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carnalcrows · 3 months ago

Text

LAVENDER'S BLUE

summary: You weren’t supposed to be seen. But one night, one dance, and one stolen look from a boy you didn’t know was a prince changes everything. Now the kingdom is looking for you—and you have to decide if you’re brave enough to be found.

pairing: prince charming! gojo saturo x cinderella! male reader

content warnings: 18+, romance, fluff, angst, smut (oral + p in a), bottom male reader, signs of abuse, reader has chronic back pain, rats.

word count: 9.0k --- spotify playlist

best viewed in dark mode

There’s a quiet to the attic that doesn’t exist anywhere else in the house.

It settles after midnight, when the girls are done with their games and their laughter has thinned to silence. When your stepfather’s footsteps stop echoing through the halls. When the fire burns low and the wine is gone, and there’s no one left to perform cruelty for.

It’s only then that the house exhales—and you can breathe.

You sit on the floorboards beside the bucket you haven’t emptied yet. The rag in your hands is damp, skin-roughening with soot. It’s not a real task, not something that anyone told you to do. You just needed something to keep your hands busy. Something that gives shape to the hours between darkness and dawn.

Your fingers are raw. Your knees ache. There’s ash on your sleeves and a splinter in your thumb, but you don’t mind. The attic is cold, yes, but it’s yours. Or at least—it's the one place no one else bothers to climb. That counts for something.

You glance toward the slanted window tucked beneath the roofline. The sky is silver. Cloudless. The moon stares back at you like it knows something you don’t.

You lower your eyes before it can say anything out loud.

⋆｡°✩

There are mice in the attic. They keep their distance.

You’ve never named them—not out loud—but they come and go often enough that you’ve started to recognise them. One of them is missing a patch of fur behind the ear. One always carries crumbs bigger than its body. One skitters in tight circles before settling, like it needs to outrun its own shadow.

You think they must be cold too. Winter came early this year, and the insulation in the upper floors is barely more than memory. The girls have fireplaces and velvet robes. You have a blanket that smells like dust and the long sleeves of your mother’s old shirt, which you’re not supposed to wear but do anyway, under your tunic. Hidden. Just for warmth.

Sometimes, the mice come closer when you hum under your breath. You pretend it’s a coincidence.

⋆｡°✩

The house used to be warm. You remember it that way—brief flashes of your mother’s hands kneading dough in the kitchen, her voice humming off-key while she watered the herb pots by the windows. Back then, the floors didn’t creak like they were grieving, and sunlight used to touch the corners of the room without shame.

Now, it’s Geto’s house. Not in name, maybe, but in power. His daughters move through the rooms like they were born from silk and contempt. They call you by your name when they need something scrubbed, but otherwise, you’re “him.” Or worse.

You used to try to win them over. You tried for a long time.

And then you stopped.

Now you keep your head down and your back straight. You work quickly, quietly. You sleep with your door locked. You speak only when spoken to, and not even always then.

There is safety in silence.

⋆｡°✩

The announcement comes over burnt toast and tea that tastes like bark.

You’re not meant to sit at the table, but Mimiko was too distracted by her own reflection this morning to complain, and Geto likes to pretend he doesn’t see you unless he’s scolding you. You’ve learned to drift along the edges of the room—quiet, invisible, but still useful.

“There’s to be a royal ball,” Geto says, flipping the parchment open with a lazy flick of his fingers. “Every eligible noble and commoner invited. Apparently, the prince is looking to marry.”

You don’t react. You butter the toast without looking up.

Nanako lets out a delighted gasp. “A royal ball! Father, we’ll go, won’t we? We’ll need gowns. Jewels. A carriage—”

“Slow down, sweetheart,” Geto replies, folding the parchment again. “There’ll be time.”

“He shouldn’t go,” Mimiko chimes in suddenly, her voice sickly sweet. “He’ll be there. Can you imagine?” She turns to you with a sharp smile. “You, in the presence of royalty? You’d embarrass the kingdom.”

There’s a pause. Just long enough for the moment to sting.

You don’t look at her. You nod, eyes fixed on your plate. You’ve become good at that—at swallowing down every little hurt before it blooms.

“That’s settled then,” Geto says, as if he were the one being mocked. “He stays home.”

You don’t ask who’ll clean the house before they leave. You already know.

⋆｡°✩

That night, you find yourself standing at the attic window again, forehead pressed to the glass.

It’s a habit you picked up as a child—watching the moonlight slip across the world while you imagined someone, anyone, looking back.

You used to tell yourself that one day, someone would. That someone would see you and know you. Not as a servant. Not as an afterthought. But as a person with a name, and a voice, and a heart that beats just as loudly as anyone else’s.

You don’t really believe that anymore.

But you watch the moon anyway.

Just in case.

The morning after the announcement, the house becomes unbearable.

There are fabric samples strewn across every chair. Shoeboxes lining the hallway. Perfumed letters arriving by raven—twice, even thrice a day. Mimiko and Nanako move through the rooms like glittering tornadoes, screeching over colour palettes and necklines, screaming at seamstresses who pretend not to flinch.

You scrub the floors while they argue about lace.

They barely notice you anymore. You’re just the shape that keeps the house polished. A pair of hands. A name they speak only when something’s spilt.

You try not to mind.

You’ve had practice.

⋆｡°✩

Geto brings in a mirror the size of a door and installs it in the dining room. “For fittings,” he says, waving off the servants as if he weren’t one once himself.

He stands behind his daughters as they twirl and pout, appraising them like fine art he expects someone else to purchase. He corrects posture. Adjusts wrists. Tells Mimiko she’s standing like a peasant. Tells Nanako she’s gaining weight.

You fold linens in the corner and try not to breathe too loudly.

He never looks at you. But you feel his disapproval anyway. It clings to your skin like ash.

⋆｡°✩

The day of the ball arrives like frost.

You wake before the sun, dress in silence, and sweep the staircases before anyone else opens their doors. There’s a rhythm to it now—scrub, rinse, repeat. The ache in your spine is familiar and comforting in its own small way. Pain, at least, is consistent.

By noon, the house smells like citrus oil and powdered sugar. The dresses are hung. The carriage is polished. Everything is perfect.

Except for you.

You stand by the front hall with the box of hairpins still in your hands as Geto makes his final inspection.

He nods once, satisfied. Then turns to you.

“You’ll stay here,” he says flatly. “Don’t open the windows. Don’t leave the house. And for heaven’s sake, stay out of sight.”

You nod. Of course.

The carriage pulls away.

And just like that—you’re alone again.

⋆｡°✩

You don’t cry.

You’re not a child anymore. You don’t believe in being rescued, and you don’t believe in magic. This world is a hard, cold thing, and there’s no use wishing it weren’t.

Still.

You wander through the empty rooms with the kind of quiet you imagine the dead must carry. Your hands drag across polished bannisters, past doorknobs and glass and velvet cushions that were never meant for you.

In the sitting room, a single slice of cake sits abandoned on a tray.

You don’t touch it.

Instead, you climb the stairs. Past the bedrooms. Past the locked study. All the way up to the top. To the attic. To the place you belong.

And when you close the door behind you, the weight settles over your shoulders like it always does—familiar and heavy.

But tonight, it feels just a little bit heavier.

Maybe because you let yourself imagine it.

Just for a moment.

⋆｡°✩

The sound comes just before nightfall.

A knocking—no, not quite. More like a sharp pop, a crack of air and wind and something older than both. It echoes, muffled, through the floorboards beneath your feet.

You freeze.

It happens again. Then silence.

You step cautiously toward the window, half expecting thunder, or maybe fireworks from the palace.

But the sky is clear. The world is still.

And the only thing staring back at you is the moon.

⋆｡°✩

The sound doesn’t come again.

You wait for it. Still, as the dust motes floated in the dying light. Ears strained. Eyes fixed on the floor, as if the silence might shift again, rupture again, give you some kind of sign.

But there’s nothing.

Just your own breath. Just the wind outside, curling soft fingers against the attic window. Just the ache in your knees, the sting in your wrists. The familiar weight of another evening with nowhere to go.

You stand there for a long time.

You think—maybe you imagined it.

Maybe that’s just what happens, when hope slips through the cracks of your ribs and you don’t catch it in time.

You move to sit down.

That’s when the second knock comes.

Not from below. Not from outside. But from within the attic.

From behind the wall.

You freeze.

Not a ghost. You don’t believe in those.

Not a thief. What kind of thief breaks into the attic?

There’s a creaking, low and almost…exhausted. Like the wood itself is trying to speak. Like something ancient is being disturbed, pulled awake by the wrong hands.

And then—

A sigh.

You swear you hear a sigh.

Soft. Dry. Slightly annoyed.

“Alright,” comes a voice. Flat. Unimpressed. “That’s enough dramatics. Move.”

You backpedal so fast you knock over the bucket.

The rag hits the floor with a slap. Water spills into the cracks between the boards. You don’t even look at it. You’re too busy staring at the corner of the attic that had definitely been empty before.

It isn’t empty now.

There’s a woman.

Or—at least you think she’s a woman. Her robes are a little too long and mismatched, and there’s a cigarette tucked between her fingers despite the fact that the chimney doesn’t reach this far. Her boots are muddy. Her expression is somewhere between world-weary and mildly inconvenienced.

She looks like she’s been late to every appointment she’s ever had and hasn’t felt guilty about a single one.

And she’s standing in your attic like she owns it.

You open your mouth to speak.

She beats you to it.

“Don’t scream,” she says, not unkindly. “You’ll scare the mice.”

You don’t scream.

You don’t move either.

Which is probably for the best, because she’s already walking toward you like this is normal. Like you’re the one intruding.

“I was aiming for the cellar,” she mutters. “But nooo, the magic said ‘aim for the heart of the house,’ and look where that got me. Dust in my lungs and you looking like you’ve seen a ghost.”

You finally manage to find your voice. Sort of.

“Who—”

“Shoko,” she says, waving a hand as if that answers anything. “Let’s skip the dramatic introductions, yeah? I’m on a deadline.”

You stare.

She exhales through her nose, then gives you the same look someone might give a plant that’s taking too long to grow.

“You’re him,” she says, lighting the cigarette with a flick of her fingers. No flint. No match. Just…fire, like it was waiting for her.

You don’t answer.

“Don’t do that,” she says. “Don’t look at me like you’ve never seen someone make a dramatic entrance before. I thought all you attic-dwelling waifs lived for theatrics.”

You shake your head slowly. “I don’t know who you are.”

Shoko tilts her head.

“Well, no,” she says. “Not yet.”

⋆｡°✩

“You’ve got the look,” she says, nudging a cobweb out of the way with the back of her hand. “The quiet sort. Watches windows. Hums to keep from screaming.”

You’re still not speaking.

She sits down without asking. Cross-legged right on the attic floor like she wasn’t conjured into existence five seconds ago. Her cigarette smoke spirals toward the beams and settles around her like a crown of ash.

“I know what this is,” you finally say, voice quiet. “You’re a dream.”

Shoko snorts. “God, I wish.”

You don’t answer. The bucket of water seeps closer to your heel, a cold bloom against the wood. You stare at it. At her.

She doesn’t blink.

“I’m not here to hurt you,” she says, softer now. Not gentle, but closer. Like she’s trying. “I’m here to help.”

You shift your weight. Not quite toward her. Not quite away.

“Why?”

She flicks ash from the tip of her cigarette. It disappears before it hits the ground.

“Because you deserve it.”

You blink.

She goes on. “I’m not saying that in the philosophical, vague-fairy-tale sense. I mean it in the plain, unromantic, real-world way. You’ve done the work. You’ve survived. You’ve kept your heart from going sour even when it would’ve been easier to let it rot.”

You laugh. It’s small and brittle.

“I don’t think anyone would call me kind.”

“I didn’t say kind,” she says. “I said whole. You still have a piece of yourself that no one’s broken. That’s more than most.”

She says it so casually that it takes you a second to understand she meant it as a compliment.

You don’t know what to do with that.

You sit, slowly. She watches, but doesn’t comment.

The floor creaks beneath you. The attic is very still.

She speaks again. “Do you want to leave?”

It’s such a simple question.

Do you want to leave?

You stare at her. Your tongue feels thick.

“I can’t.”

She shrugs. “Didn’t ask if you could.”

You swallow.

“I want—” you start, then stop. “I don’t know what I want.”

“Sure you do,” she says, ashing the cigarette onto nothing. “You’ve just been taught not to say it.”

Your hands twist in your lap. She waits.

You say it like it hurts.

“I want to go. Just once. I want to be in a room where no one looks at me like I’m something to step over. I want to be wanted, just for a night. I want to know what it feels like to be seen.”

Shoko nods.

You stare at her. “That’s stupid, isn’t it?”

“No,” she says. “That’s a wish.”

⋆｡°✩

The air shifts.

It’s subtle—but you feel it. Like the attic exhales again, but this time with purpose. Something loosens in the walls, in the dark, in the shadows that have been your only company for years.

Shoko stands.

She snuffs out her cigarette on her palm. No mark. No burn.

When she speaks again, her voice is something older.

Not louder. Not deeper. But ancient. Measured. Like the moment you speak it aloud, it’ll echo.

“Then let’s give you your night.”

⋆｡°✩

She doesn’t wave a wand.

There’s no burst of glitter, no chorus, no sudden wind that tosses your hair back and makes your heart race. Nothing theatrical. Nothing pretty.

Instead, Shoko simply raises one hand—palm open—and exhales.

And the attic breathes with her.

The shadows bend first. Not away from the light, but toward it, curling like they’re waking up from a long sleep. The corners of the room soften, then blur, then ripple like heat above flame. Your breath catches in your throat.

There’s a sound, like thread pulling from cloth. And then—

Light. Dim at first. Then rising, warm and heavy like honey poured slow over your skin.

You don’t flinch.

You can’t.

It wraps around you. Not tight. Not painful. But thorough. Like it’s measuring. Weighing. Choosing.

Your shirt dissolves at the cuffs. Not burns—dissolves, the fabric unspooling into the air like mist. You lift your hands, startled, and they don’t feel like your hands anymore.

