this situation.

"Hey." you plainly greet, Eren slowly walked up to you, as he did so, you took in his tall, healthy figure. As he approached you, you subconsciously stepped back, back hitting the transparent door behind you. Eren's lips twisted into somewhat of a smirk as he looked down at you.

"I've missed you."

Looking up at him, you just saw his sharp featured face, that face alone made you forget all the things he did to you. "Yeah?" you queried, "Look at you, fucking perfect." he admired, as you both locked eyes, you felt that heat within your body spread to your lower ograns, moistening the thin cloth of the thong you wore.

"You just keep getting hotter eachtime I see you." he disclosed, "How am I supposed to keep my hands to myself?" his deep voice questioned, "You kept your hands from me when you were kissing that other girl." you managed to say, forming a weak barrier between you both using your limited amount of current self-respect.

"I've changed." Eren claimed, "Yeah?" you asked with a stern tone, "Yeah, you've changed too." Eren noted as he stared directly at your chest. "You're fucking nasty." you giggle, Eren used his large hands to rub your side, "I need you...so fucking bad." Eren murmured as his eyes looked into yours before he glanced down at your lips.

"Fuck, I'm sorry, I'll do anything to make it up to you, baby." his sensuous voice ringed in your ear, "Well thats too bad, cuz' I hate you." you taunted, "Yeah? You hate me?" Eren spoke, his lips barely touching the skin of your neck, "That won't work, cuz' I'm in love with you." he said as he pressed his lips onto your neck.

Drawing his head back, his face was right in front of yours, you looked up at him, biting your bottom lip as you felt his strong arms hold you like he used to, as soon as your eyes dared to dart towards his lips, he took that as a signal to kiss you.

His lips basically fought with yours as you felt the eagerness in him be expressed with the way his soft lips moved on yours. His palms moved to the curve of your ass, grabbing it as he broke the kiss, "God, I missed you so much." he spoke before pressing his lips onto yours once again.

In one swift motion, Eren pulled the curtain in front the glass door, concealing everything transpiring on the balcony, using his muscular arms, he hoisted you onto him, grabbing you just below your ass, not breaking the kiss.

He placed you onto a lounge chair, as he got onto his knees on the ground, settling himself between your spread legs. "I'm gonna make things better, alright baby?" he promised as he parted your legs oncemore.

Pulling off your thong, and rolling your dress slightly higher, he licked his lips before making contact with your wet pussy, your clit was in proximity to his cold metal tongue piercing, upon the sudden perception, you looked down at him, slurping your juices as his bicep muslces stiffened as he held your legs apart.

"Fuckk, you gotta tongue piercing." you moaned, "Mhmm." he hummed into your pussy causing your knees to shake. As Eren's tongue guided down your wet lips your toes curled, his head shook to the side as he devoured your pussy.

Using his fingers, he jabbed at your deprived hole, with one final lick, he used his lips to suck at your bundle of nerves. With that, you came all over his fingers, soaking his entire hand. "Look at this, huh." his voice chimed, you bit your lip, looking down at him with needy eyes as your legs shook.

Using his tongue to wipe his fingers dry, he made you watch as he cleaned your juices off of him. Standing on his feet, he pulled you up, grabbing your face once you were to his level. He kissed you slowly with his wet lips, taking your hand into his, he guided your hand down to his crotch, making you feel how hard he was.

"What are you gonna do about it?" he whispered onto your lips, departing your lips from his, you looked at his lofty, trained figure, you pulled the hem of his shirt, lifting it over his head.

You were faced with his tense, chiseled abs, switching your positions, now in front of him your directed him to sit on the chair you were once on. You dropped your core onto the tent in his pants, grinding yourself on him as you placed your hands on his chest, allowing yourself to move with more pressure and speed.

"Fuck." he cursed as he watched you grind onto him, "so fucking pretty." he whispered as his hands found themself on the curve of your ass. Discovering the zipper of his pants, you pulled it down with eagerness, yearning for the feeling of that lengthy, healthy-pink coloured dick that ensured an orgasm each time it was inside you.

As you slightly pulled down his pants and everything underneath it, his rigid cock sprung free, slapping your inner thigh upon liberation. "Fuck, you're so big." you praised as you stroked his shaft, before inserting it into your soaking core.

"Goddam." Eren breathlessly muttered, it was only the tip that was in so far, and your wetness was not much help getting his full length into you. His extensive,girthy cock stretched you out real good, you pressed your eyes shut, enduring the fugitive pain.

"God." you moaned upon feeling the sudden fullness, your knees pressed into the softness of the cushion of the chair you were on as you placed your hands on Eren's shoulders for stability.

"Fuck, bounce on it, princess." Eren urged, you used your knees to push yourself up, pulling yourself off of his length before dropping onto it again, the sudden friction of your walls to his dick sent goosebumps down your spine and produced loud moans.

Eren slouched into the chair, allowing himself to push his dick further up into you, with steady bounces you fucked yourself good on his dick as his shaft became coated with your juices. You arched your back moving your ass up and down as you moved in and out of him.

Eren groaned as beads of sweat dripped down his pecs and onto his carved abs, "Don't stop." Eren grunted, your own pleasure slowed you down from riding him at your full capability. Upon noticing, Eren used his hips to buck up into you, watching your breasts bounce in your dress as he wore out your pussy.

"You still hate me?" he questioned with a laugh as he dug his cock deep into you, "Huh? You still hate me?" he persisted, all you could do was moan as he drilled into you, Eren groaned loudly as he used his hand to squeeze your titties, still pounding up into you relentlessly.

"Oh fuck!" you yelped as the tight knot in your lower stomach became undone, you came for the second time, this time all over his dick. "Yeahh, who else can fuck you like this, huh?" Eren whinged, you inhaled and exhaled loudly as your orgasm faded out.

You hopped off his dick, scurrying to get your panties which were discarded on the floor, as you turned around you heard Eren's zipper and he stood to his feet. Bending over to slip on your thong, you felt him press himself against your ass, "You still hate me?" he iterated.

You felt his hands on your hips, and once your back pressed onto his chest he guided them around your waist, you twisted your head to the side, his jade eyes meeting yours.

Every wrong he ever did to you cancelled out, and you felt the same way he made you feel the day you met.

Tags: @dontcryskxawng @iheartjoaofelix79 @k-ine-e

[babygorewhore]

His Little Angel

After watching your favorite Only fans member, one who wears a Ghostface mask, you wish you could see him in real life. When you attend Midsummer, you’re shocked at who’s the owner of that voice. Rafe Cameron.

Moodboard

Disclaimer: Girl in photo is just for aesthetic! I don’t look like that myself so it’s okay lol

Warnings! Female and male masterbation! Porn! Mask kink! Degrading! Blow Job!! No plot. Very little proof reading

Your clit was swollen and sore as your vibrator relentlessly moved , your eyes squeezed shut. Another night on only fans, moaning loud enough that you almost scared yourself and your spine curled on the bed.

“My pretty little angel, coming on my cock? Your pretty pussy is so soft, I can’t get enough.” His voice was addictive. Even if it was just from your phone.

After the third time, you finally pulled it away and panted. Your naked sweaty body underneath your cool room brought you to clean yourself up with a discarded shirt. You liked it messy but you didn’t want it completely running down your legs.