Shoko hums. “You’re lucky. Some people resist it. You—you’re letting it in.”

You blink at her, mouth dry. “Letting what in?”

She looks at you then, really looks, and says:

“Yourself.”

⋆｡°✩

The clothes build themselves, stitch by stitch.

It starts at your collarbones—warmth, pressure, then silk. Deep charcoal, almost black, but edged in silver so fine it could be moonlight. It fits perfectly, even before it finishes forming. Like it knew the shape of you before you did.

The sleeves wrap next—long, smooth, elegant. A flash of something translucent near the cuffs. Not ruffles, but something more fluid, like smoke in fabric form.

A jacket follows. Trimmed with silver thread, small accents that catch the dying light from the attic window. The kind of detail no mirror would ever see, but someone who was looking at you—really looking—might.

Your boots reform around your feet. Soft. Sleek. Practical enough to run in, but elegant enough to be remembered.

You don’t know how to breathe.

Shoko watches.

The final piece is a brooch—small, just over your heart. A pin in the shape of a crescent moon. Not garish. Not royal. Just… honest.

“I don’t understand,” you murmur, voice catching.

She doesn’t smile, but her voice is kind when she answers. “You don’t have to. Just wear it like you do.”

⋆｡°✩

The light fades.

The attic returns.

But you don’t.

You’re still you, but taller somehow. Straighter. Shoulders set. Like the weight hasn’t disappeared—but you’ve finally grown strong enough to carry it.

Your hands shake.

You press them against your chest. The fabric beneath your fingertips is real.

“I’m not supposed to be there,” you whisper.

Shoko flicks her cigarette back into her fingers and lights it with a snap.

“You’re supposed to be wherever you want to be,” she replies. “And tonight? You’re going.”

⋆｡°✩

You turn toward the attic stairs.

“Wait,” she says, and you freeze.

She tosses something into your hands.

Shoes.

Polished leather. Silver-buckled. Sleek, precise. The kind of shoes made for palace floors, not soot-stained attics. You run your thumbs over them. They’re real. Solid. One is slightly warmer than the other, like it’s holding onto something the world hasn’t seen yet.

“Enchanted?” you ask softly.

Shoko exhales smoke through her nose. “One of them.”

You blink. “Just one?”

She shrugs. “You only need one to be remembered.”

⋆｡°✩

The carriage waits at the edge of the estate.

It wasn’t there before. You would’ve heard it. Seen it. But now it sits beneath the moonlight like it’s always belonged—quiet, waiting, wheels perfectly clean despite the muddy road.

You don’t ask questions.

Shoko didn’t explain where it came from, and you didn’t ask.

You step down from the attic, cross the now-silent halls in a suit that doesn’t touch the floor when you move. The house doesn’t know you anymore. The wallpaper doesn’t sneer. The stairs don’t groan in protest. Even the silence has changed—it watches you now, instead of swallowing you whole.

You don’t look back.

Not at the staircase. Not at Geto’s study. Not at the kitchen where you used to stand barefoot and bleeding. That life still lives here, but you’ve stepped out of its skin.

For one night.

The coachman doesn’t speak. He tips his hat. The door opens. You climb in.

And the wheels turn toward the palace.

It’s farther than you thought.

You’ve seen it only from a distance—sharp spires against the horizon, gold-glass windows catching the sun like a promise. But up close, it’s something else entirely. Too large. Too luminous. The kind of place that exists outside time.

You step out into torchlight and laughter.

Music filters through marble arches. Strings and woodwinds. A swell of something grand, something old. People in silks and satin flow up the staircase like water—gloved hands, high collars, laughter polished and practised.

You shouldn’t be here.

But you are.

And no one stops you.

⋆｡°✩

The ballroom doors are wide open.

No guards. No fanfare. Just an invitation in the shape of light.

You cross the threshold on steady legs.

The floor is mirrored marble. Chandeliers drip crystal firelight. The ceiling stretches into a painted sky—cherubs and constellations you don’t recognise.

No one looks at you.

And somehow, that’s worse than the mocking would’ve been.

You drift along the edges at first. One step. Then another. A glass in your hand that you didn’t ask for. A compliment tossed over someone’s shoulder, not meant for you but close enough to sting.

And then—

He enters.

⋆｡°✩

You don’t see his face at first.

Just the way the room bends.

People part. Eyes turn. Laughter softens into interest. Not fear. Not awe. Just something deeper. Like gravity. Like inevitability.

And then he steps forward, and you understand.

White hair, sharp-cut and careless. A smile that looks carved into something ancient and shining. His coat is midnight blue, collar open just enough to be casual, cuffs rolled as if he’s already done dancing and plans to do it again.

There are jewels on half the people here. Gold on everyone else.

But he doesn’t need either.

He is the light in the room.

You don’t know his name.

You don’t even realise he’s looking at you until it’s too late to look away.

⋆｡°✩

You try to look away first.

That’s your mistake.

Because now he knows.

You’re not sure how you know he knows—but you do. It's in the tilt of his head. The slight quirk at the corner of his mouth. Like your gaze didn’t just find him, but called him.

And he’s answering.

He moves through the crowd like it was always meant to part for him. Not fast. Not eager. Just easy. Certain. As if he’s done this a hundred times before and always ends up here.

At you.

Your throat is dry. Your hand tightens around the glass you never drank from.

He stops in front of you.

Up close, he’s worse. Or better. You can’t decide.

His eyes are bright—too bright. The kind of blue people write songs about and then spend the rest of their lives trying to forget. His hair is a mess of silver and moonlight, and his smile is almost too much. Like he knows it is, and uses it anyway.

He glances down at your untouched drink.

Then back up at you.

“Not your thing?” he asks, voice low, amused. Not mocking. Not yet.

You manage a reply. “Wasn’t thirsty.”

“Lucky me,” he says. “Neither was I.”

He reaches out. Takes the glass from your hand. Places it on a passing tray without looking.

Then he holds his hand out to you.

Just like that.

As if you’ve already said yes.

As if you’ve always said yes.

“Dance with me.”

Not a question. Not quite a command. Just an expectation. A possibility.

You stare at his hand. At the long fingers. The pale wrist. The soft flash of a silver cufflink shaped like a star.

“I don’t know how,” you say quietly.

He leans in, just slightly. Just enough to make your breath stutter.

“That’s alright,” he says. “I do.”

⋆｡°✩

The music isn’t loud.

It doesn’t need to be.

He walks you to the centre of the room like it’s normal. Like every person isn’t watching. Like the marble floor doesn’t ache under your feet, trying to whisper, this isn’t for you.

But he holds your hand like it is.

And when you move—when your feet remember how to follow, when your body remembers joy—he doesn’t laugh. He doesn’t lead you like you’re fragile. He lets you catch up. Lets you breathe.

And when you do—

You start to smile.

Not wide. Not bright. Just a little. Just enough.

But he sees it.

His smile answers yours.

And the world keeps spinning.

⋆｡°✩

The music fades into something slower.

Your chest is still rising too fast, but his hand is steady at your back. He hasn’t let go. Not once.

Every step, every turn, he watches you like there’s no one else in the room. Like this isn’t a palace. Like this isn’t a dance among royals. Like you’re not somewhere you shouldn’t be.

Like you’re exactly where you’re meant to be.

“Still nervous?” he asks, voice low, just under the violin swell.

You glance up. His smile is soft now. Tilted. Familiar in a way it shouldn’t be.

“I didn’t know it would be this easy,” you say.

He raises a brow. “Dancing?”

“Being seen.”

He doesn't laugh. Doesn't look away. Instead, he slows you to a stop, right there in the middle of the floor.

His hand slips from your waist to your wrist.

“Come with me,” he says.

⋆｡°✩

He leads you out through the back hall, past open doors and gilded arches, until the palace swallows its own noise. The music fades behind columns. The warmth of the crowd falls away.

You step into a quiet corridor, and then—

A garden.

Not the one guests passed through. This is smaller. Older. Half-forgotten. Wild vines along the stone. A cracked marble bench. The scent of lavender and something sweeter underneath—like sugar left in the sun.

It’s moonlit and hidden and yours.

You inhale, and it fills your lungs like a prayer.

“Better?” he asks.

You nod.

He lets go of your wrist but stays close. Too close. You feel his breath near your temple. He’s taller than you’d realised on the dance floor.

“Do you bring all your dance partners here?” you ask, not meaning to sound like anything—but it comes out softer than expected. Curious.

His smile quirks, lazy and real. “Only the ones I want to keep a little longer.”

Your heart kicks once. Stupid thing.

“I’m not exactly... worth remembering.”

He looks at you then, full and unguarded.

“Funny,” he murmurs, “I was just thinking the opposite.”

You don’t know what to say to that.

So you don’t say anything.

His gaze drops to your mouth. Brief. Barely there.

But your breath stutters anyway.

You want to close the space between you.

He’s already leaning in.

His voice is barely a whisper now.

“What’s your name?”

You hesitate. You’d almost forgotten that you hadn’t given it.

“I—”

DING.

The first chime hits like a stone to the chest.

DONG.

You flinch.

He pulls back, startled.

DING.

“No,” you whisper.

The air shifts. Your jacket tightens. Something in the fabric shudders like it’s remembering itself.

You take a step back.

“I’m sorry.”

“Wait—” he starts, reaching for you.

DONG.

“I have to go,” you say, already turning.

“Wait! At least tell me who—”

DING.

You’re gone.

The night is breaking, and the magic is pulling you with it.

You run.

Not elegantly. Not the way you danced.

This is a stumble-sprint, half-flight down the corridor, heart pounding against your ribs like it’s trying to get back to him. The marble floors blur. Gold columns, oil paintings, half-turned faces in distant rooms—none of it matters now. Only the ache in your chest and the way the air grows heavier with every step.

The magic is unravelling.

You feel it in your sleeves first. The seams loosen. The silver edging at your cuffs begins to smoke and vanish, the way dew fades from a blade of grass. You press your hands to your chest like you can hold it all together—but the fabric keeps melting under your fingers.

The music is gone. The laughter behind you is too far to matter. All that exists is the echo of your boots—no, just one boot now—against the floor.

You don't remember when it happened.

Just that you turned a corner too sharp. That your foot slipped. That something caught for a second and then gave way.

You look down.

Your right foot is bare.

The enchanted shoe is gone.

You double back.

It’s lying on the stairs.

You don’t go back for it.

You can't.

DING.

The ninth chime.

The gold embroidery at your hem vanishes mid-step. The jacket fades, thread by thread, until all you’re left with is the thin, patched tunic underneath—too short now. Yours, but not yours anymore. The magic never fully disguised your body. It just made the weight feel lighter.

You grab the stair railing as the garden doors disappear behind you.

The tenth chime echoes off the stone.

You’re almost at the exit.

You think you hear your name.

Not your real name. Not the one Geto calls you with disdain. But yours. The one only someone who sees you might say.

But it’s too late.

You hit the gravel outside barefoot, panting, lungs burning with cold air and regret.

The eleventh chime splits the sky.

You don’t look back.

⋆｡°✩

Somewhere behind you, he stands at the top of the staircase. His gloves are in his pocket. His coat is unbuttoned. He’s not looking at the crowd.

He’s looking at the stairs.

And the single shoe left waiting.

⋆｡°✩

The twelfth and final chime rings out.

Midnight has come.

And you're already disappearing into the dark.

You wake before the sun.

You always do, but today it feels different.

Not because your body hurts—though it does. Not because the air is cold—though it bites.

But because something inside you is too quiet.

Like your chest has been scrubbed hollow.

The attic doesn’t look any different.

The boards still creak when you shift your weight. The frost still kisses the corners of the glass. The mice still rustle softly in the wall like they don’t know anything has changed.

But it has.

You sit up slowly, fingers curled in the edge of the blanket that isn’t warm enough. Your knees are sore. Your palms sting. The magic’s gone, and it didn’t leave anything for you to hold except—

Your breath catches.

You look down.

There it is.

Nestled at the foot of your bed.

One shoe.

Not both.

Just the right one.

Silver-buckled. Unscuffed. A quiet gleam to the leather that doesn’t belong to this world.

The matching pair had vanished with the rest of the suit. But this one stayed.

Of course it did.

You don’t touch it.

Not yet.

You just stare.

Your chest tightens slowly, like the ache has to rebuild itself from the edges in.

You replay the night in pieces.

The ballroom. The music. The boy with the moonlight grin and the storm in his eyes. The garden. His hand on your back. His voice, soft and certain, asking for your name like he’d keep it safe.

You wonder if he’s looking for you.

You wonder if he’s still at the top of those stairs.

You wonder if he’ll know you now, in patched sleeves and soot-stained soles.

If he’d want to.

You press the heel of your hand into your chest, hard.

Just to feel something.

⋆｡°✩

Far from the attic, in a palace where the candles never burn low, a king lies dying.

Not with drama. Not with blood or fury or breathless speeches. Just… slowly.

Quietly.

Gojo sits beside him.

He’s not dressed for grief. Still in the same half-wrinkled clothes from the night before—collar askew, hair a mess, the ghost of the ballroom clinging to his shoulders.

He hasn’t slept. Hasn’t moved since the garden emptied and the last guest was sent away.

He hasn’t spoken.

Not until now.

“I met someone,” he says softly.

The king doesn’t open his eyes, but his mouth twitches. Barely there.

“A noble?” he rasps, voice like dry paper.

Gojo almost laughs. “Not even close.”

The king hums. A tiny sound. “Thank god.”

That earns a real smile. Faint. Brief.

Gojo leans forward, fingers curled tight over the blanket. “I didn’t get his name. Didn’t even ask. He ran. Lost a shoe.”

The king’s chest rises slowly. “Romantic.”

“Frustrating,” Gojo says. “He was real. Not… shiny. Not faked. I think he looked right through me and still stayed.”

The king doesn’t speak for a long time.

Then—

“Then go,” he says, hoarse but sure. “Go find the one who saw you.”

Gojo’s throat closes.

The king’s eyes stay shut.

“You’ve carried this crown too long,” he murmurs. “Go be loved, Satoru. Don’t let this place kill that part of you.”

There’s silence.

Then Gojo bows his head.

“I will.”

⋆｡°✩

The king dies two days later.

The mourning bells toll across the city. The gates are draped in black. The court dons solemn silks and speaks in hushed tones.

Gojo buries his father quietly.

No fanfare. No grand declarations. Just a hand pressed to the coffin and a whisper no one hears.

He returns to the throne room with quiet thunder.

No coronation. No applause. Just a man in mourning with the weight of a kingdom on his shoulders and something softer clenched between his hands.

A single shoe.

Silver-buckled. Clean as memory. The only piece of the night that didn’t vanish.

The court hushes when he steps to the dais.

He speaks without ceremony.

“I’m not here to celebrate a title,” he says. “I’m here to honour a promise.”

A ripple of confusion passes through the crowd.

Gojo lifts the shoe for all to see.

“This,” he says, voice steady, “was left behind by the person I danced with at the royal ball.”

Murmurs rise. Names, questions, whispers like wind.

Gojo’s next words cut straight through.

“I don’t know their name. Or where they came from. But I know how I felt.”

Silence now. Even the courtiers lean forward.

He breathes in. Then:

“Find them.”

The prince’s men arrive two days later.

They come in pairs—one to carry the shoe, one to carry the threat of a sword.

Some houses greet them with fanfare. Others slam the door. But in every room, they kneel before the hopeful, the desperate, the delusional, and ask them to try it on.

None of them fit.

None of them feel right.

⋆｡°✩

Toji doesn’t really want to be here.

He’s already threatened to eat the shoe twice. Nanami pretends not to hear him.

“You’re not putting it in your mouth,” Nanami says flatly as they stand in front of a bakery.

“I wasn’t gonna put it in,” Toji replies. “Just, you know. Scare the kid a little.”

“No.”

“They’ve got sugar tarts in there.”

“We’re here for the shoe.”

“I can multitask.”

Nanami sighs and knocks.

⋆｡°✩

Three houses later:

“This is a waste of time,” Toji mutters.

“It’s a royal command,” Nanami answers, like that means anything.

They’re standing in front of a weeping blacksmith.

“I swore I saw the mystery person,” the blacksmith says, tears in his beard. “They were in my dream. Had wings. Glowed.”

Nanami pinches the bridge of his nose.

Toji offers him a handkerchief. “We’ll send word if we find them, yeah?”

The blacksmith sobs louder.

Toji pats him on the shoulder.

“You tried, champ.”

⋆｡°✩

Back at the estate, the air has changed.

You don't notice at first. You're doing laundry. Small, quiet motions. Wrists in soap, eyes on the window.

But when you climb back up to the attic, the door is open.

That’s not right.

You never leave it open.

You step inside.

Geto is waiting.

He’s holding something in his hand.

It takes you a moment to register it. To understand what you’re looking at. To realise it’s yours.

The other shoe.

The one the magic didn’t claim.

Geto doesn’t look angry.

Worse.

He looks resigned.

“I knew,” he says, voice low. “The night you came home. I knew it was you.”

You don’t speak.

There’s something brittle in your chest. Like glass.

Geto turns the shoe over in his hand. “It was supposed to be Mimiko or Nanako. Anyone else. Someone who could give this family something back. But you—”

He shakes his head.

“I married your mother for love, you know.”

You flinch.

“I was a servant. Just like you. She didn’t care. She saw me. She chose me. And then she died. And I got stuck. In this house. With bills, and mouths, and nothing to show for it but my hands and my daughters.”

He looks at you then, sharp and quiet.

“You think I hate you,” he says. “I don’t.”

You want to speak. You don’t know how.

“I envy you,” he finishes.

Then he drops the shoe.

And before you can move—before you can breathe—he steps on it.

It doesn’t break.

Of course it doesn’t.

The magic’s long gone.

So he picks it up instead.

And throws it out the window.

You hear it hit the gravel outside.

And then—

Click.

The door locks behind you.

Geto’s footsteps fade down the stairs.

And you’re alone again.

Trapped. Silenced.

But not invisible anymore.

⋆｡°✩

You don’t move right away.

You hear Geto’s footsteps fade, one by one, until the house swallows them whole. Until the only sound left is the wind against the glass, and the beat of your pulse behind your eyes.

The lock clicks again in your mind. Sharp. Final.

And then—

Nothing.

Just quiet.

You sit.

Not gently. Not with grace.

You drop straight to the floor, legs folded awkwardly, palms flat on the cold wood. The air smells like old wood and soap. Like sorrow dried into the beams.

Your hands curl into the sleeves of your shirt. Not to hide. Just to feel something.

The window glows with late morning sun. Too bright to pretend it’s still night. Too soft to call this anything but cruel.

You swallow.

You whisper to no one, “It wasn’t supposed to matter.”

The words hang there.

And then—

A scritch.

Then another.

Soft and quick, like tiny feet against the baseboard.

You blink down.

Yuji, the one with the torn ear, darts into view. He stops near your feet. Sits up on his haunches like he’s checking on you.

You offer him your palm.

He noses it once. Then skitters away to the corner where Megumi and Nobara have already gathered.

There’s a scrap of ribbon there. Frayed. Half chewed.

And a single wooden spool.

You don’t know how they found it. Or why they’re bringing it to you.

But they do.

You exhale.

“I’m not making a new shoe,” you say quietly.

They freeze.

You soften. “...Thank you, though.”

Yuji does a little hop. You can almost hear him say you’re not done.

You lean back against the wall.

You look at the door.

The lock is still in place.

The window is still too small.

Your limbs are still tired.

But something in you is standing up.

You’ve never asked to be found before.

But now— Now you know what it felt like to be seen.

And you’re not letting that disappear without a fight.

Bang bang bang.

Not a gentle knock.

Not the kind nobles use.

The door shakes in its frame.

Mimiko shrieks from somewhere down the hall, “Father—!”

“Coming,” Geto calls, voice too smooth, too fast.

He brushes dust from his sleeves and opens the door with a smile that doesn't quite reach his eyes.

Nanami doesn't smile back.

Toji doesn’t look like he’s ever smiled at all.

The taller one—Toji, in dark military trim and boots that leave real dirt on the clean floor—looks over Geto like he’s furniture. Nanami, perfectly pressed and sharply polite, holds a velvet-lined box in his hands.

Inside it, nestled like a relic, sits the shoe.

The room tightens.

“We’re here on royal command,” Nanami says, calm as a cut. “Every household within the capital must comply.”

Geto’s smile doesn’t falter. But his fingers twitch at his sides.

“Of course,” he says. “My daughters will be thrilled.”

⋆｡°✩

The twins are anything but.

They stumble into the drawing room in matching silks, half-dressed and sweating.

Mimiko tries to charm. Nanako tries to lie. Both try on the shoe.

The shoe does not fit either of them.

Not Mimiko, who tried to stuff her foot in sideways, biting her lip like pain might be mistaken for grace.

Not Nanako, who screamed at the guards and insisted it was her shoe—until Nanami calmly pointed out it would have to be her right shoe, and she’d shoved her left foot in.

Both of them are red-faced now. Geto looks pale.

Nanami closes the velvet box with finality.

“That’s all,” Geto says quickly, stepping between them and the door. “Thank you for your time, but as you can see—”

“We appreciate your cooperation,” Nanami says, already half-turned. “We’ll be on our way—”

And then— CRASH.

Not subtle.

Not small.

Wood shatters. Something heavy hits the floor above. Then a thud. A clang. Another loud bang, like someone’s trying to tear a room apart.

All three men freeze.

Geto doesn’t blink.

“Old house,” he says lightly. “It groans.”

Nanami narrows his eyes.

Toji’s already turning.

“It came from upstairs,” he says.

“No need,” Geto says quickly. “We told you, it’s just—”

“Storage,” Toji finishes, stepping forward.

And then—

A fourth voice speaks, smooth as silk:

“Open it.”

The knights turn sharply.

So does Geto.

Because one of the guards—the one who had been silent this entire time, helmet shadowing his face, standing too still in the corner—steps forward.

And removes his helmet.

White hair falls loose.

Eyes like the end of a sky.

It’s him.

The prince.

No coat. No crown. Just a low voice and a gaze that could slit a throat with kindness.

“Check the room,” Gojo says.

Toji doesn’t hesitate.

He moves toward the stairs.

And Geto?

Geto stops breathing.

⋆｡°✩

Meanwhile, upstairs—

You’ve already broken a chair.

The window’s too high, and the door won’t give, but fury moves faster than fear.

You threw the table against the wall. You shattered a glass jar. The room is in chaos.

Not because you thought someone would hear you.

But because if you’re going to be locked away again—this time, the walls will remember you were here.

And downstairs, they just did.

⋆｡°✩

The door gives way with a shudder and a kick.

Toji steps inside the attic like he’s seen a thousand rooms like this—and hates every one of them. He doesn’t speak at first. Just scans the broken chair, the shards of glass, the boy standing in the middle of it all like a storm passed through him and didn’t finish the job.

You square your shoulders, fists tight.

“I’m not going quietly,” you say.

Toji raises a brow.

“You’re not going anywhere,” he says. “Not until you try on the shoe.”

⋆｡°✩

You’re still stunned when you’re led down the stairs.

The house feels different now—seen, somehow. You don’t flinch when Geto glares. You don’t look at the twins when they hiss your name like it’s a curse.

Because all you see is him.

Gojo.

Not in a dream. Not behind a mask.

Just him.

And he’s looking at you like you invented music.

⋆｡°✩

“I didn’t know,” you say softly.

His smile curves at the edges. “Good.”

You blink. “What?”

“I wanted to be seen as me, not as—” He waves a hand. “Royal disaster. Golden boy. Walking headline.”

“You’re still ridiculous,” you mutter.

“Mm,” he says, “but you danced with me anyway.”

⋆｡°✩

Nanami brings the shoe.

It still gleams like it remembers the night better than you do.

You kneel.

Your fingers tremble.

You fit your foot inside.

It slides in like it never belonged anywhere else.

A quiet settles over the room.

Nanami exhales, almost like relief.

Toji nods once.

The twins make some sound between a gasp and a wail.

And Gojo?

He takes two steps forward.

Then drops to one knee.

No theatrics. No ceremony.

Just him.

And you.

And the weight of everything you both carried here.

“I don’t know your name,” he says. “But I’d like to learn it every day.”

You swallow.

His hand is warm.

“Will you marry me?”

You stare at him.

Then, slowly, like something new is blooming in your chest—

You smile.

And take his hand.

The palace feels warmer now.

Not because of the sun. Or the gilded windows. Or the three-tiered cake that someone dropped during the reception and tried to blame on the reindeer.

But because of him.

Gojo stands beside you on the balcony, arm loose around your waist, his thumb brushing idle circles against your side like he still can’t believe you’re real.

You’re both still in partial wedding attire—him with his jacket tossed over a chair somewhere, you barefoot, crown lopsided, shirt collar unbuttoned and clinging just a little to your throat. You should probably be inside. The court is probably looking for you.

But the garden below is quiet.

And the air tastes like late summer and the end of something you never thought would happen.

⋆｡°✩

“What happened to them?” you ask, leaning into him just enough to be smug about it.

He hums. “Geto’s under investigation for falsifying noble status. Pretty sure he’s banned from the capital for life. Last I heard, he’s trying to sell spiritual healing potions out of a cart in the countryside.”

You snort. “And the twins?”

“Assigned to community service. Fifteen years of it.”

You blink. “What do they do?”

“Paint fences. Clean royal kennels. Muck out stables.”

You try to look sympathetic.

You fail.

⋆｡°✩

The sky is peach-gold now.

You lean back against the railing, one hand braced behind you, and Gojo’s eyes trace the line of your neck like he’s memorising it.

“What?” you ask, smirking a little.

“You’re too pretty for this world,” he says easily. “I might have to exile you just to stop fights.”

You roll your eyes. “You’re not exiling me. You married me.”

He steps in closer.

“I did, didn’t I?”

His hand settles just under your jaw, thumb brushing your cheek. His smile turns softer.

Hungrier.

“Wanna kiss your husband?”

You grin. “Maybe.”

He doesn’t wait for permission.

⋆｡°✩

“You’re staring,” he murmurs, voice like velvet warmed in sunlight.

You don’t answer. Just let your fingers trail down the line of his collarbone, slow and curious, feeling the heat beneath his skin. You’re still a little dazed from it all—the ceremony, the kiss, the way he looked at you like you were the only person in the kingdom.

Maybe the world.

Gojo watches you with a softness that doesn’t match the grin tugging at his lips.

“Still thinking about saying yes?” he teases, tilting his head.

You hum. “I’m thinking I want to kiss you again.”

“Be my guest.”

You lean in. He meets you halfway.

The kiss starts gentle—lazy, even. But there’s something under it now. Something hot and restless curling between your ribs. Your fingers move to his jaw, then to the back of his neck, dragging him just a little closer. He obliges with a pleased sound, deepening the kiss, mouth parting just enough to catch your breath between his lips.

He tastes like sugared wine and strawberries, and you swear you could drown in him.

By the time you break apart, you’re breathing harder than you expected. Your eyes meet, close enough to feel the words before you say them.

“I want you,” you whisper.

It comes out raw. Honest.

Gojo stills. Just for a moment.

Then—

“Yeah?” His voice is lower now. Rougher around the edges. “You sure?”

You nod.

“Then come here.”

⋆｡°✩

He lifts you before you realize he’s moving. Hands strong, steady, one at your back, the other beneath your thighs. You yelp softly, laugh against his throat, and he huffs out a breathless chuckle that turns into something deeper.

The doors to your chambers are already cracked open. He kicks them wider.

The room beyond is quiet. Candlelit. Fresh linens, tossed shoes, and half a glass of wine still left untouched on the bedside table. You don’t see any of it.

Just him.

He sets you down gently, reverent in a way that makes your chest ache.

You sit on the edge of the bed as he leans in, hands braced on either side of your thighs, lips ghosting over your cheek, then your jaw.

“Tell me what you want,” he says, voice low and warm.

You reach up. Thread your fingers into his hair.

“Kiss me like you did that night,” you say. “And don’t stop.”