Ghostface just had that effect on you. He was your favorite Only fans star.

You had subscribed last month, paying the maximum amount of money to get the most exclusive content. Personal messages and his own nickname for you. Little Angel or Angel. Which was the ironic purpose because you were anything but. Every night spreading your legs eagerly to a man in a mask. He wore others but this one was your favorite. He wouldn’t reveal his face.

But he was tall, muscular with strong, long fingers and a thick, pulsing cock he finished stroking and cum spilled from the tip at the end of the video.

God, you wanted to blow him. Choke on whatever he gave you with no complaints. His voice was raspy and almost pleading at times.

But he was dominant. Everything you did was to his will.

You did exchange one picture with him. One where you were wearing your prettiest bra and panties after you came. Your cheeks were red, hair messy and your eyes glassy. You needed him to see the effect he had on you.

“Pretty little angel. Fucked out for me. You’re so fucking hot and so wet.” His message was always teasing. Ending just when you needed them to reach their peak. He did it on purpose.

You had a fantasy. Him breaking into your house with the mask, tying you to the bed and ripping off the mask before he buried his face in your cunt. The very idea caused your pussy to quiver. You watched another video and came again

Midsummer was the last thing you wanted to participate in. Even though you were technically a Kook, you hated the snobby assholes who looked down at anyone beneath them. Your parents weren’t like that, even when they worked closely with the worst of them.

The Cameron’s. The very name of the family made you want to gag. Okay, you hadn’t met them but you heard horror stories from Kiera, a girl you used to babysit as a teenager when she was in middle school, that they were evil. Especially the oldest. Rafe. He was a bully, stuck up and always got what he wanted. Including the company when Ward died on a tragic suicide on his own boat.

You wore a long, slick dress with high heels and a flower crown. Your hair spilling around your face and sweat proof makeup.

You felt pretty even though you dread seeing all these people. They knew you as a little girl, running around and following your rich parents. But you were so much more than that, especially as an adult.

Kiera waved at you and you returned it with a smile. The twinkling lights, gentle music and sunset was a beautiful picture as the dance floor filled. But your mind thought about Ghostface. What was he doing right now? Working his regular job? Planning more content? For you? Your cheeks warmed with memories. How dirty was that? Thinking about fucking a man in a mask while sweet couples swayed on the wood floor in front of you?

A few men offered to dance and you accepted. Awkwardly staring at their faces as they moved their hands too low on your waist but it was the most action you got in months other than your toys.

You were bored now. You had a fake smile, stood next to your parents for an hour before you decided to change scenery.

The inside of the house wasn’t as crowded but people still talked while holding drinks in clear glasses. A variety of ages were there, especially with staff. You recognized Topper, he used to be close with the Cameron’s before their daughter stayed with the Pouges. But currently he and a black male were talking shit to a blonde boy carrying a tray of drinks.

Frowning, you went to follow them to stop the scene when your father called you over, you didn’t know they came in.

“Sweetheart, I want you to meet someone!” Turning, your eyes widened.

Rafe Cameron, who was wearing a blue tux gave you an alluring dark look and smile. His hair was slicked back, exposing his perfect bone structure and pink lips. He loomed over you and even your dad with his height as you stood in the circle.

“Hi,” You clipped and stuck out your hand. His large hand was warm and strong as he shook yours.

“Rafe was just telling us how nice it was to finally see you after hearing so much, weren’t you?” Your mothers intentions were obvious as you tried not to roll your eyes. Yeah, he’s hot but he’s also an asshole.

“You’re as pretty as an angel.”

You stumbled back, slipping onto the floor, legs bent as you fell on the floor.

“Oh god! Baby, are you okay?” Your dad gasped.

Oh my god. His voice.

The nickname??

This couldn’t be real. This could not happen. Rafe was faster and wrapped his arm around your waist, bending down to lift you to your feet. He brought you close, almost chest to chest as his hand settled on your hip. “Are you okay?”

You swallowed hard and started stuttering. “Um-I’m okay I-uh you-“ You snapped your mouth shut as he gave you a smirk. Oh, he knew you alright. You sent him a fucking picture after you touched yourself to his porn and now he was holding you up.

Tightly.

“Here, I’ll take her to make sure she’s alright.” Rafe told your parents, his brows pulled together in concern-real or not as your mother nodded.

“Oh you’re such a gentleman,” She gave you a subtle pinch on your arm as his arm tightened around your body.

You expected him to just walk you to the nearest room but instead he picked you up bridal style, your feet flying as he secured you easily.

Was this really happening? Rafe Cameron was Ghostface on Only fans and now he was carrying you down a hallway where there wasn’t anyone to be found.

“My little angel, acting like such a sweet girl. No one knows how much of a slut you actually are.” He popped open a door, exposing an empty room with a table and chairs after whispering in your ear, his teeth gently grazing the skin.

You breathed sharply as he set you down, pushing your legs apart with his knee. “I’ve been dying to finally fuck this mouth that’s always moaning for me,” He growled. “This time without that fucking mask.”

“Rafe-“ You began but he shoved two fingers in your mouth to the back of your throat. His warm breath fanning your face as spit pooled from your mouth.

You gagged and rolled your head back. He’d made himself spill with this exact hand. He circled them slowly. “I’ve been wondering how that sounded from you.”

Without warning he grabbed a fist full of your hair and forced you from the table onto your knees. “And now, my angel is going to be my fucking whore.” He growled and tapped your cheek after pulling out his digits.

“Open that filthy mouth and do exactly what you’re made for.”

Your polished nails frantically moved to unbuckle his belt and unbutton his suit pants. His black boxers made him look like a model on a men’s magazine as his hard dick leaked precum as you pulled them down. It hung heavily in front of you as your cunt tightened around nothing.

Rafe took a hold of his cock and slapped your cheek with it. “Stick out your tongue,” He ordered and you obeyed. You wanted to please him. Be used by him and his commands were so fucking hot you could have came in your panties just from that.

Hearing his voice again stirred a raging fire inside you as you opened your mouth and sucked him like a lollipop. You pulled back to sloppily lick the sides, a pool of spit on your neck as your lips took him in. Rafes fingers in your hair pulled so tight more tears streamed down your face and stained your cheeks with makeup.

He started thrusting and hitting the back of your throat as he started fucking your face. “Such a fucking little slut. Not an angel anymore, huh? A cock sucking bitch.” His degradation only turned you on more as you slurped and took it.

“I’m always taking care of you, now you get to return the fucking favor.” Rafe grunted and pulled even harder. “I’m gonna cum down your slutty throat.”

True to his word, he spilled into and all over your mouth. When he finally let you go, you coughed and wiped your lips. Lipstick was all over the back of your hand. Rafe took out his phone as he adjusted himself back into his pants. A flash clicked and you leaned back, doe eyes wide.

“Now, I have my own little picture when I jerk off.” He gave you a wink and bent down, “And don't wipe your face. Everyone is gonna know exactly who’s cock you’ve sucked.”

Tagging @xxhellfirebunnyxx @scene-and-dandylover @drewstarkeyslut @ifeeltoofuckingmuch @imyourdaninow @slvt4jamesmarch @reidsbtch @take-everything-you-can @emsgoodthinkin @chrrymunson

If I didn’t tag someone forgot.

[sturniololover005]

Chris Sturniolo - Can't resist

Warning ⚠️: smut, small amount of angst, f!masturbation, oral (m. receiving),cheating (Chris),

Summary: You and Chris used to fuck buddies, that is until he gets a girlfriend - but can he really resist you?

Words: 3.2k

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You and Chris had a complicated history. There were good times, like when you two hooked up, and bad times, like when you confessed your love for him. He rejected you, and everything changed after that, especially when he got a girlfriend a month later. She was beautiful, exactly his type, and it hurt you deeply. You saw every Instagram post, every comment, and every TikTok they shared. You tried not to let it get to you, even though you spent sleepless nights dreaming of being in Chris’s arms.

Despite your best efforts to move on, the memories lingered. Each social media update was a painful reminder of what could have been, and it seemed like everyone but you was moving forward. Your nights were filled with a mix of longing and frustration, remembering the intimate moments you had shared and the connection you thought you had. It was a struggle to let go of the hope that maybe, just maybe, things could have been different. Your nights were filled with longing and frustration, thinking of the intimate moments with Chris. Letting go seemed impossible, each memory a bittersweet reminder. Alone, you touched yourself, reliving the passion you shared.

Your favourite memory was the time you did it in the car where he and his brothers filmed their videos. You wore his forgotten shirt, his favorite panties, and escaped into your own fantasy. You missed his long fingers, the way he curled them inside you, hitting all the right spots.

Toys couldn’t compare, only making you more desperate. That’s when you decided to see if he could really resist you. You would wear his shirt, the scent of him still clinging to it, and the panties he loved. You needed to remind him of your nights of passion, make him remember.

Could he really resist you? You were about to find out.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You take a deep breath before knocking on the door, trying to steady your nerves. To your luck, someone opens it almost immediately. Unfortunately, it’s not Chris, but Nick, standing there with a wide smile. "Hey y/n! I haven’t seen you in a while. Where have you been?" he asks, his cheerful demeanor a stark contrast to your anxious state. "Oh, I’ve just been busy," you reply, attempting to match his casual tone. "Is Chris here?" The question escapes your lips with an almost desperate edge. "Yeah, he’s in his room. Come in, I’ll go get him." Nick steps aside, opening the door wider to let you in. "This is my chance," you think, heart pounding. "Oh no, it’s fine. I’ll go myself," you say with a reassuring smile, trying to mask your nervousness. You walk down the familiar hallway toward Chris’s room, each step making your heart race faster. Your sweaty palm curls into a fist as you approach his door. The closer you get, the more you feel your heart beating in your ears. Your breathing becomes unsteady, the wetness from your palms sticking to your fingers, sending warm shivers through your body. Finally, you raise your hand and knock. The door creaks open slowly, revealing Chris standing there. His hair is messy, and he’s wearing a wife beater and pajama pants that fit him so well it’s almost criminal. For a moment, you’re both silent, just taking each other in. "Y/n?" he says, his voice filled with surprise. Hearing him say your name again brings back a flood of memories. You realize just how much you’ve missed him. "Why are you here?"

“I missed you,” you say, using the sultry tone that always made him go weak. You had used it often in the past, and it worked every single time. Chris clenches his jaw the moment he hears your voice, fully aware of your intention. He hated that it was working—it wasn’t supposed to. He had Isabelle now, but God, did he miss you. He missed the way your soft giggles would escape when his hair brushed against your thighs, how your fingers would tangle in his hair, pulling him closer. He missed the sound of your gasps, the way your grip would tighten on his wrist when he found that perfect spot. He missed the sight of your lips, swollen and bruised from your own teeth as you tried to stifle your moans. He missed the electric connection, the raw passion that ignited between you two every time you touched. He missed the way your bodies moved together in perfect sync, as if they were made for each other.

Chris struggled to keep his composure, his mind torn between loyalty to Isabelle and the undeniable pull he still felt toward you. The memories of what you shared were vivid, almost tangible, and resisting you felt like trying to hold back the tide. Despite everything, the intensity of his longing for you had never really faded. His internal conflict was palpable, and you could see it in his eyes.

“Stop that, Y/n,” he says in a low tone, but he doesn’t realize it only makes you want him more. You step closer to him, a slow, deliberate move. “You know you miss it too, Chris. Don’t lie.” He turns his head, avoiding your eyes, but you see the conflict written all over his face. You close the door behind you, sealing you both in this intimate space. Still stepping closer, you watch as he retreats, his steps unsure until he backs into the bed. Seizing the moment, you climb onto his lap, straddling him. You reach out, gently turning his head to face you. “Look at me,” you command softly, your voice a mixture of desire and determination.

His eyes are narrowed, his jaw clenched tightly, and his hands grip the sheets so hard his knuckles turn white. He’s trying his best not to reach for you, to maintain control, but you can see the internal struggle. The tension between you is palpable, a magnetic pull that neither of you can ignore. “You don’t know what you’re doing to me,” he mutters, his voice strained. He’s battling his own desires, trying to stay loyal to Isabelle, but the longing in his eyes betrays him. He wants you just as much as you want him, and it’s taking everything in him not to give in.

You lean in closer, your lips just inches from his. “I know exactly what I’m doing, Chris,” you whisper. “And I know you want this too.” His breath hitches, his eyes locking onto yours with an intensity that sends shivers down your spine. Slowly, hesitantly, his hands leave the sheets and rest on your hips, his touch igniting a fire within you.

“You shouldn’t be here,” he whispers, but his grip on your hips tightens, pulling you closer. You can feel the heat radiating from his body, the undeniable chemistry between you two reigniting. “Maybe not,” you reply, your voice barely more than a breath, “but we both know this feels right.” He hesitates for a heartbeat, then he moves closer, pulling you into a kiss.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You respond instantly to the feel of his lips on yours, your body reacting with a shiver of anticipation. Your hands move up to cup his face, your fingers tracing the line of his jaw and feeling the slight stubble there. His skin is warm beneath your touch, grounding you in the moment. His hands are not idle either, traveling over your body with a sense of urgency, as if he’s been longing for this moment as much as you have. His fingers press into your back, pulling you closer, as though rediscovering the way your body fits perfectly into his hands. You can feel the heat radiating from him, matching the growing fire within you. Every touch, every movement, feels electric, heightening your senses. The world outside fades away as you lose yourself in the kiss, the only thing that matters is the connection between the two of you. You bite his bottom lip gently, eliciting a low, guttural growl from him. The sound sends a thrill through you, a spark of excitement that makes your heart race even faster. Taking advantage of his reaction, you deepen the kiss, your tongue tentatively exploring his mouth. The taste of him is intoxicating, a blend of familiarity and desire. He responds eagerly, his tongue meeting yours in a passionate dance. His hands roam your body, memorizing every curve and contour as if he’s afraid this moment might slip away.

His touch is both demanding and tender, a combination that leaves you breathless. He pulls you even closer, his hands sliding up to tangle in your hair, tilting your head slightly to deepen the kiss further. Your bodies are pressed together so tightly you can feel the steady beat of his heart against your chest, a rhythm that seems to sync with your own racing pulse. The intensity of the kiss grows, a fiery exchange that speaks of all the emotions you’ve both kept bottled up. His hands drift lower, finding the small of your back and pressing you even tighter against him. The sensation of his body against yours is almost overwhelming, a heady mix of comfort and desire that leaves you yearning for more.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You slowly begin to pull away from the kiss, savoring the lingering warmth of his lips against yours. As your eyes flutter open, you become acutely aware of the firm pressure of his hard cock pressing against your ass. The sensation sends a shiver down your spine, igniting a deeper desire within you. Every nerve in your body feels electrified, attuned to the intimate connection you share in this moment.