He grins against your mouth. “Gladly.”

And he does.

⋆｡°✩

The world falls away the second his lips meet yours again.

There’s no crowd here. No music. No kingdom watching. Just the sound of his breath and yours, the rustle of fabric as fingers drag slowly down your back, and the warm press of his palms against your skin like he’s memorising every inch of you.

You pull him closer. He goes willingly.

The kiss deepens. His mouth is hot and sure, moving with a rhythm that makes you dizzy. His tongue brushes yours, and you gasp into him—your fingers clutching the back of his shirt, your legs parting slightly as he slots himself between them.

He presses you gently back onto the bed.

The sheets shift beneath you—soft, crisp, faintly perfumed—and his weight follows, settling against you with a slowness that feels like worship.

His hand cradles your face as he kisses you again, slower now. Lingering. Like he has all the time in the world.

“Still sure?” he asks, voice hoarse at the edges, lips brushing your cheek.

You nod, breath caught in your throat. “I want you.”

Gojo exhales like he’s been waiting to hear that his whole life.

“Okay,” he whispers, “I’ve got you.”

⋆｡°✩

He doesn’t rush.

He undresses you carefully, easing your clothes from your body piece by piece, always watching, always touching, like he’s unwrapping something sacred. His hands trail down your arms, your ribs, your hips—every inch of your skin kissed, touched, praised.

“You’re beautiful,” he murmurs, not like a compliment, but like a fact.

His own clothes fall away soon after, and when he kneels above you, bare in the candlelight, you forget how to breathe.

He’s strong. Slender. Scars across his stomach, down his hip—each one traced gently beneath your fingers. His eyes darken when you touch him, a low sound humming from his chest as you explore him with quiet wonder.

He kisses your chest, your stomach, the inside of your thigh. Each press of his mouth is tender, reverent. You shiver when his lips ghost lower—when he parts your legs with one slow sweep of his hand and settles between them like he was always meant to be there.

When his tongue touches you, your fingers curl in the sheets.

He’s slow. Gentle. Languid.

Learning you. Reading every twitch of your hips, every gasp, every whispered plea. He hums when you moan, the sound low and satisfied.

You arch when he wraps his arms under your thighs and pulls you closer.

“Let me take care of you,” he whispers, voice rough and thick with want.

And he does.

With his mouth, his fingers, his voice—coaxing you open, unravelling you gently, turning heat into warmth into fire.

By the time you come undone, you’re panting, legs trembling, his name spilling from your lips like a prayer.

He doesn’t leave you. Doesn’t pull away. Just presses slow kisses to your skin and climbs up to meet your mouth again, breath catching as he feels you cling to him.

You reach for him. Trace the line of his jaw.

“Take me,” you whisper.

And he does.

⋆｡°✩

He enters you slowly, carefully, stopping when you tense, kissing your throat until your body melts into his again. His hand finds yours against the pillow, lacing your fingers together as he presses deeper.

It’s intense. Full. Your breath stutters, and his does too.

“You okay?” he murmurs.

You nod.

He starts to move, and it’s overwhelming.

His weight on you, his breath on your neck, the way your bodies move together—every thrust angled with care, every sound he makes pressed against your ear like a secret. He moans when your hips rise to meet him. Groans when you say his name like you mean it.

He doesn’t look away. Watches you fall apart underneath him. Watches your lashes flutter, your mouth part, your breath hitch.

“Fuck, you feel incredible,” he says, voice wrecked.

You pull him down, kiss him hard, gasping against his lips as heat blooms low and deep in your core.

He speeds up—just enough.

The sound of skin on skin, the headboard creaking gently, the rhythm of his hips, your hands in his hair—it all builds into something slow and bright and utterly consuming.

You fall apart first, back arching, thighs clenching around his waist.

He follows with a gasp, pulling out just in time, his hand stroking you through it as he spills onto your stomach with a trembling groan.

⋆｡°✩

After, he’s quiet.

He wipes you down gently, kisses your chest, your temple, your knuckles.

Then he pulls you into his arms, your head tucked beneath his chin, his thumb stroking slow circles into your spine.

You’re half-asleep when he whispers, “I’m never letting you go.”

You smile.

“You better not.”

Later, as the sun dips below the rooftops, you’re sprawled together on the balcony, limbs tangled, cheeks flushed, breath finally slowing.

He presses his forehead to yours.

You close your eyes.

The world is quiet again.

Until—

Scurry scurry.

You open one eye.

Yuji. Then Megumi. Then Nobara.

The mice dash across the stone railing, tails twitching, feet fast, all three heading for the figure standing just beyond the edge of the light.

Shoko.

Still in her boots. Still in her long coat. Still impossibly cool.

She holds out one palm.

The mice leap into it without hesitation.

She glances at you and Gojo, sprawled out and glowing like kings in love.

“Cute,” she says.

You sit up. “You stayed?”

She lights a cigarette with a flick of her fingers.

“Nah,” she says. “I just came to collect my assistants.”

Gojo squints. “Assistants?”

“They picked you,” Shoko says, looking directly at you.

You blink.

She exhales a thin ribbon of smoke into the sky.

“My job’s done.”

And then— She vanishes.

Just like that.

⋆｡°✩

You sit there for a moment.

Gojo’s hand finds yours.

The stars come out.

And this time—

You don’t wish on any of them.

You already have everything you asked for.

Taglist: @zolass @edensrose @tamias-wrld @ilovesugurugeto69 @planetxella @mazettns @longlivegojo @midnight-138 @literallyrousseau @vimademedoitt @useless-n-clueless @flatl1n3 @hikaurbae @lexkou @razefxylorf @abrielletargaryen @coco-145 @eagleeyedbitch @deathofacupid @gayaristocrat @porcalinecunt @whatsaheartxx @thecringes2000 @sageofspades @g4vcat @itsrandompersonyall @blvdprn @blueemochii @sappychat @onyxxxxqq @axetivev

#male reader #bottom male reader #x male reader #jjk x reader #jjk x male reader #x reader #gojo x reader #gojo x male reader #gojo saturo #saturo x reader #gay #smut

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fangirlingpuggle · 4 months ago

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SVSSS AU/fic prompt where LBH in the abyss finds artifact/plot device that will show the future...only it shows the 'planned' future aka PIDW future so LBH asks to see his and Shizun's future and sees Shizun in water prison...

Cue LBH terrified freak out and going the kill that future with fire route.... so basically setting Huan Hua palace on future and then going into a little hidden depression cave near the peak because now he's scared to be near SQQ.

The result of Huan Hua palace being destroyed is 'oh no....anyway' no ones that upset. Plus they're trying to deal with SQQ who is in full grieving mode and is just getting worse.

Cue them finding out about LBH because Meng Mo contacted them in dreams because 'COME FIX THIS BRAT HE WILL NOT COME OF HIS DEPRESSION CAVE OR LISTEN TO ME'

Thus nearly all the peak lords chasing LBH to get him to go the fuck home so SQQ will snap out of it.

SQQ is so confused to one day come out and see LBH wrapped in immortal binding cables being dragged towards like here he's back talk to each other and get better.

Bonus Mobei Jun uses same mirror sees SQH fate and is locked up in his palace staying away form him because he's terrified after seeing himself kill him...

SQH can't ask peak lords for help so basically drags Sha Hualing into helping him break in and figure out whats up with Mobei Jun

#fic prompt #au #svsss #bingqiu #bingyuan #moshang #luo binghe #shen qingqiu #shen yuan #mobei jun #shang qinghua #scum villain self saving system #scum villain #mxtx svsss #humor

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kilojulietsierra · 3 months ago

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"Oh Sweet Irony "- Dr Jack Abbot x Reader

Summary: You hate doctors, and will do just about anything to avoid seeing one even if you're sick. A fact that your boyfriend Dr. Jack Abbot sometimes finds very annoying. This time though, you're miserable and you cave to his request, "Let me take care of you."

TW: most of my content is considered 18+ content, sick fic, comfort fic, medical inaccuracies, fluff, inappropriate workplace behavior but the PG kind, I wrote this sick and I think Dr. Abbot would def make me feel better just saying...

(Special thank you to the gif creator for the above because DAMN)

~~~~~~

Jack maneuvered his way through the packed waiting room and had to fight to hear you over the phone, "Well, hon, if you feel as bad as you sound you need more than NyQuil." He sidestepped a stoller, "No, it's not helping. I can tell." He made the corner and hugged the wall on his way to the doors, "Just come in and we can get you something that will actually do some good." He waved to the girls behind the glass and mouthed a thanks as he heard the security doors buzz and the lock disengage, "I know… I know… No, I'm not going to let you sit in the waiting room." He gives Bridget and exapserated look as he approaches the hub, "Hon, please, just come down. I'll tell the girls up front you're coming and they'll let you right in." He dropped his bag in his chair and swiped his badge to clock in, "Ok, well… it's either that or stay home tomorrow and I'll come over when I get off work." He nods, "That's what I thought. I'll see you when you get here. Love you."

~~~~

You felt like shit. All week you had been fighting off some sort of bug, the worst of it Monday after you got home from work. You thought that would be the end of it. The stuffy nose, cough, sore throat was really no big deal. NyQuil and DayQuil became your best friends. A week later and that cough just wouldn't quit, your stomach hurt from the constant coughing and chest spasms, you could hardly breathe, barely sleep more than a couple hours now without waking up to a coughing fit so violent you thought you might throw up.

Jack had been busy all week, his schedule and yours just couldn't line up and he'd been stuck late most mornings. You had told him, vaguely, that you didn't feel great but didn't want him to worry. Then he had called you on his way home, and you had not been able to hold back the coughing fit.

So, he had told you to call him after work and let him know how you were feeling, because he knew you wouldn't skip work. Now, here you were sneaking your away around the edge or the PTMC Emergency waiting room fighting back your anxiety and another coughing fit.

You hesitated a little the closer you got to the doors but one of the women at the admissions desk behind the glass saw you and waved. You chewed your lip and stepped a little closer with a careful smile. She waved you on through and you heard the buzz and clunk of the security doors. You can feel the burn of the glares and the muttering behind you as you pulled the heavy door open and stepped through.

Bridget saw you almost immediately and meets you halfway for a hug, "Hey sweetie."

You gave her a smile and a half step back, "Oh, don't hug me, I'm gross."

"Oh please, come here." She gave you a hug and then looked you over, "We just got a call for a code coming in, so he might be a minute okay."

"You guys are busy, I should just go."

"Not a chance." She tugged you towards the hub, "You just sit right here and I'll get you some water."

You sit in one of the office chairs and slouch back into it trying to take up as little space as possible. Bridget came backi a moment later with a bottle of water and a North Face jacket you recognized as one of Jacks. The ED was always chilly and you were grateful for the warmth and familiar scent as you shrugged into the slightly too big jacket.

Outside you hear the sirens as the ambulance arrives and Jack appears out of nowhere in full work mode.

You hated doctors, but this one you think, this one you certainly didn't mind.

From your chair behind the counter you watched as he quick stepped down the hall and as terrible as felt and as much as you didn't want to be here, it was kind of fun to see that side of him. The confident, collected and in charge Dr. Jack Abbot was the exception.

Jack sees you on his way by and even in the midst of chaos while calling our orders he takes half a second to catch your eye and give you just a hint of a smile without missing a beat.

~~~~~~

"Hey sweetheart," Jack says softly as he approaches and squats down in front of you, "C'mere." He pulls the chair closer so he can take a good look at you. He hasn't seen you all week and he feels like shit because you look miserable. He gives your leg a squeeze as he stands, ignoring the way his knees catch and pop, "Bridget, can you get a,"

"Six is all set up for you."

Jack gives her smile and a nod as he takes your elbow to help you stand up. While one hand never leaves your elbow he grabs a tablet with the other and guides you into the room.

"Don't forget to leave that door open Dr. Abbot!" Bridget teases from behin.

You turn to give her a look and then Jack, "Is there an HR complaint or something I should know about?"

Bridget snorts behind you as Jack just gives you both a side eye. He pinches your side and nudges you to keep walking, "Policy. No male doctors alone in rooms with female patients."

"Lame, next you're going to tell me we're not allowed to sneak off to have a quickie int the on call room like on Greys Anatomy."

Bridget laughs louder behind you and Jack just gives you a look.

You give him a wink and a little smile but the urge to laugh triggers another coughing fit and reminds you that you're not just here to say hi.

~~~~~~

In the exam room he helps you out of your jacket and up to sit on the bed. "I didn't check in or anything."

Abbot leaned against the counter, "Had Bridget sign you in." He gave you a soft smile as he watched you try not to fidget. He pulled up your patient file and had to bite the inside of his cheek because there was something about putting his own name in as your emergency contact that still got him. More and more he also found himself thinking about seeing his last name there instead of yours. He also couldn't wait to get you on his TRICARE because your employers health insurance fucking sucks. "You okay if I do everything myself?"

When you nod he can see that you're still anxious.

He puts in your info. He knows your personal information, height and weight, your medical history, he knows your anxiety meds dosage and all. "Your period started last Sunday right?" He smirks at you when you still blush but nod. He checks the box next to sexually active, he entertained the thought of asking you just to see you blush a little more, then types in 'partner vasectomy' in the line by birth control method.

Once everything was filled in he set the tablet down and washes his hands in the sink. He forgoes the gloves because it's you. Part of him wants to be able to feel you, part of him knows his touch will feel better for you than the latex.

He feels a little weird taking your temperature and bp because holy shit it has been a long time since he hasn't had a nurse to do the initial work up. Jack rests the back of his fingers against your forehead while he waits for a temp. "Little high." He says softly, long before the thermometer gave him a read out and showed he was correct. Your temperature is a little high. "Okay so far?" He asks as he puts the machine away and catches your eye. His fingers stroking up and down your forearm.

You nod, "You'd make a good nurse." You tease and then cover your mouth as another chest racking cough takes over.

The quip makes him crack a grin as he rubs your back through the coughing fit. "I'm going to listen to your lungs okay?" He waits for your nod before he pulls his stethoscope down and catches the way your eyes track the routine action and the way his forearms flex with the movement. "Ok, sit up straight for me and take a couple deep breaths." He goes through the motions, front and back, listening to your lungs and frowing. He rubs your back while he's still standing close and whispers, "Good girl." He drapes his stethoscope around his neck again as you cough and fight through a shuddery breath. "You take anything in the last few hours?"

"No," You shake your head, "Had a feeling you were going to make me come in."

"I won't make you do anything hon, you know that."

"You know what I mean." You're so tired that the urge to lean into him.

He sees it and nods, give you another smile, "I'm going to take a look at your throat okay?" When he grabs the scope and a tongue depressor he steps up in front of you and pauses. The two of you lock eyes for a second and he shakes his head, "Don't make me say it."

You bite your lip and try not to laugh because you know it'll just make you cough. "Make you say what Dr. Abbot?" You know Jack is unflappable, often stoic wilth a killer poker face, and your dislike for doctors aside, you enjoy that you can make this one blush just that little bit.

Jack never does say it, but the look he gives you says plenty. So does the way he smooths the pad of his thumb over your bottom lip when he's done. He sets the tools down on the tray, "Head up for me, just going to feel right here." The way he holds your neck, feels for swelling, is so clinical and second nature that he wouldn't think anything of it if he hadn't seen the way your eyes flickered. So, sue him if his touch lingered a little, or if he traced the line of your throat with his thumb just to see those pretty eyes flutter one more time.

He know he shouldn't be standing between your legs like he is, and he sure as hell shouldn't set his hand on your thigh when he says, "I'm going to call for a chest x-ray."

"What? Why?" Your panic rises, the anxiety back in full force.

The hand on your leg squeezes and then he slowly begins to stroke his knuckles over the top of your thigh in a soothing, repetitive motion. "You're okay, just want to be safe. Your lungs sound like trash and I just want to rule out pneumonia." He appreciates the ability to be straighforward and say things more bluntly than normal. He also appreciates that you trust him enough to calm down quickly. "I'll set you up with a nebulizer while you wait, going to help you breathe a little easier. I'm going to pull some labs too." He reiterates, "Just to be safe."

You try not to fidget while he preps the needle and the blood tubes.

"You're okay hon, it's just one poke. I'm good at this promise." He gives you and wink. "You want me to hold your hand?"

You scoff which turns into a cough, "Don't you need both hands?"

Jack shrugs, looks you in the eye, "I can do it with one."

"Please don't."

With another wink he sets your arm where he needs it, "Quick and easy I promise." Each touch is long and slow, smooth and lingering. He uses every ounce of practice and skill he possesses to make it as painless as possible for you. "There you go." He strokes the sting of the needle away with his thumb until you finally look his way again.

Brdget knocks and pokes her head in, "Respiratory is here."

Jack nods and looks back to you, "Big, deep breaths on that until radiology comes down with the portable, okay?" He tips your chin up for a kiss, but you hesitated.

"I'm gross."

"Don't give a shit." He gives you a quick kiss and strokes his thumb over your brow. "I'll be back to check on you soon as I can." One more kiss, to your forehead this time and then he's on his way out of the room. As he passes he gives Bridget a look.

"What?" She plays along, tries not to smirk, "I didn't see anything."

Once Jack is out of the room Bridget helped you get comfy on the bed with a blanket fresh out of the warmer.

"You know, I don't understand why the patient satisfaction is so low around here."

"Sweetie, the only satisfaction that man gives two shits about, is yours."

After a beat you both break into a laugh which triggers another coughing fit. Taking that as their cue RT came in to set you up on the nebulizer. Then all you could do was wait.

After that Jack got busy again and you tried to tamp down the anxiety as the minutes dragged on,as you finished the nebulizer treatment, as radiology came and went. There was little worse in your opinion than laying alone in a hospital bed, but Jack had been right the nebulizer had helped your breathing and you were coughing less.

The longer you were in there the more you actually began to wonder about those terrible patient satisfaction scores everyone was always complaining about because every single person you had come into contact with that night had seemed to go above and beyond. The rad tech, the respiratory tech, every single nurse that stopped in to check on you. You were beginning to wonder if there wasn't some sort of big, red alert by your name that said; "ABBOT"S GIRLFRIEND DON'T FUCK IT UP".

A soft knock at the door startled you out of your thoughts and you sit up a little more as Jack comes in.

"How ya feelin'?"

"Ready to go home."

"I know hon." He props a him on the edge of your bed and rubs your leg through the blanket, "Rads and your bloodwork came back. Bronchitis. Just a little infection in your bronchial tubes, right here," He gestures to the general area on his own chest, "Usually takes care of itself if you take it easy."

You nod, "Which… I did not do."

He gives your calf a squeeze and his lips tick up in a smirk, "No, you did not. Which is why I'm sending you home with a goodie bag full of meds which you will take until they're gone. And, when I say home, I mean my house. Ellis is writing you up a doctors order right now to send to your boss."

"Jack…"

Completely unphased he continues, "While you're at my place for the next few days you will do as little as possible. Am I clear?"

You looked up at him, "Is this the part where I'm supposed to say yes sir and salute?"

Jack relaxes as soon as the words are out of your mouth. He shakes his head slightly and smooths his hand over your leg again, "Sorry." He meets your gaze and softens his expression, "Just promise me you'll take it easy. Let me take care of you."

With a slight cough you reached out for his hand, and smiled as he took it, stroked his thumb over the back of your knuckles. "I'm willing to bet you're not the greatest patient either, so you can't give me that much shit."

That gets him to smile, "Ready to go home?"

"Yes please."

Jack helps you sit up and slide out of the hospital bed, then helps you back into his jacket. "Ok, go home, my place," he emphasizes, "Take a good hot shower, take your meds and go to bed." He goes to guide you out of the room, but you tug him to a stop. "What's wrong?"

You bit your lip, "Thank you." Your voice was soft and a little apologetic.

For just a minute there was no hint of Dr. Abbot, he was just your boyfriend Jack. "C'mere." He pulled you in close and wrapped you in a hug, pressed a kiss to the top of your head. He chuckled, pressed another kiss to your temple and whispered, "See, coming to the doctor isn't so bad is it?"

You smile besides yourself and lean into him, "Depends on the doctor."

He walked you out to the hub and one of the nurses caught him right away, "We have a shooting victim eight minutes out."

Just like that Dr Abbot was back. "Ok set up trauma one, someone call OR give them a heads up." He turned back to you and softened, "I'll see you at home." Even in the middle of his ED, trauma en route, Jack gave you a smile and a quick kiss. "Go get some rest."