With deliberate slowness, you rise from his lap, the heat of your bodies momentarily parting. Your breath quickens, anticipation building with each passing second. As you drop to your knees on the floor, you glance up at him, meeting his gaze, which is filled with raw, unspoken desire. The intensity in his eyes makes your heart pound even faster, your skin tingling with excitement. Your hands tremble slightly as they reach for the hem of his pants, your fingers curling around the soft fabric. You take a deep breath, steadying yourself, before tugging gently but firmly, pulling his boxers down along with his pajama pants. The motion is slow, deliberate, a tantalizing tease that only heightens the anticipation.

As the material slips down, you watch with bated breath as his cock is gradually revealed. It stands proud and erect, rock hard and pulsing with need. The sight of him, fully exposed and waiting, sends a fresh wave of excitement coursing through you. Your eyes linger on his length, taking in every detail, the way it throbs with every beat of his heart. You feel a surge of heat between your thighs, your own arousal growing in response to his. The sheer intensity of your desire threatens to overwhelm you, but you revel in it, embracing the passionate energy that crackles between you. Your hands move with a mind of their own, fingers lightly grazing his skin, eliciting a shudder from him. His breath hitches as you lean in closer, your lips brushing against his inner thigh. The touch is feather-light, a whisper of what’s to come, and you feel him tense beneath you. You smile to yourself, knowing the power you hold in this moment, the ability to drive him wild with just a touch.

Your eyes lock onto his, and you see the storm of emotions flickering there—desire, anticipation, and a hint of frustration. You maintain that eye contact, letting the connection between you deepen, before you let your lips trail teasingly to the tip of his cock. Your kiss is feather-light, barely a touch, but it’s enough to make him shudder. The soft gasp that escapes him as his head falls back is music to your ears. You know that his dick hasn’t been teased like this in a long time, and the realization sends a wave of satisfaction through you.

You continue your slow, deliberate exploration, your lips pressing gentle, lingering kisses along his cock. His reactions are intoxicating, his body responding to your every touch, his breaths coming faster and more ragged. As you reach the tip again, you flick your tongue out, just barely grazing the sensitive head. His response is immediate and intense, a deep groan rumbles from his chest, and his hips jerk involuntarily. You smile against his skin, knowing that you have him right where you want him. The power you feel in this moment is heady. You glance up at him again, taking in the sight of his head thrown back, the tendons in his neck standing out as he struggles to maintain control. His hands are clenched into fists at his sides, and you can tell he’s fighting the urge to take control, to guide you, but he holds back, letting you lead. The trust he shows in you only heightens your desire, making you want to drive him even wilder.

You continue your teasing, alternating between soft kisses and gentle licks, keeping your touch light and playful. His reactions are everything you hoped for, his body trembling with need, his breaths coming in harsh, uneven gasps. Finally, you take the head of his cock fully into your mouth, swirling your tongue around it with deliberate slowness. The sensation is overwhelming for him, and he lets out a guttural moan, his hips bucking up towards you.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Just as you’re deep in the moment, lost in the sensations and the heat between you, his phone rings. The sound is jarring, cutting through the intensity of your connection. You glance at the screen and see the name flashing: Isabelle. Fuck. You can feel Chris’s body tense with nervousness, his muscles tightening under your touch. The change in his demeanor irritates you, the intrusion snapping you out of the passionate haze. With a sigh, you reluctantly take his cock out of your mouth, looking up at him with a mixture of annoyance and disappointment. "Just pick up," you say in an irritated tone, rolling your eyes as you sit back on your heels. He hesitates for a moment, then reaches for the phone, his hand shaking slightly. He answers, trying to sound casual, "Hey baby." The words infuriate you, a sharp pang of jealousy and anger flaring up inside you. You listen as her cutesy voice chirps on the other end, "Hey babe, what are you doing?" The sweetness in her tone grates on your nerves, and you can feel your blood boiling. But then, an idea forms in your mind, a wicked smile curling your lips as you remember a particular night not too long ago.

It was a night when you had gone on a date with another guy. When Chris found out, he had stormed into your place, furious and possessive. He had taken you roughly, fucking you raw, all the while making you call the other guy to cancel any future plans. The memory of his dominance, his need to claim you as his, sends a shiver down your spine. Now, it’s your turn to take control, to make him feel the same jealousy and possessiveness. With a devious glint in your eyes, you lower your head again, taking his cock back into your mouth. You hear him suck in a breath, his body tensing even more as he tries to maintain his composure. You start slow, teasing him with your tongue, your lips sliding over his length with deliberate slowness. His hand trembles as he holds the phone, his voice strained as he tries to keep up the conversation.

"I'm just... hanging out," he says, his voice faltering slightly as you take him deeper, your mouth working expertly. Isabelle’s voice continues, oblivious to what’s happening on the other end of the line, "Oh, I was just thinking about our plans for tomorrow. Maybe we could go to that new restaurant?" Chris struggles to keep his voice steady, his free hand gripping the edge of the bed. "Uh, yeah, that sounds... good," he manages, his breath hitching as you swirl your tongue around the head of his cock. His hips twitch involuntarily, and you feel a surge of satisfaction at the control you have over him.

"Are you okay? You sound... out of breath," Isabelle says, a hint of concern in her voice. You smirk around his length, the idea of her suspecting something making the moment even more thrilling. Chris clears his throat, trying to compose himself. "Yeah, I'm fine. Just... a bit tired, that's all." His words are clipped, strained, and you can tell he's struggling to keep up the facade. You increase the intensity of your movements, your head bobbing up and down, taking him as deep as you can. His free hand tangles in your hair, a silent plea for mercy that you have no intention of granting. As you continue, you slide a hand between your legs, touching yourself, feeling your own arousal heighten with every reaction you draw from him. The sensation of pleasuring both of you at the same time makes the moment even more electric.

Isabelle chatters on, her voice a background noise to the symphony of pleasure you're creating. "I can't wait to see you tomorrow. I've missed you so much. It's been too long since we've had a proper date night." Chris’s responses become more monosyllabic, his concentration split between the conversation and the overwhelming sensations coursing through his body. "Yeah... me too... tomorrow... sounds good..." His voice is a mix of breathlessness and barely contained arousal. "Chris, are you sure you're okay? You sound really weird," Isabelle’s voice cuts through, more insistent now. You glance up at him, meeting his eyes, and you see the desperation there, the need to keep it together. "Yeah, I'm... just really tired," he says, but his voice breaks slightly, a low moan escaping despite his best efforts. Isabelle falls silent for a moment, and you can almost hear her suspicion growing. You suck harder, taking him deep into your throat, and his body shudders violently. "Chris, what's going on? Are you sure everything's okay?" Her voice is sharp now, almost demanding. "Isabelle, I... I have to go. I'll call you later," he manages to say, his voice strained and breathless. He hangs up quickly, the phone dropping from his hand as he finally lets out a deep, guttural moan, his body shuddering with the release of the tension he had been holding back.