You nodded and watched as he turned to get back to work. Then with a smile of your own you turned to Bridget, "So, when do I get to fill out that patient satisfaction survey?"

~~~~

#the pitt #the pitt hbo #the pitt fanfic #dr jack abbot #dr jack abbot x reader #jack abbot x reader #jack abbot x you #dr jack abbott #dr jack abbott x reader

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c0sm1cp0tat0 · 10 days ago

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Yandere! Saja Boys x Reader

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5.

A part of you hadn't expected for them to still be lounging in your bed when you came back out. Your attire was less than professional; a lilac cami top and shorts. Your favourite pyjama set. A fluffy white towel over your damp locks of hair, that fell forward into your large dark eyes.

Blank faced and confused, you look at them. They were staring at you like you had given them everything they could ever want. Your lashes were actually still damp as well. That was annoying. You rub at your eye.

"Fuuuuuuuu--" Abby couldn't finish the word. Let alone the scentence. Beni slapped a hand over his mouth.

"Sexy." He spoke instead, deep voice breaking on the word.

Roman was on full panick mode. "Ah, fuck fuck fuck I want to see her eat like that-- Oh my god." Correction, he wanted to eat YOU like that but he didn't want to scare.

Jinu was staring blankly. He snapped out of it and made room on the bed and opened the pizza box back up.

"Care for a slice?" You wanted to say no. How on earth do demons know all the good places?

You stepped forward but were tackled by Malak. "Ahh!!" The small of your back slammed against the closed bathroom door. He brought his face closer and closer to yours until you realized what was being hinted at; the damn kisses he was promised. Fuck.

The others groaned in jealousy. Your waist was in his large arms. He was leaning down. You were, as always, alarmed.

"Wait-- right now?? Can we not--"

Too late, his lips were on yours. And it didn't start slow or anything. His lips were already moving. Fast and hard. You were straining yourself on keeping your mouth closed and your eyes open. But that would only draw out the process.

So, with a whimper, you let Mystery in.

The latter was on cloud nine. During the weeks that you stayed with them, he'd gotten some sort of oral fixation exclusive to you, his mouth needed to be on you, against you, without breaking apart for as long as possible. Now, he finally got his chance. You were caught in a snare, unable to even resist because of a promise made on your behalf.

Six minutes later, you were struggling to breathe through your nose. Your eyes were watering. Mystery, unknowingly had let the mouth part of him turn to its demonic form due to his need to taste more of you. his tongue had grown. Long and wide and was filling your cheeks. It was down your throat, absoulutely slithering, blocking airways.

You couldn't open your eyes. When you did, you saw spots. You tried and tried to pull away. He was too strong. When you did get away for a split second and gulped in a huge breath of air,

"Back, now." His voice dragged out in a snarl, guttural and bestial as he squeezes your face in one large palm to yank you back.

He's got you pushed down on the bed now, body weight crushing yours as his hips grinds on you. His elbows dug into the mattress on either sides of your head, fingers laced on the top of your head to hold you in place. Your own small hands gripped onto the back of his shirt for dear life, tugging in an attempt to convey you wanted him off.

Your muffled whines of protests were lost on him, too busy eating your face to care. Whenever you gagged on his tongue, he moaned and pushed it in deeper. Sending your body convulsing. All he could hear was your cute little whines and whimpers under him. He was feral.

When he finally, finally pulled back, your head was already thrown back, gulping in huge gulps of air, eyes reeling.

You didn't have time. When your boyfriend had died, you'd had too much time. Now you had too little. Every second you had to be on the ready. To dodge to kick and fight amd snark.

The Saja Boys kept you on your toes.

But right now, you were too helpless to even roll out of the way as Jinu took you up by the armpits as if you were a simple child. On his lap, you were seated. Your throat, which was raw from convulsing and being sucked over by Malak's tongue, was also too weak to convey your words properly.

"Wh-at-- are you do-ing??"

The ravenette smiled down at you. A cheesy, lovesick grin. A large pizza slice in his hand with the tip at your lips. The aromatic food was still warm, but not too warm. It smelled heavenly.

"Feeding you"

Oh no. Nonononono. This was not happening. You squirmed. He tightened his hold until your ribcage could barely move even to take breaths.

"Stop tryna take care of me, I'm not a child." You choked out after stilling.

Baby snickered. You glared at him. What are you laughing about, asshole? Look at your stage name.

Romance leaned forward and looked you dead in the eye. He was never this serious. Propped up forcefully in Jinu's lap like this, you were at eye level.

"Sweetheart, we don't know what your life was like before. As of now, we're going to take care of you. And you're going to take it all."

You flinched. But you were the one who always did the taking care of!! You were their manager. When you had your boyfriend, it was always you taking care of him. Its always that way. Always should stay that way.

Roman's promise sounded like a threat.

Abbott read your expression right away. His grin widened, "Oh you poor thing," He crooned, wicked. Sinister. "How are you going to escape now? You have five of us pining for you. And we're intent on spoiling you rotten with love and affection. Whether you want it or not." Smooth and syrupy was his tone. He hadn't even bothered to button his shirt, leaned back against your headboard with his arms folded behind his head, those intimidating biceps flexed.

You whimpered, legs squirming on instinct to back yourself up. To no avail, as you realised you were still in your position in Jinu's lap. He gave you a squeeze that was supposed to be reassuring but was mostly threatening. How could Abby, so dumb and sweet to the general public, sound so all-knowing and frightening to you?

"Come now, [Y/N]. One slice like this, and I'll let you eat the rest on your own." Jinu murmured way too sensually for your feeling safe.

You narrowed your eyes up at him. One slice? Not one bite would you take out of his hand. You struggled. You kicked and squirmed. You were weak from the kiss. That annoyed you further. So at one point you decided to take the extreme measure of biting his arm.

Which was a mistake

Because he let out the most pornographic moan you had ever heard. You immediately retracted your teeth from his arm, deciding to never do that again.

And, in the end, they got what they wanted.

⌗☾︎ ‧₊˚ ︶꒦꒷♡꒷꒦︶⋅₊˚☽︎⌗

The fan meet scheduled the very next week was insane. It was like the numbers who usually attended had doubled- no- tripled. And your profits had quadrupled.

Your table was more of a desk, out to the very side so that you could easily notify bodyguards of sasaengs, crazy fans who would try reach out and grab what they weren't offered or took pictures without permission.

But today, when you looked up from your desk, you were mortified to see a steady line of people growing. In front of you was a young woman, perhaps your own age. Younger, maybe.

"[Y/N]~?? I'm your biggest fan!! Sign my shirt??"

You swore there were actual tears of joy in her eyes as she pleaded with you. Dumbstruck, you looked down to her shirt to see a 4k print of one of your photos with Mystery. You yelped, scrambling back in your chair. "T-There's merch of this stuff??"

The girl in front of you squealed. You jumped. She smiled sheepishly "Your reaction was just so cute!!"

"Awww~ She's flustered everybody!!" One male fan called out and the entire room was filled with swooning noises. You stared, blanking out. What was going on??

The members leaned out to the side to watch. Roman and Abbott regarded you with these lovesick grins. Baby and Jinu had on cocky, complacent smirks. Malak was blank, but when he caught sight of the fan, he eagerly held up the shirt that he was signing to show you that it was an exact copy of the one that your fan possessed. You stared.

"Don't look so scared just by this. Those are in mass production. There's edits online of you with each of the boys and they have millions of views." The bodyguard standing next to you had the kindness to fill you in on all the atrocities happening to your name as he spoke.

"I don't really...have to...sign this. Do I??"

"Oh pleeeaaase [Y/N]. Pleeeaaase?? We love you so much!!" The fan was pleading by now. It was crazy, because she was being so respectful and you were just the manager.

Not knowing what to do, you hate to say you got a bit cranky. You rubbed your eyes. That action by itself sent waves of coos and giggles throughout the signing hall. You sat up rigid, not used to your actions causing a chain reaction.

Even this was not let slide. "She's not used to the fame!! I wish I could hug her!!"

A male fan shouts out, "I'm going to sue you [Y/N]!! Dangerous woman, you're stealing my heart!!"

The girl before you ignored that, continuing, "But...if you don't want to sign it...I guess its fine..." No it wasn't, her voice was going pillowy and sad by the second.

Okay, okay okay. [Y/N], focus. This isn't just going to sail by. You had to get through this. So you took a breath, smiled pleasantly at the girl and signed her top. She jumped excitedly. You supressed a flinch at her ecstatic movements.

You, surprisingly, had quite the chats with the fans before you. Though there were so many questions filling your head the whole time. You were gifted an assortment of headbands. Sweets. Drawings of you...and the members. But there were also wholesome moments that made your heart clench.

"My mum takes care of me the way you take care of the Saja Boys. I like you, [Y/N]." One little girl tells you, her voice sweet as she looks up at you over the desk.

The widest smile spread your lips at that. You swore you heard a camera clicking near you when you smiled. It didn't matter.

And then, there was that one. Damned. Question. That kept circulating and coming back to you.

"[Y/N], out of all the Saja boys who clearly like you so much, who do you prefer?" None.

"See, I'm just their manager. I respect them all the same." They giggled. You were clearly denying any sort of romance with the boys.

Your replies were pretty much the same all around.

"Who do you like better, [Y/N]?? I think you look so adorable between Abby and Jinu!!" They're the worst, no thanks.

"My bias is Baby!! Who's yours, [Y/N]??"

"Your pictures with Jinu had me squealing all night!! Which ones did you prefer better!?"

"[Y/N], how many times do you kiss Romance per day? Your favourite is totally him!! Right?? Right!!??"

....it could get intense.

You were exhausted. You went straight to Jinu after.

"How did the fans get through the barrier to me?? And why did you let them??"

He shrugged, "They were willing to pay double to meet you."

And you, the manager, knew nothing about this beforehand?? It was like he could read your mind.

"The pictures blew up while you were sleeping. They find you adorable. Like Baby, but without the snark. You're kinda like one of us now."

'One of us.'

It rung in your mind. You stared at him but not really at him. More like, into space.

"I don't want to be." You suddenly burst out an hour later while submerged between them and the couch. It was this habit they had of dragging you everywhere in the house with them to do stuff. When you tried to run? A click of the fingers and they could merely teleport wherever you were headed to bring you back.

"Be what?" Beni asked patiently, aquamarine locks on your arm as he snuggled into it.

"One of you."

The barrier that seperated you and the Boys as their manager previously was now blurring according to the fans. You were not liking it. You were afraid.

"It's not that deep." Abby shrugged.

"Its very deep." You stood up and grabbed your bag, ready to take off.

For once, they remained slouched on the couch, letting you.

10 minutes later you were in your own bed, rocking back and forth. This was driving you mad. You'd never wanted to be famous. You didn't need this kind of attention while you were still grieving the passing of a loved one. You'd held up your front today. But how much longer could you hold out??

Your friends were blowing up your phone. You were on one of those front page articles online; 'Unestablished female member of Saja??' 'Saja Boys not just boys anymore??'

You scrolled down more, and there was another article. One that made your eyes widen. A picture of a man from the fan meet. Specifically, the one who'd yelled up at you from the crowd. Under the highlighted words, 'Found dead'.

'This is the most recent picture taken of everyday accountant, Baek Jiseok before he was encountered lifeless in an alleyway. Right after fan meet with Saja Boys.'

Your eyebrows furrowed. You gulped. Tears welling in your eyes. You knew all too well how difficult it is to lose someone.

Even you missed him. The random fan of yours that you ignored in the meet.

"That's awful." You murmured, trailing shaky fingers down his photo. There was something more awful yet. There was a murderer on the loose

"What's wrong [Y/N]?"

"Ahh!!" You jumped violently at the sudden purr of a deep voice in your ear. Jinu stood behind you, leaned into you. He had with him his gigantic demon cat. Standing on the cat was the three-eyed magpie. You liked that magpie. Sassy queen. His three eyes could see all, but he mostly just used it to give the members dirty side looks. It was brilliant. But he was also a motif of how truly inhuman Jinu and the rest of them were. Of the power and imbalance they wielded against you.

You'd seen them around. The cat always approached you, curious. But you were always too frightened to let it get near. Now you'd seen them both so much, you didn't really mind. All it did was come up close and nuzzle it's head to your small palm.

"He really likes you."

"One of your fans died."

His gaze lowered downwards towards your screen, "No, one of your fans died." His eyes were glowing gold. You felt shivers down your spine. You failed to recognize why.

"Are you not sad? Even a little?"

He did the thing you least expected in this situation. He smiled. A warm, ominous smile. As if nothing was wrong and all was well.

"Guys like him deserve to die. He shouted out at you so crassly during the fansign." The way Jinu coiled around your small form was reminiscient of the twined vines of poison ivy that encircled a delicate pretty flower, preventing anyone, anything from taking it away from its rightful place.

Pulling you down to your worst ever nightmare.

He was without a shirt, demon patterns showing. He was exposing his full self to you. As if silently beseeching you to accept him. Accept them.

You could almost hear it. The agonized beggings and pleadings of the fan. The man; somebody's significant other. A brother. A father, maybe. As he implored them to let him live, that he didn't mean to shout his love to you. You, who was already taken.

"Do you hear it? It was all for you. That's how much we like you. We want you so much, [Y/N]. How could you detest us so blatantly like this?" He pressed benign kisses to your cheek. Each of them blooming over your skin like small catastrophes.

"Get it out. Get it out of my head!! GET IT OUT!!" You screamed, clawing at your head. You didn't want to hear, to see what was done in your name. Their love was a calamity. A tainting. A contamination.

Jinu clicked his fingers. The live audio of your former-fan's suffering and screams dissapeared in an instant from your head.

You cried. You leaned over and cried. They had told you many times the insane things they would do for you. They'd told you before that they would kill for you. But you didn't know, you'd never fathomed they would actually-- Fuck. You burst into fresh, heart-wrenching sobs.

Jinu hushed you and hugged you. He kissed you. He gave you words. "Everything will be fine, [Y/N], this doesn't need to affect anything."

It was affecting things for him. Not negatively. Gwi-ma was delighted about the fresh young souls being rained down on their realm, empowering him.

You finally looked up at him, into his molten gold eyes, and tried not to let your voice break on a sob as you spoke.

"How many?? How many have you killed!??"

He looked at you dumbstruck as if you'd caught him off guard with a difficult maths equation. "You...want me to count??"

There were so many, though. Men, and women who would look down at your darling form funny on the street. Whether it'd be in a patronizing way or an overly admiring way. Waiters who'd wink and slip you their phone number. Baristas, the same. You were an attractive person but you didn't realize it.

Poor naïve thing, had you not noticed the huge spike in numbers of people gone missing?? Namely around your area.

He looked apologetic. Not for what he'd done, but for the sole fact that he couldn't offer you a number. "I'd tell you, but even then, the boys have also done stuff that they haven't told me. They have a shorter temper than me, you see." Especially when it came to you.

Dazed and horrified, you just kept looking at him. He held you tighter, nuzzling himself into you. So did his blue tiger. It's purrs vibrated your whole body as it pressed it's head into your stomach. Together, they created some sort of a soft coocoon around you. A guilded cage.

To say in short, honey, you're cooked.

⌗☾︎ ‧₊˚ ︶꒦꒷♡꒷꒦︶⋅₊˚☽︎⌗