You smile around his cock, feeling a sense of triumph and satisfaction as you continue to pleasure him, driving him closer and closer to the edge. As you take him deeper, your movements become more urgent, more demanding. You want to push him over the brink, to make him come undone completely. His hands tighten in your hair, his hips thrusting up to meet your mouth, and you can feel him getting closer and closer. The power you feel in this moment is intoxicating, and you revel in it, knowing that you’ve turned the tables, that you’ve taken control. When he finally comes, it’s with a raw, primal intensity that takes your breath away. His body convulses, his cock pulsing in your mouth as he spills into you. You take it all, swallowing every drop, savoring the taste of his release. As he collapses back, spent and panting, you pull away, wiping the corner of your mouth with a satisfied smirk.

“I know you can’t resist me”

[leeknowsnot]

kinktober — the god of love (minho)

genre: smut (minors dni), fluff

content: minho x reader, god of love minho au, reader is a hopeless romantic because i am too, greek god themes, he is eros the god of love, modernized greek gods, body worship, vanilla, just pure love, mature themes, mention of p-rn

oh my god, this is my first smut on this page. i hope i did okay though, it's been a long while since i wrote smut. anyway, i'll try starting on the others soon! read at your own risk

kinktober masterlist

Piles of paperwork laid before him. His eyes scrutinized every paper, dreading the sight of the amount of work he'd have to do. What was he doing here anyway? Right. He was called in for some extra work because the amount of stuff that the employees under him had to do was overwhelming.

Piles and piles of paperwork. "Over what?" his colleague would ask him and he would roll his eyes.

"Some dumbass woman who can't stop falling in love and getting heartbroken over every goddamn man," he would complain.

For Minho, being the God of Love wasn't all arrows and rainbows. Oh look, a girl crushing on a guy. Let's shoot an arrow to his chest so he could fall in love with her too! No. He wasn't highschool cupid. It wasn't as easy as that, unlike what most people would actually think. If he was going to be honest, there wasn't much field work to begin with. The only field work he'd do is to sit on his chair, observing people as they fall in love with each other, only to deal with multiple paperwork as soon as couples start falling out and breaking up with each other. He hated how people treated love as if it was something so dispensable. Like a one-time thing. Well, mostly because it gave him so much work to deal with.

And you, on the other hand, was one of those types that he hated the most: a hopeless romantic. He never really believed in hoping for love despite being the God of Love himself. Stop falling in love multiple times in a year. He always wanted to drill that into your brain each time he'd come down from HQ to observe you and your stupid attempts at pursuing whoever you were onto at the moment. He would lie if he said he never cringed everytime you'd blush at the smallest things. He was annoyed at how you always fell so hard over the bare minimum.

He types away angrily at his keyboard, cursing under his breath. "12th time this fucking year. I swear, if that shithead falls in love with the wrong guy again, I'm gonna shoot myself."

His fingers stop typing, eyes staring into the screen as his eyebrows rest on a permanent scowl on his face. He stared at your image through the documents, analyzing every feature on your face. He wouldn't deny the fact that you were attractive in a way, which made him wonder for a moment why you'd always fail at your attempts on finding love.

Minho sighs, his fingers pinching the bridge of his nose before he stands up from his seat. "Better pay her a short visit. I need some amusement after all that headache she's been giving me," he mutters to himself.

...

Minho sat there, eyebrows raised. You weren't the type to wear revealing dresses and yet here you were, a scissor away from being practically naked. Okay, maybe he was exaggerating since you only opted to expose your shoulders but you never really showed much skin before. Each time Minho would drop by secretly to observe you during your dates to see if they'd finally succeed, you were either wearing cute floral dresses, or anything that was wholesome. But then again, he had to remind himself where he had to go just to check on you.

A nightclub.

In all honesty, some shoulderless blouse was just the tip of the iceberg compared to how the others dressed. Some were practically naked but Minho didn't pay much attention to them. His eyes were focused on eyeing you at the other side of the room, through grinding bodies.

Though, his gaze on your faltered as soon as a woman sat beside him, brushing her arm on his that was rested on top of the counter. "Hey there, pretty boy," the woman winked at him.

Minho wanted to puke then and there and his expression said it all. He eyed the woman from head to toe, immediately disgusted at her mere presence. He brought his eyes back to you but as soon as he did so, he saw you swaying by the dancefloor with some guy.

Now, Minho wasn't the type to be fazed by such a sight, but the way the man roamed his hands around your torso and attempted to grind his hips towards yours slightly annoyed Minho. Especially with how your face would contort and twitch in discomfort. You were trying your best to hide it and make light of the situation but Minho knew better than to not notice.

He stood up from his seat, tossing all reasoning aside and decided to pull you out of whatever shit you had gotten yourself into just so you could get yourself a lover. "To hell with that," he thought. You were looking for love at the wrong place. The worst place, in fact.

As soon as he arrived at your spot, he grabbed your wrist, earning a surprised yelp from you. He didn't look at you but at the man who was already 5 seconds away from zipping off his pants. Minho was glaring. "Keep your hands and your dick to yourself, yeah?" he tells off the man, earning himself a drunk response but all noise had been shut out and the fucks he could give was thrown out the window the moment he turned to you. "What were you trying to get yourself into, you idiot?"

Minho forgot that he was the only one who knew you like the back of his hand at this point. He was basically a stranger to you. But as he looked into your eyes, you lost yourself in them. His voice came out as muffled due to the trance you were in from the alcohol you just had earlier. And Minho noticed this so he snapped into your face but to no avail.

He dragged you out of the club and you could swear the door that was supposed to lead outside the streets led to somewhere else when Minho opened it but you decided that it was your mind and the alcohol playing its tricks on you. Minho brought you to his office through the club's door—an ability that always proved to be handy. He made you sit on his couch, giving you a glass of water.

"Drink that. It'll help with the hangover," he says. He never had hangover before since human liquor never really had much of an effect for him and the other Gods but he saw how bad humans had it each time they'd have hangovers. "How many glasses did you have anyway," he mumbles under his breath, not particularly expecting you to hear or respond.

His hand bring itself up to your face as he holds a towel, wiping off your sweat. "You suck at taking care of yourself. You always put those idiots first before yourself, that's why you're always getting rejected," he mumbles again, an annoyed expression now on his face. However, his expression turns into confusion as soon as he sees you squint your eyes at him.

"You... look familiar," you say, a hiccup following your sentence as you try your best to dig your memories through your drunken stupor.

Minho shakes his head. "Don't be ridiculous. No one looks like me," he says but you suck air between your teeth.

"No, I swear I've seen you somewhere," you dazingly tapped on your temple before your eyes widen in realization and you point at him. "Oh, I remember now! I see you a lot of times whenever I..." you trail off your sentence. You gasp. "You're always around whenever I meet guys for dates! Are you perhaps, my stalker?"

This earned you a light slap on the forehead from Minho.

"You didn't have to hit my head!" you pouted at him.

"Stop pouting, you look ugly," he says as he removes your shoes. "I wasn't stalking you."

You squint your eyes again at him. Both at his answer and as to why he was removing your shoes. "Then what were you doing? And what are you doing?"

Minho glances up at you with a look of disbelief. "Removing your shoes, if that's not obvious enough," he turns back to removing your other shoe. "I thought you were dumb only with love. You're dumb with telling actions too."

You frown, "Why are you even removing my shoes?! Put them back on??"

"For the record, you are not Cinderella. And you'd rather I let you get blisters? Why did you even wear heels? You never wore heels," he whispers the last part. You blink.

"You are my stalker," you gasp, earning another glare from Minho.

As he finished removing your shoes, he plops himself back down beside you. "I was observing you," he says, answering your question.

"Yeah, you were stalking me," you butt in.

"Stalking is different from observing. Get your facts right," he argues back.

'This man,' you thought to yourself as you look at him in disbelief. Though despite his sarcastic remarks, you could feel as if you knew him for a long time already. Or maybe because you'd see him a lot everywhere. You always thought it was coincidence.

"Why were you observing me?" you ask him.

Minho sighs, rubbing his face with a hand as he looks at you, probably being annoyed at how much you were asking him. "Entertainment. Your idiocy amuses me," he sarcastically replies.

You were speechless.

First, this man ruins your date. Your chances of getting laid tonight. You didn't mind if it was drunk sex, as long as it was sex, that was how hopeless you were. Second, he denies being your stalker. Third, he was mocking your poor taste in men and bad luck in love. And lastly, he was telling you that you were basically a no go because you were an idiot.

"I can't believe this," you scoff under your breath. "You ruined my chances for... this."

Minho raises an eyebrow at you. "Chances at what."

You roll your eyes at him. "Getting laid."

Minho stares at you for a while before sighing. You were such a piece of work. On second thought, he'd rather deal with paperwork than your attitude. He shakes his head in hopelessness, eyes still at you.

"You were going to settle with drunk sex?" he asked with a tone of as-a-matter-of-fact. When you nodded, he chuckled in disbelief.

"Well, what do you want me to do then?" you snapped your head at him. "I always fail at romance. I try to establish wholesome relationships but they... They just fail. And this..." you pause. "It may not be the best option, but it's my only chance of actually getting a guy."

Minho was amused at how emotional you were getting. He could see the tears forming in your eyes as you explain. Sure, Minho was getting frustrated over this ordeal, but you were too and he just realized that. If he was getting annoyed over paperwork, then it meant people were hurting too. You were hurting too.

For some reason, Minho disliked that idea. For the longest time, he'd see the brightest smiles on your face each time you fell in love or experienced something akin to love. He thought it was only for work that he'd come down to observe you each time you go on dates. But in truth, he liked seeing you smile. He didn't know how or when it started. He just... liked to see your face brighten up.

Maybe he wasn't annoyed at you because you always fell in love and get broken and give him more paperwork. Maybe he was annoyed at the fact that people kept on hurting you. He was annoyed at the fact that guys always took advantage of your love. He was annoyed at the fact that you always gave it your all to guys who didn't deserve any of your love. He was annoyed at himself for seeing it otherwise.

Minho chuckles, more at himself than at you. "That's such a sad excuse to find love, it's pathetic."

You turned your head towards him, about to retort but you shut yourself up as soon as he brought his face close to yours. Your eyes widened. "What—"

"You're pathetic," he mumbles. "I can't believe you're going to settle with just that." Then, he closes the gap between you two. His lips touched yours momentarily, brushing like a feather before diving deep. For a second, it was as if your world stopped. You may have had failed attempts at love but that doesn't mean you never had kisses. Though, most of them were empty. In fact, you've had too many kisses to the point that you had to think to yourself if you'll only get kisses for the rest of your life.

But this. This was... You couldn't put the right words. No, that was the perfect word for it. Right. It felt so... right.

The kiss felt too short as soon as he pulled away, eyes staring into yours. You could swear you could see the whole universe in them. You barely talked to this man for more than an hour and yet you feel like you've known him forever.

Minho's eyes trail from your eyes to your lips. He has always seen you. How you look. How you dressed. How you spoke. But he has never seen you this close. And now that he has, it was as if he was looking at Zeus' finest piece of art. Your beauty held more charm than Aphrodite herself. Hell, you'd start more wars than Helen of Troy ever did with that pretty little face of yours.

He parts his lips, his warm breath adding fuel to the warmth that had now spread on your blushing face. "In all of my decades, observing your kind and mine," he pauses. "I have never met anyone as beautiful as you."

"I wonder which God sculpted you," he mutters under his breath, eyes bearing themselves into yours. "Those eyes. They're like Narcissus. I could get lost just by staring at them."

He placed another kiss on your lips, this time much softer than the last.

"Those men are fools," he says. "They could never see true beauty. Beauty that has so willingly presented itself before them."

It was as if he had fallen right then and there. The irony of being the God of Love was that he barely fell in love himself. But when he does, he falls deep. Turns into such poet. Just as how he was letting himself become vulnerable before you.

He takes your hand in his, lacing your fingers together, intertwining them like perfect pieces of a puzzle. You were entranced. You didn't know how or why. But the way his hand would graze on your skin felt like electricity. The good kind where the hair on your back would stand each time you'd feel warm air breeze through while you are cold. Like goosebumps.

You wondered if there was something in that water that he had given you earlier. Aphrodisiac? No. There was nothing in there. And yet you felt so entranced. So pulled in. So dazed. You had never felt this feeling before from your past lovers. Then again, were those even love? Or just infatuation? Was it the true definition of love, or was this the true definition of love? Maybe it was just the effect of having the God of Love himself being so close to you. But you were none the wiser of his identity as a God. And yet he pulled you in like gravity.

His lips placed a chaste kiss on your lips once more, gradually travelling towards your cheek, your jawline, and your neck. They were slow yet passionate. His hands ran up your arms, holding your shoulder as he carefully lays you on the couch so you'd feel comfortable.

Minho looks at you once more. "Will you let me show you what love is?" he asks with a quiet tone. You stare at him for a short while, with him still placing soft kisses on your neck as he waits for your response. Eventually, you nod.

He hums quietly in satisfaction. "Just follow my lead," he says.

You don't know what happened after that. You only remember his occasional glances. His chaste kisses on your skin. His hands caressing everywhere they could land on, memorizing your every curve. You only remember laying there, naked.

His gaze on you never faltered. His eyes memorized every feature, taking in every imperfection that you had. As a God, he was but used to seeing only the perfect complexions. But with your body, the imperfections were what made you more beautiful in his eyes.

Minho leans down towards you, brushing the back of his fingers on your cheek softly. He held you as if you were porcelain. No rough movements. No raspy caresses. "Stop looking for love," he muses. "Because love himself is presenting itself to you." He takes your hand, placing a kiss on your knuckles. "Love itself is yours to take."

You part your lips with a soft gasp. No one, not even one man has ever told you such words. No one, not even one man has ever seen you this naked. No one, not even one man has ever held you as much as this man did. And he was worshipping you with both his words, his kisses, and his touches.

His hand pulled you closer for another kiss before caressing down your body, eventually resting itself on your thigh. His thumb brushes on your skin before travelling towards your inner thigh. His finger lingers too close to your core. Not touching, but you could feel it. Minho smiles at your reaction, chuckling as he finally runs a digit through your folds.

You lightly gasp, biting your lower lip to immediately stop yourself from letting out a sound. He looks up at you, amused by your sensitivity. You couldn't blame him. After all, you were a virgin. Both by touch and by intercourse. He could immediately tell as he continued running his finger through your heat, dragging through every slick as a string of your love juice connects your nub and the tip of his finger with every slow stroke. He traces small circles around your clit, earning a shivery hum from you as you cover your mouth with the back of your hand.