TAGLIST༉‧₊˚✧↳ @yumekono @levifiance @amery-benson-cvii @wantstoliveinfantasy @osball @apelepikozume @st3f13ily @little-ponkan @strayharmony943 @lazy-panther @scara-simp69 @p1nkpaperstars @ryuucollapse @tatsuri-zomushiki @crescent-z @wpdarlingpan @natllo @daikiswife @kinichportablecharger @realifezompire @i-am-here3 @daiyanomochi @elevenbts @hornehlittleweeblet @reni502 @nonetheartist @sanaxo-o @mshope16 @calmmell @luna-looniesblog @doodle-with-rhy @starr-matterr @fidenciocryptidcreechur @chirikoheina @ceramic-raven @whatdoesthesenpai @megapintofmilkshake @lover-girl009 @yandereaficionado @moon0goddess @neuvilletteswife4ever @hurts-my-brain @consecratedvampire91 @moonchildjae00 @coolnekochan9961 @misdollface @justanerd1 @fantasyhopperhea @dragongirl642 @unsolicitedopal @afellow-simp @littlepotaaatosimp

#male yandere #obssessed #yandere x reader #yandere x you #kpop demon hunters #saja boys x reader #yandere saja boys x reader #kpop #saja boys #saja boys x you #kpdh

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cloudedangels · 1 month ago

Text

Caleb accidentally finds your vibrator and curiosity gets the best of him... MDNI 18+ !!! DUH!

3,929 words!! Oops!!! This was supposed to be a one-shot but I got extremely carried away (・・;)

This one is different than usual it took like 6 days... happy birthday birthday boy ily

Tags/cws: voyeurism, app-controlled toy, vibrator play, remote control, mutual consent, soft domination, emotional tension, powerplay, grinding, lap sitting, overstimulation, teasing, orgasm control, begging, post-orgasm intimacy, dirtiest dirty talk, filthy sweet, deeply intimate, character-driven smut, creampie, desperate sex, body worship, (nicknames including pips(queak) duh sorry not sorry.

It starts innocently.

Caleb’s folding your laundry like he always used to—perfect corners, sleeves aligned, like the fabric might get offended if he didn’t treat it right. You’re in the shower, steam softening the air, and he’s out there, helping. Like nothing’s changed.

But then he opens the wrong drawer.

Not wrong exactly. Just not where you’d have wanted him to go.

You weren’t hiding it, exactly. Just... tucking it away. Inside a sock.

Stupid. Lazy. A mistake. Because now he’s holding it in his hand.

You don’t hear any of this, of course. You’re humming softly under the water, dragging shampoo through your hair, while Caleb—sweet, curious, too-smart Caleb—stares down at the bright pink, silicone curve resting in his palm.

It vibrates when he touches the button.

He jumps, and then freezes.

His first thought isn’t what it is. Not really. He just stares at it, confused, before his brain catches up.

“Oh… fuck.”

Definitely a vibrator. Yours.

He sets it down like it’s radioactive, rubs his hand on his pants, and immediately picks it up again. His face burns hot. His throat’s dry. And he shouldn’t. He knows he shouldn’t. But his fingers move faster than his shame.

He opens his camera and scans it.

The image search is mercilessly fast.

“Lovense Lush 2: App-controlled wearable vibrator. Remote-operated. Hands-free.”

Remote-operated.

His stomach knots.

He reads. Scrolls. Reads more.

Synced vibrations. Custom patterns. Long-distance partner control. Phone access. Live syncing. Music-matching mode.

His cock twitches in his jeans.

Has someone else used it with you? Has someone controlled it for you? Did you sit on this very bed and let someone else make you come from miles away?

Or… did you just do it yourself?

Did you pull up the app with trembling fingers, thighs clenched, face flushed, and think of… him? When he was away?

He shouldn’t even be in this drawer, but now he’s hard, his mouth’s dry, and he needs to know.

He downloads the app—just to see... Just to understand. At least, that’s what he tells himself as it installs. That’s the excuse.

When it opens, the interface is sleek and pink, deceptively innocent. A smooth control dial. Pattern options. Bluetooth connection.

And one bright button:

“Connect to Device.”

He hesitates… then clicks it.

The toy hums faintly in his hand.

And then: “Caleb?”

Your voice cuts through the air like a knife.

He panics, dropping the vibrator into the pile of laundry like it’s on fire, locking his phone screen too late. When you walk into the room—damp, towel-wrapped, soft from the shower—his face is red.

You slow when you see him. You pause.

Then you see the drawer, and the sock, a little too unfolded, and him, sitting on the edge of your bed, face flushed, thighs spread.

“Oh my god,” you breathe. “You didn’t.”

He tries. He tries to play it cool. But his voice is too calm, too even.

“Didn’t what?”

“You found it?”

He glances toward the drawer. “Maybe.”

“You weren’t supposed to—Caleb!” You grip the towel tighter, heart racing, throat dry. “You were supposed to fold T-shirts!”

“That drawer was open.”

“And you decided to… investigate?”

He tilts his head. “I was curious.”

Your jaw drops. “Curious? You downloaded the app?”

“I didn’t say I did.”

“You totally did.”

He smirks, just a little. It’s smug. Dangerous. Too aware. “It connects through Bluetooth, you know.”

“I KNOW HOW IT WORKS.”

His eyes drop—slow, lazy—to your bare legs under the towel. He doesn’t move from the bed. His phone is still in his hand.

“Why’d you hide it?” he asks softly. “Were you embarrassed?”

You go stiff. “I—I wasn’t hiding it—just—just—storing it. In a sock. For… safety.”

His gaze is devastating, his eyes bore through you. “...Safety?”

You hate how hot your face is. Hate how shaky your voice is when you try to take the upper hand.

“You’re… seriously? You’re such a perv, Caleb, you can’t just—just dig through my drawers and—and play with things—”

“Play with things?”

You glare. You want to sound furious. You probably just sound breathless.

“Who controls it when you use it?” he asks, voice quieter now. “Is it just you?”

You stare at him, trembling.

“Do you give access to anyone else?”

Your chest tightens. Your breath stutters.

The towel suddenly feels too thin. You don’t know what to say.

You’re too exposed. And he hasn’t even touched you yet.

“Answer the question,” he murmurs.

“W-Why are you even asking?”

“Because the thought of you using that,” he says, voice hushed and thick, “without me knowing… kills me.”

He opens the app.

Your eyes widen.

“Caleb, don’t—”

The toy hums from the laundry.

Your legs tremble. The vibration is faint—but you can hear it. You know it.

You gasp, knees nearly buckling. “You—!”

He doesn’t move from the bed, he just sits and watches you. His voice is careful. Curious.

“What do you think?”

“Turn it off!” you snap, voice shaky.

“Say please.”

Your jaw drops.

“You—” You can't finish. The flustered heat crawling up your spine makes your words fail.

He stands slowly, towering in front of you now, his phone still in hand, his cock hard beneath his jeans. He leans in close, his voice a husky whisper.

“…So this is what you like, hm?”

Your stomach flips. You can’t speak.

Your mouth opens—no words come.

He’s too close. Close enough to smell the faint hint of clean laundry on his shirt, the musk of his cologne softened by the heat of your skin. Your heart hammers in your throat like it wants to escape.

“Should I get it for you?” Caleb repeats, his voice quiet, careful, curling with heat at the edges. “Is that what you want?”

You shake your head, once, sharp. “You’re an ass.”

He smiles at that—lazy, dangerous. “And yet you’re trembling.”

“I just got out of the shower.”

“Sure,” he murmurs, eyes flicking down to your legs again, where the towel’s started to shift with the motion of your thighs. You’re pressed so tightly together it’s like you’re trying to stop the vibration that’s not even touching you. Just hearing it has you on edge.

He taps his phone screen. The hum fades.

You exhale shakily, trying to step back—but his hand lifts. Doesn’t touch. Just hovers in the space between your bare shoulder and the towel’s edge.

“...Was it for you?” he asks quietly. “The toy. Was it for when I wasn’t here?”

You go still.

His eyes flicker up to yours, something almost nervous beneath the teasing now... a real question... and maybe that’s worse.

“I—” you start, but your voice catches. You clear your throat. “I don’t owe you an answer.”

“No,” he says, gently. “You don’t.”

You hate that he respects that. Hate how it makes you want to answer anyway.

You glance at the bed. It's rumpled from laundry, and the drawer is still half open. That stupid fucking sock, limp. The vibrator, pink and obscene in its neat little pile of folded cotton.

“You weren’t supposed to find it,” you say, voice thin. “It’s… private.”

Caleb nods slowly. “But you kept it close.”

Your brows knit. “What’s that supposed to mean?"

His eyes are soft. Hungry. “You could’ve hidden it better. Somewhere I’d never look. But you didn’t. You left it where I’d find it… maybe.”

“I didn’t—” You stop. Realize the truth of it halfway through your denial.

Maybe you hadn’t hidden it very well on purpose.

He sees the flicker in your expression. His gaze darkens.

“I think you wanted me to know,” he murmurs. “Or maybe just… wanted me to wonder.”

You don’t answer. You can’t. Every inch of you is tight and hot and pulsing. You're wet and not wearing anything to catch it. Self conscious.

Caleb leans just a little closer, head tilted, breath warm against your ear, “Let me try it… I've been very bad, let me make it up to you…”

You almost say no. You want to say no. (You don't. You're trying to lie to yourself though).

But your thighs are clenched. Your breath is shallow. And you hate how close you are to saying yes just because he asked like that.

“…You’re ridiculous,” you whisper, voice cracking.

He hums, low and amused. “Maybe. But I’m still asking.”

You close your eyes. His breath ghosts your cheek. You feel him before he even touches you—heat and presence and the slow throb of your pulse answering his.

“And if I say no?”

“I’ll turn it off,” he murmurs. “Put it back. Never speak of it again.”

Liar.

You open your eyes. He’s close, but not touching. His hands are still at his sides. His phone glows faintly in his palm. He looks flushed, a little wild, but he hasn’t pushed.

He’s letting you decide.

But his gaze… his gaze is asking all the questions his mouth won’t. Would you let him? Would you let him push that little thing inside you and sit across the room—watching, controlling, listening? Would you whimper if he turned it too high? Would you beg for more?

You clench without meaning to. The ache between your legs is embarrassing.

You’re silent too long.

He tilts his head, and for the first time his voice slips past teasing into soft—sincere.

“…Do you want it, pipsqueak?”

That name. It makes you stupid. Weak. Warm all the way down.

You nod once, tiny. Almost ashamed.

“…Yes.”

He exhales slowly, relief softening his jaw. His eyes flicker toward the bed, the folded laundry, the drawer still ajar.

“Then come here,” he says quietly.

You hesitate.

“I’ll be good,” he promises. “I’ll go slow.”

Your feet move before your brain catches up. You drop the towel when you reach him, and he doesn’t react—not at first. Steel. His eyes stay on your face, and just your face. Like he’s waiting for permission to look.

So you tilt your chin up. Just slightly.

His eyes drop.

And fuck—you feel it, the weight of his gaze like a hand between your thighs.

“You’re not wearing anything under that towel,” he murmurs. “Were you going to get dressed before I saw you?”

“…I didn’t think I’d need to.”

He smiles faintly. “You don’t.”

Caleb kneels in front of you.

No rush, no show, down on his knees like it’s the most natural thing in the world. The phone rests on the bed. The toy sits in his hand.

“You still sure?”

You nod.

“Say it.”

“…I want it.”

He kisses the inside of your knee.

“Sit.”

You do. Slowly. Shaky.

He parts your legs and gently sets the toy on the bed between them. Then he kisses the inside of your thigh. Once. Twice. And then again—higher.

“I’ll put it in,” he says. “You just stay still.”

You nod, dazed, already breathless. The anticipation is worse than anything.

He lifts the toy. Clicks the button. It hums softly in his hand.

“Lay back for me,” he murmurs.

You do. The sheets are cold against your skin, and you’re trembling now, fully exposed, legs open. You hear the shuffle of fabric—he’s taken off his hoodie—and then his fingers are brushing up your thigh again, light.

“Lift your hips.”

You obey.

His fingers part your folds and you gasp—sharp, wet, startled.

“You’re soaked,” he says, almost reverent. “Was it the idea of me finding this? Or the fact that I did?"

You don’t answer. You can’t. Your face is hot and your eyes are fluttering.

“Sorry,” he whispers. “I’ll make it feel good.”

He slides the toy in, your wetness guiding it through. It’s bigger than you remember the egg goes in, bigger and smoother, the tail hanging, curled up against your clit, but it still stretches you slightly, suddenly. You let out a soft whimper at the intrusion.

“Too much?” he asks immediately, hand on your knee.

You shake your head, gasping. “No… it’s okay…”

He exhales. And then…

The toy buzzes to life.

You moan.

Your hips jolt, thighs tensing as the toy hums deep inside you, steady and quiet but so fucking present. Caleb’s still kneeling beside the bed, watching your body react, his hand firm on your thigh.

“Jesus,” he whispers.

You bite your lip and try to squirm.

He touches your knee to still you. “Stay.”

The vibration shifts—he’s changing the pattern.

It pulses now. Short bursts. Then a long one.

You can’t help it—you arch your back, a whimper catching in your throat.

He looks transfixed. His free hand curls into the sheets like he’s grounding himself.

“You like that?” he murmurs. “You’re already dripping. I haven’t even touched your clit.”

You want to snap at him, say of course I like it, but all that comes out is a shaky, “Fuck…”

Caleb leans in. His lips ghost over your stomach, then lower. His breath hits your inner thigh as he speaks:

“I want to know how many patterns it has. I want to know which one makes you cry.”

You moan. You can’t not.

“And I want to be the one holding the dial every single time.”

You reach for him blindly, your hand tangling in his hair.

He growls softly. “Tell me what you want, pips...”

You can't. He pulls back so that he can see you. He’s quiet for a long moment, just watching you.

Your legs are spread, the pink tail of the vibrator curled against your clit like a secret. You’re trying to stay still, thighs trembling, your breathing light and high. The toy pulses again—gentle, teasing. You gasp.

Caleb’s jaw is clenched.

His knuckles are white around his phone.

And he’s hard.

You can see it now, the outline in his jeans obvious, obscene. He’s kneeling beside the bed, but it’s clear in the way he shifts… his hips twitching forward like his body’s begging, even if his mouth stays quiet.

He breathes through his nose, slow, trying to control himself.

And fails.

“Sit on my lap,” he whispers. His voice is strained. Rough. “Just like this. I want to feel it. I need to feel it.”

Your lips part. “Caleb—”

“I won’t touch it,” he promises quickly. “I won’t even move. I just—” His hand flexes against the mattress. “Please.”

You nod, stunned by the heat in his voice, and he helps you—guiding you with both hands, gentle, reverent. You climb into his lap, careful not to jostle the toy too much, your knees on either side of his thighs, straddling him. He leans back slightly, hands on your hips to balance you. His face is flushed, pupils wide, lips parted.

Then the toy buzzes. It's sharp and low and deep inside you. You let out a soft moan and collapse against him, forehead to his shoulder.

“Fuck,” he chokes out.

You feel it—the way your body vibrates through him. The way the hum travels from your cunt to his lap, pressed flush against his cock through two layers of fabric. His hips jerk instinctively.

He groans into your neck.

“Oh my god,” he breathes. “You’re shaking.”

You are.

Everything is hot and melting and pulsing. It’s perfect and torture, a slick, slow throb building in your stomach. You rock your hips just once—barely—and he moans like you bit him.

“Don’t,” he gasps, fingers digging into your hips. “Don’t do that—fuck—”

You grin against his throat. “You said I could sit.”

“You’re greedy,” he hisses. “You’re…fuck…you’re evil…”

You clench around the toy, pressing it in with the bulge of his cock. He bucks up beneath you with a sharp, broken groan, like he’s being pulled apart cell by cell.

You feel drunk on the power for a moment, and he’s falling apart.

“Can you take more?” he whispers, pulling the phone up again with a shaking hand.

You hesitate… but you nod. “Yeah…”

He turns the dial up, carefully and not all the way. Just enough.

It purrs inside you now, every pulse kissing your walls, grinding against your most sensitive places with perfect pressure. Your hips jerk.

You whimper into his neck. “Caleb—”

His hands stroke your back. He’s panting. “I’ve got you,” he whispers. “You’re doing so good for me.”

You moan. Loud. Thoughtless.

“You’re so fucking wet,” he groans. “You’re dripping. Right on me. On my jeans. My cock…”

You bury your face in his collarbone, trying to hold still. Trying not to move. But it’s so hard. It feels so good.

“You’re making a mess,” he pants. “You’re fucking soaked, baby, oh my god—”

You can feel his cock under you, twitching, trapped and leaking. You rock forward a little on accident and he shudders, groaning ragged into your neck.

“Stop—don’t—I’ll come if you do that again—”

“You haven’t even touched me,” you whisper, dizzy.

“I am touching you,” he groans. “You’re on me. You’re fucking trembling all over me, I can feel every—” He cuts off with a moan, hands gripping you tighter. “Fuck—fuck—you’re gonna come, aren’t you?”

“I—” You can’t even form words. The pressure is building too fast, too sharp, and the way his voice sounds in your ear is tipping you over the edge.

“Come for me,” he whispers, raw and wrecked. “Right here. Just like this. Come with me under you, baby. Use it. Use me.”

You do.

You cry out, hips jerking and grinding, legs locking as the orgasm tears through you. It's fast, electric, too much. The toy keeps going, humming inside you while your body pulses around it, breath ragged, muscles tensed. Caleb groans as you come undone in his lap, his cock pinned between you, the wet heat of your release soaking through both your bodies.