You hated how slow he was teasing you. Minho, however, was loving every second of it. How red your cheeks were right now. How half-lidded your eyes were. How wet you already were with just a few kisses and a few strokes.

He leans towards your chest, taking out his tongue to gently brush on one of your nipples, making you twitch. "You're quite easy to please," he mutters as he flicks his tongue and sucks lightly on your nipple. "But then again... You are a virgin."

This made your eyes widen. You tilted your head to the side, covering your face with embarrassment. You hear Minho chuckle before he takes your wrists, removing your hands from your face. "Shhh, it's okay." he whispers in your ear. He places a quiet kiss on your ear lobe. He faces you again. "At least you didn't get to experience how horrible and selfish those men are when it comes to making love."

His smile falters. "No. They don't call it making love, do they?" his eyes trail down to your stomach, bringing himself down so he could place kisses and kitten licks on your skin. "I believe most of them like calling it casual sex."

"Bastards," he curses under his breath before lowering himself again, this time being face-to-face with your heat. You embarrassingly closed your legs, momentarily making him react as your thighs envelope his head. He looks up at you with an amused smirk. "Guess you're into that, huh?" he mumbles with a husky tone before finally leaning in.

You could swear you momentarily saw stars as soon as his warm, wet tongue ran through your folds. His breath would always exhale each time he would swirl his tongue around your clit, slurping occasionally from his makeshift chalice.

You were sweeter than ambrosia and nectar, and he couldn't have enough. You were a walking cardinal sin, ready to prey on a God, to tempt him to indulge in such temptation. And that God was him. Except that you weren't tempting him, but it was him who willingly walked into your trap without any provocation.

The God of Love, enchanted by a human being. By you.

As his sucks and licks increased their pace, so did your stiffled moans. "Don't keep your moans to yourself," he says. "I'd love some good music." He stuck his tongue inside of you, exploring every crevice of your walls as much as he could while his teeth would occasionally scrape lightly through your clit. When you finally moan out loud unintentionally, he smiles. "That's it. Let me hear your pretty voice."

Every second that he spent worshipping you with his tongue brought you closer to something. You were already way past from what you used to consider as climax from your self-ministrations but this was something else. Something higher. Something more pleasurable.

You subconsciously grabbed his head, pulling his head closer. Minho's eyes widen a bit, surprised at your action but complies anyway. He smirks, tongue lapping you up faster as his mouth starts making the most sinful sounds as he sucks you in his mouth. He holds both your legs, determined to make you see a taste of heaven just as much as how he was tasting his own version of heaven through you.

As he gives you a long, dragging suck with the swirling of his tongue on your clit, it finally brings you to the edge. Your eyes shut tight, mouth hung open, and back arched as you cry out in pleasure. Your legs shake as they attempt to wiggle out from his grasps but his hold was strong, keeping you in place as he continues to suck on you, giving you overstimulation as you ride your first high.

He eventually lets you recover as you pant, now hovering above you as he licks away the remaining juices off his lips as if it was syrup. His eyes observe you, loving how helpless you looked as you tried to catch your breath from just a single climax, and just with a simple oral too. Minho brushes off a stray hair off your face, tucking it behind your ear as he places a kiss on your forehead.

"Well?" he asks. "It's good, isn't it?" You were too out of it to even answer. No one could blame you, the first orgasm—whether it was oral or not—was always the most mind-blowing. Too mind-blowing it turned you speechless in a matter of minutes. "That guy you were dancing with wouldn't even give a single fuck whether you'd cum or not," he says. "He'd only want to put his sad excuse of a dick inside that pretty little mouth and call it a day."

Minho places a soft kiss on your lips. "Human men won't care for you as much as Love himself would," he pauses. "Because they do not know love. They only know Lust."

He gently opens your legs, zipping down his own pants in the process. "Let me make love to you," Minho says, caressing your thighs as he raises them. He places kisses on your legs. When you finally recover from your trance, you glance at him. He was now as naked as you were but you could swear you were laying your eyes upon a God. And you really were.

He was perfect regardless wherever you would lay your eyes upon. Especially his arms. God, his arms were like nothing you have ever seen and yet they held you with such care. He could flail you around like a ragdoll, just like what most men would do in those porn videos you'd watch each time you felt a little lonely. But no, he held you as if you were a priceless vase. He'd trace your body as if it was some rare artwork to revel on at a museum. He'd draw you in his head like you were one of his French girls. Except that he didn't have any of those. You were the only girl that made a significance within his eyes.

You finally gave in, tossing all reason aside. If this was going to be your final chance at love, you prayed. Then you might as well let it happen.

Your tongues danced within a kiss, intertwining with each other both emotionally and physically. He clung unto you and you clung unto him, bodies pressing into each other as your sweat would momentarily stick each time Minho would close the proximity between you two. His thrusts started as slow yet passionate strokes, your velvety walls hugging around him as you moan in between gaps of your sloppy kisses. His hand caresses your waist, resting by your hips as he grips them only to pull you back towards him so you'd meet his thrusts.

He wasn't ruthless. He wasn't in a rush. He wasn't destroying you. And just like he said, he wasn't just giving you sex. He was making love with you. His slow thrust eventually increase its pace, the tip of his cock now kissing your cervix at each thrust. The sinful sound of skins slapping fill the walls of his office, mixed in by both your moans. He would always place wet, open-mouthed kisses on your neck and latch his lips on your nipple, never having enough of you as he drives deeper and deeper into you.

If he could, he would bury himself into you. Get lost in pleasure with you. Stay inside you. If it meant showing you what love really was, he would do it. Every stroke sent waves of pleasure through your body and his as your moans encouraged him to go even deeper. He couldn't get enough of the way you looked at him. How your lips would mouth incoherent words as he continues to savor the feeling of being inside you.

Soon enough, the room was filled with nothing but heavy breathing and ragged gasps. You wrap your arms around Minho's neck, pulling him closer as you yourself get closer to your own climax once more. He could feel you slowly tightening around him, a smirk finding its way on his lips.

"Cumming again?" he whispers, quiet groans lacing his question in between as he starts to thrust into you at a faster pace. You nod absentmindedly, eyes shut tight as you arch your back once more. He raises your legs, gaining more access to thrust deeper. "Deeper," he mumbles. "A little more."

With each thrust, his cock reached deeper depths that you didn't know were reachable. It sent you on edge. With his one final thrust, he finally hits that button needed for you to snap, making you moan out loud. The way you suddenly clenched around him as he was buried deep inside you made him reach his own climax as well, painting your walls with his own release. "Cumming cumming cumming!" you mutter, hands gripping on his arms as his groans muffle themselves in your neck.

You both laid there, gasping for air in each other's arms, savoring each other's warmth before Minho finally raises his head from your neck and looks at you. His face held the most loving and softest expression. He was smiling at your dazed state.

He places a kiss on your forehead. On your nose. And on your lips before looking into your half-lidded eyes. "I'll be back soon," he says. He said something else after that but you were too exhausted to even remember as your eyes finally closed, sending you into a state of rest.

...

You awoke with a jolt as you shot up from your bed, eyes open wide as you pant. You glanced around, immediately recognizing your surroundings as your bedroom. You frown to yourself, glancing down beneath the blanket.

What the hell happened? you asked yourself. You weren't exactly sure. You remembered being in a bar to meet up with that tinder date you have been crushing on since last week but after that, you passed out—probably from alcohol and now here you were, confused.

You wondered how you got home in the first place.

And that dream, you sighed to yourself, feeling your core wet from whatever dream you had. You shook your head, a palm running through your face as you groan in frustration.

"I can't believe I was so desperate to the point I'd dream of making love with someone," you roll your eyes at yourself as you throw yourself back on the bed again. This time, hugging your pillow and your curiosity piqued at your dream. "Whoever that guy was in my dream was really attractive though," you mutter to yourself.

Unbeknownst to you, Minho observed you through the window of your room from far a way, chuckling. He observes your pretty features first before finally turning around.

He'll remain in your dreams for now. After all, that was how Greek Gods would visit their human love affairs—through dreams. Though this time, he'd visit your dreams frequently.

Maybe because he wants less paperwork from you. Maybe because he wants you to pine for him more than the men you'd meet.

Eitherway, he can't wait until he visits you the next time you close your eyes again.

likes and reblogs are very much appreciated!!

[oizysian]

Secrets | Wanda Maximoff & Natasha Romanoff

Requested by @sashawalker2

Summary: How do Wanda and Natasha react to finding out Y/N was a victim of Hydra?

Word count: 1.2k

•

“When were you going to tell us you were experimented on by Hydra?”

“I don’t know, Wanda. There never seemed to be a right time.”

“Would’ve been nice if we had known before going to bed with you.”

“What’s the difference, Nat?”

“It’s like we slept with a stranger. We don’t even know you anymore.”

I blinked at them, pushing the tears back as the two women that meant everything to me looked at me as if I was a total stranger.

“I’m still the same person.”

“You’re not.” Nat insisted. “You lied to us.”

“I didn’t lie! I just … neglected to mention it.”

“What else did you neglect to mention?”

“I may have forgotten to tell you guys that I maybe have … some powers.”

Nat all but rolled her eyes and Wanda just continued to stare at me.

“What powers?���

“Not many!”

“What powers, Y/N?” Nat had clearly lost her patience.

“I’m strong and I can heal, okay?” I was ashamed of my past, of my powers, and being forced to out myself in front of my girlfriends was embarrassing.

“How strong?”

“I can hold my own against any of you.”

“Not without proper training.” Nat mumbled and I glared at her.

“Try me.”

“Okay, okay,” Wanda finally spoke, getting in between us before we started fighting right in front of her. “Y/N,” her voice was soft. “Why didn’t you just … tell us?”

“I was scared, okay? I was scared and ashamed.” I turned away from both women, my hands shaking with rage. “I hate what happened to me. I hate what they made me. I pushed down all my strength and all my abilities so I could just be normal.”

I turned back towards them, tears threatening to fall as I pleaded to them with my eyes.

“Is it such a crime to have wanted to put all that pain and torture behind me and just … pretend?”

Nat swallowed roughly as she listened to my words.

“You could’ve told us.”

“I couldn’t.” My voice broke. “I worked so hard to put all of that behind me. Telling you would’ve undone everything I did to be the person I am today.”

“But we told you who we were. That wasn’t fair of you, Y/N.”

“I know,” I turned to Wanda, hoping that at least she would understand me. “And I’m sorry. I just didn’t want either of you to think that I was some Hydra agent undercover or something.”

“And what if we do?”

“Do you?” I directed the question at Natasha, but then turned my attention to Wanda. “Do both of you really think I’m a Hydra agent? After everything I told you? After all we’ve been through?” I yelled, my chest heaving and my tears finally falling.

Wanda’s eyes shifted to the ground, but Nat continued to stare straight at me.

“Wouldn’t I have killed both of you already? Maybe while I was fucking you so hard you were screaming my name -”

Natasha’s fist collided with my face before I even had the chance to react. I barely flinched at the blow, even though she had used all her strength and channeled her anger into the hit. I sighed, knowing full well that I deserved it for how I spoke, but disappointed that she resorted to violence.

“Natasha!” Wanda cried, but I raised my hand up toward her, telling her it was okay.

“I deserved that.” I breathed, watching as the realization finally crossed her features that I had taken a hit from her and didn’t even take a step back. “I shouldn’t have brought that up, I’m sorry.”

“Y/N,” Wanda said my name softly, slowly approaching me. “I don’t think you’re with Hydra. I don’t think you have an evil bone in your body.” She took my face in her hands and looked deeply into my eyes. “You need to be honest with us from now on. No more secrets.”

I nodded, my eyes filling with tears once again at the softness of her voice. I thought she would’ve been angrier than Nat, but I guess she understood my desire to put it behind me to an extent.

“No more secrets. I’m sorry.”

“I know you are. It’s okay.”

Nat stood back and wordlessly watched us, still as the dead while Wanda comforted me. She wrapped her arms around my neck and pulled me to her, hugging me, and I watched Nat from over her shoulder. Her face was unreadable, blank, but I knew her well enough to know that she was mulling over everything that happened.

“They took me as a child,” I began, looking Nat directly in the eye. “I was tortured for years, injected with god knows what until I was finally able to escape.” I swallowed roughly, blinking away tears. “I can’t tell you how many of my bones were broken, how much of my body was destroyed just for it to repair itself within minutes and for the torture to start all over again because of it.”

“Y/N, you don’t have to …"

“I want to.” I gave Wanda a slight squeeze, letting her know it was okay, and continued. “I wasn’t the end goal. I was just a guinea pig. They were just going to use me until I finally died.” I scoffed. “Unfortunately for me, they made it almost impossible for me to die from anything other than natural causes.”

I sniffled softly and I felt Wanda’s arms tighten around me in support.

“I can’t even kill myself.”

“Y/N, don’t.” Wanda spoke against my neck and I could feel her own hot tears against my skin. “Don’t say that.”

“I tried.” I grabbed onto her, burying my face in the crook of her neck. “I tried to kill myself so many times, but I always wake up. I always wake up.”

I could sense Nat approach before I felt her arms around the both of us. Wanda was full on crying at this point and I was doing my best to hold and comfort her. As Nat embraced us both, and I could’ve sworn that I heard her crying too.

“I’m sorry, Y/N.”

I looked up at her, her eyes shining with tears. I leaned toward her and pressed my lips to hers and she responded in full, kissing me back while we held Wanda.

“I’m so sorry.” She whispered against my lips and I shook my head.

“Don’t apologize. I was the one who was wrong.”

“I was an idiot. I … hit you.”

“Which I deserved.”

“No, you didn’t. I lost myself.”

“It’s alright. I’m fine, see? Not even a scratch.” I tried to make light of it to try and make her feel better.

I knew it happened in a moment of passion and I truly did deserve it. I had deserved everything that happened to me. I knew that.

Before I could voice another thought, Wanda lifted her head up and kissed me, her lips trembling.

“I’m - I’m fine.” I breathed softly, her green eyes searching mine. “I’m fine, Wands. I promise.”

“I don’t want anything to come between us ever again.” Wanda’s voice was small and she sniffled softly.

“Nothing will. Ever. You two mean so much to me. More than you’ll ever know.”