You collapse against him, twitching. He catches you instantly. Holds you. Breathes through it.

His lips press to your temple, worshipping.

“You’re unreal,” he whispers. “You’re gonna fucking kill me.”

You smile, dazed.

“I hope so,” you murmur.

He chuckles. Then shifts just enough to press his hips up into yours. You can feel how hard he still is. How desperate.

Your grin returns.

“You want me to take care of you now?” you whisper sweetly.

He groans into your neck.

“Don’t tease me,” he pants. “I begged for that. You know me.”

You tilt your head and kiss him. Once. Soft. Deep.

“I know.”

Caleb's shaky breath is warm in your ear as he pulls you close, arms around your waist. “Are you too overstimulated for…” He pauses, voice breaking as he feels you shift in his lap. “Fuck. I want to be inside you.”

Your head turns slightly, cheek pressed to his shoulder. Your breath is hot. “Then do it.”

His breath catches.

“You’re sure?”

You nod, weak, your voice like silk barely clinging to your throat. “I’m dripping for you, Caleb. What the fuck do you think?”

He groans. The noise is wrecked, shaky, as he flips you so gently you almost don’t feel it until you’re on your back again. His hands are everywhere: your thighs, your hips, your waist. His eyes are molten, blown black with need, but his fingers stay careful, as he's pulling the toy out with a slick pop that makes you whimper.

You feel so empty when it’s gone. But not for long.

He fumbles with his jeans, breath ragged as he yanks them down just enough to free his cock…and then... fuck...

You both look.

He’s so hard. Veined and thick, flushed deep with need. The tip is wet and twitching and leaking, and you stare, wide-eyed and stunned.

You’d forgotten how big he is. Or maybe you just didn’t realize how needy your body was now. How soft and open he’d already made you.

He presses forward, then slides in.

You both gasp. It’s obscene how easy he goes in. No resistance. Just slick, tight, hot pressure and then full, stuffed, stretched around him like your body was already waiting for this. Begging for it.

“Holy fuck,” Caleb chokes. He’s not moving. Just inside, balls-deep, jaw slack, hips trembling. “You’re—you’re already this wet? You—shit, I can’t—I can’t believe this—”

You moan, helpless, legs wrapping around his waist, hands grabbing at his back. “Move—please, Caleb, you have to—”

He jerks forward with a groan and pulls out an inch—just enough to see his cock shining with you—then slams back in. You cry out.

“Oh my god,” he breathes. “You’re taking me—so fucking easy, baby—fuck, this pussy—” Another thrust, sharp and deep. You arch. “You’re already open for me. That toy got you ready, didn’t it? Got you all soft and dripping, just so I could fuck you like this.”

“Y-yeah,” you gasp. “Fuck—please, don’t stop—”

“Greedy little thing,” he growls, voice hoarse with disbelief. “You wanted me to find it. You wanted me hard and jealous and ready to ruin you. You fucking planned this.”

You shake your head, whining. “Didn’t—just—just didn’t hide it—”

“Same fucking thing,” he snarls into your neck, slamming into you faster now. “You know what it does to me. Fuck, you know—you knew I’d lose it. And now look—”

He pounds into you, relentless, each thrust punching air from your lungs. Your nails dig into his back as you try to hold on, but he’s not giving you a break, not now.

“I can’t believe how good you take it,” he growls. “So fucking wet. I’m sliding in like it’s nothing—nothing, baby, you’re sucking me in like you missed this.”

You sob out a moan, your whole body thrumming. You’re stretched wide, filled to the brim, stuffed so good you can’t think.

“I did,” you cry. “I did, Caleb—I missed it… Your perfect cock…”

His rhythm stutters—just a second—and then it gets rougher. Harder. Messier.

“I’ll give it to you,” he pants. “Every time. Whenever you want. I’ll fuck you open and ruin you, baby, I'll take good care of you… you don’t ever have to beg again.”

He pulls out almost all the way and slams back in, and you scream.

He presses his forehead to yours, breath coming in sharp, hot gasps. “You’re gonna come again, aren’t you?”

“I—I can’t—”

“You will. I feel it. I feel you clenching on me—fuck—you love it raw, don’t you? No condom, just skin to skin, me buried in your fucking pussy like I belong there—”

“You do,” you gasp.

That breaks him.

He snaps his hips, brutal and desperate. “You’re gonna come. You’re gonna come with me, and I’m not gonna pull out—I’m gonna fill you up.”

The sound you make isn’t even a word. It’s raw. Wet. Animal.

He’s soaked—you’re soaked—your arousal painting his cock, his thighs, pooling under you. He can barely breathe.

You’re clenching, right on the edge again, thighs trembling.

He sees it. Feels it.

“Come, baby,” he begs, forehead still against yours. “Come for me, pipsqueak. Let me feel you—fuck, I wanna feel you milk my cock—”

You snap.

Your walls spasm around him, tight and fluttering, your body locking up as your orgasm rips through you. You sob, moan, scream—you don’t even know what sound you make. Just that it drags him with you.

Caleb cries out your name like it hurts. Like worship.

His cock jerks and he thrusts once, twice—and then he’s coming. Deep inside. Hot, thick pulses of it, flooding you while your body still twitches around him. He groans into your neck, shaky, broken, lost.

You hold each other.

Breathless. Destroyed. Connected.

After a long moment, he whispers against your skin:

“You’re never using that thing without me again.”

You laugh, weak and giddy, and pull him closer.

“Deal.”

#love and deepspace caleb #caleb x reader #lads caleb #caleb x mc #caleb #caleb smut #caleb lads smut #lads caleb smut #lads smut #caleb xia #caleb love and deepspace #love and deepspace fanfiction #love and deepspace fic #love and deepspace #love and deepspace fanfic #love and deepspace smut

1K notes · View notes

kxsagi · 4 days ago

Note

Hihi!!

I love your writing so much, and the fact that you get around to every request is so amazing 🩷

can I request blue lock boys taking their gf dress shopping? In like those fancy stores where he just lounges on the couch and reader comes out to show him the different dresses…

especially with Kaiser, Sae, and Reo (+anyone else you want)

you’re amazing, ilysm 🩷🩷

“𝐡𝐨𝐰 𝐦𝐚𝐧𝐲 𝐝𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐞𝐬? 𝐲𝐞𝐬”

a/n: hiiii, thank you so much!!! i try my best to keep up with everyone's requests 🥹

thank you for being so patient as i go through everyone's requests, i love you more!!! ❤️

ft. kaiser michael, itoshi sae, mikage reo, nagi seishiro, karasu tabito, isagi yoichi, itoshi rin, shidou ryusei, ness alexis

kaiser michael

he took you to some insane designer showroom in berlin. like, exclusive access. there were literal sparkling water bottles on every glass table and the air smelled like wealth and fresh lavender.

kaiser was already seated like a royal on a velvet couch, legs spread, wine glass in hand, grinning like a menace.

“go on, schatz,” he waved you off with a wink, “go pick the ones that'll make me lose my mind.”

every time you stepped out in a new dress, he gave you a whole performance. gasps. dramatic clapping. sometimes he straight-up stood to bow.

“this one?” you twirled in a sleek, backless black gown. “this one,” he confirmed immediately, tapping his card on the little side table like a buzzer.

he got so into it he started naming the dresses.

“the red one? sexy. the white one? angelic. that purple one? evil queen. i want all versions.” “mihya, i don’t need this many dresses.” “you don’t need me either, but here we are.”

he ends up buying half the rack just to see you wear them privately at home.

itoshi sae

sae didn’t say much when you dragged him along, but he showed up. and that's love.

he wore sunglasses indoors. had his arms crossed. didn’t move from the sofa unless it was to gently pull you back into the dressing room for a redo twirl.

his reactions were quiet but lethal. “you look good.” “... that one’s my favorite so far.” nods once with a faint smile that could destroy nations.

but god forbid anyone else compliments you in earshot, he gets scarily territorial.

you stepped out in a bold, high-slit number and caught one of the stylists whisper “wow” to her coworker.

sae uncrosses his arms and sighs audibly. “we’ll take that one. she’s not coming back out in it.”

also? he ends up snapping a bunch of photos of you while pretending to scroll on his phone.

“you’re staring,” you tease. “yeah,” he shrugs, deadpan, “you’re the most interesting thing in this store.”

mikage reo

this is his natural habitat. he thrives here. reo's in full stylist mode the second you walk in.

handpicks everything for you: “oh this color would make your skin glow. and this one? dangerous. try both.”

he's practically sprinting through the store with two racks behind him like a movie montage scene.

when you walk out in the first one, he gasps. real gasp. hand to chest.

“baby,” he whispers, awe-struck. “you’re making it impossible to pick just one. you’re cheating.”

he has an opinions notebook in his head. immediately ranks each outfit like he’s judging project runway.

if you look even slightly unsure about something, he swoops in behind you to fluff your skirt, fix the straps, and whisper: “trust me. this one’s gonna make jaws drop.”

he buys all the best picks, insists on it. “i make money so my girl can dress like a goddess. simple math. boy math.”

nagi seishiro

nagi agreed to come only because you promised snacks.

he lounges like a bored cat in the corner seat with a lazy grin, giving you sleepy eyes every time you step out.

“mhm. pretty.” he says, head tilted.

but the moment you come out in a body-hugging, jaw-dropping dress? he sits up straight for the first time all day.

“... oh.” full eye contact. blink. “okay yeah. that’s the one. get it. get ten of it.”

now he’s suddenly engaged.

starts rating each outfit out of ten with zero consistency. “that one? seven. the red one before? like… twenty.”

keeps mumbling under his breath like: “she’s gonna kill me. she’s literally gonna kill me looking like that. how am i supposed to breathe?”

pretends to be tired again once the staff ask for his opinion. only perks up for you.

karasu tabito

turns the whole thing into a fashion show game. claps every time you walk out like he’s your personal hype squad.

“alright alright alright, we’ve got the stunning miss coming down the runway, let’s see what she’s serving us today!!”

he makes everyone in the boutique laugh, even the grumpy old cashier lady who’s seen it all.

you wore a glittery, low-back dress once and he literally dropped his phone. “god’s favorite. god’s actual favorite.”

whistles when you twirl. “someone call vogue. no wait, cancel vogue, she is vogue.”

he insists on filming your strut in slo-mo and adding music over it later.

"we're turning this boutique into your personal red carpet," he grins, wrapping his arm around your waist.

makes sure you leave the store knowing you’re the hottest girl on the planet.

isagi yoichi

isagi walked in thinking he’d be chill. normal. composed. five minutes later, he’s clutching his soul.

you stepped out in the first dress, and he physically froze like he forgot how to breathe. “yoichi?” “... sorry i-i think my heart lagged.”

he tries so hard to be casual but every outfit has him flustered like it’s prom night all over again.

“this one’s really nice…” he says, voice a bit shaky. his ears are bright red.

when you spin or lift the hem of the dress to show the detailing? he's toast.

the sales lady offered to get another size and he just stood there like: “no! no it’s perfect. she looks… perfect.”

accidentally compliments you like you're a painting. “this dress looks like it was made for you. it’s unfair.”

insists on paying even though he tried to act humble about being rich: "it's for a special occasion," he says.

special occasion = date night at your place eating instant ramen.

itoshi rin

rin acts like he doesn’t want to be there. acts.

he’s all crossed arms, cold glares, looking like he’s being held hostage, but then you step out in a tight silk number and his pupils dilate.

“don’t wear that in public.” “what? why?” “... i don’t like people looking at you.”

he is so serious he buys the dress just to keep it in his closet.

“wear it at home,” he mutters, “i’ll sit and watch.”

anytime you ask for feedback, he stares for way too long then says something like: “you already know the answer. don’t fish for compliments.”

but he 100% secretly takes pictures of you on his phone when you’re not looking. his camera roll is full of blurry dress twirls with soft lighting and “❤️” captions.

if someone else in the store compliments you, he steps closer and just glares until they walk away.

shidou ryusei

oh he LOVES this. front row seat to his hot gf looking like a goddess? he is not normal about it.

“damn, babe, you’re gonna cause car crashes looking like that.”

lays on the couch like a lazy demon king, legs spread, arms behind his head, watching you like he’s bingeing his favorite show.

whistles, howls, full commentary. “ohhhhh SHIT, that slit goes all the way up. you tryna kill me today?”

you can’t even walk out in a new dress without him hyping you up like a rapper at the grammys.

he flirts with you so outrageously loud the boutique manager has to clear her throat five times.

“you gonna wear that with heels? no wait, just wear me. no shoes. problem solved.”

actually tries to follow you into the fitting room like “what? you need help zipping, don’t you?”

ends up buying the most scandalous one just so he can see your shocked expression. “oh? you didn’t say no. it’s mine now.”

ness alexis

ness is so soft and enchanted the entire time it’s actually adorable.

sits on the couch like a proud little boyfriend with his hands clasped under his chin, eyes sparkling like he’s witnessing divine beauty.

“oh my gosh. you’re glowing. you’re actually glowing. how is that possible?”

when you walk out in a poofy or elegant dress, he gasps audibly and then gets all teary-eyed like, “you look like you just stepped out of a fairytale.”

claps like a kid at a magic show. nearly squeals when you twirl.

gives detailed, flowery compliments that sound like shakespeare and pinterest quotes had a baby. “you look like a star kissed by moonlight. i’m gonna cry.”

if someone else compliments you, he gets dramatically competitive. “yeah she’s mine. no you can’t look. close your eyes.”

also? buys you a tiara from the accessories section. “you deserve it. queen energy only.”

535 notes · View notes

nekonaps0 · 1 month ago

Text

TWST Boys Take Care of Their Drunk Girlfriend pt3

✦par1 part2

✦characters: second years +Cater Diamond, Trey Clover, Rook Hunt, Lilia Vanrouge

Ruggie Bucchi

Ruggie gets serious real fast. He’s seen what bad nights can look like back in his hometown, so he keeps it together no matter how bad you’re wobbling.

“Whoa there, sweetheart. Slow down. You’re not about to faceplant on my watch.”

He’s surprisingly efficient: ties your hair back, gets you water and some bread as well. Checks your temperature with the back of his hand. He’ll still tease you a little, because it helps you relax.

“You’re kinda cute when you slur your words, not gonna lie. But let’s get you lying down before you try to tango with the stairs.”

Even if you’re clingy or emotional, he holds you close, rubbing your back and whispering comforting little things like:

“Hey… I gotcha. You’re safe. I’m not going anywhere.”

Jade Leech

Jade handles it like a calm, doting nurse, but with that eerie composure that makes you wonder just how used to this he is.

“My, my. What a rare sight, my beloved intoxicated. I shall treasure this moment… but first, let’s get you hydrated, yes?”

He carries you with ease, sets you down somewhere comfortable, and brings a glass of water with a wedge of lemon, “to balance your blood sugar” (you’re too drunk to question it). He hums softly as he removes your shoes and tucks you in, like he’s enjoying every second.

“Shh. No need to speak… Just rest. I’ll watch over you.”

And he will. With a very affectionate, slightly creepy smile.

Floyd Leech

Floyd’s reactions depend entirely on his mood, but when you’re drunk and vulnerable, he becomes startlingly gentle.

“Aww, Shrimpy’s all wobbly… That won’t do. Gotta keep you safe, huh?”

He’ll scoop you up in one arm, carry you around while muttering about how cute and helpless you look, and won’t let anyone near you. If you’re emotional or woozy, he calms down quick.

“Don’t cry, don’t cry. I’m here, yeah? Your amazing boyfriend gotcha. Squeeze if it hurts.”

He hums in your ear and wraps you up like a burrito in a blanket, arms around you the whole time.

Jamil Viper

Jamil is equal parts frustrated and deeply worried. He masks it with a sigh, but he's 100% locked in “caretaker mode.”

“You didn’t check how many glass you drink, did you? Ha… Sit down. No arguments.”

He’s quiet, firm, and incredibly gentle. Getting you water, medicine, cool towels, and even food to soak up the alcohol. But he can’t hide the way his fingers linger on your cheek, how he watches you with that faint frown of concern.

“You’re allowed to lean on me, y’know. I don’t mind when it’s you.”

Once you’re calm and safe, he sits by your side, tugs a blanket over you, and whispers so quietly you almost miss it:

“You scared me, idiot.”

Trey Clover

Trey is the dad boyfriend in every sense. Calm, composed, gentle, and absurdly competent.

“Easy, love. Sit down before you fall down.”

He guides you to a chair, brings you water with ice, wipes your face gently, and even bakes you something mild to settle your stomach. He talks you through.

“It’s alright. I’ve got you. You’re safe, I promise.”

If you’re emotional, he’ll stroke your hair and hum softly until you relax. Once you’re dozing off, he lingers nearby, watching over you with a small smile.

“I’ll be right here when you wake up, okay?”

Cater Diamond

Cater panics internally, but outside he’s trying to play it cool. He gets more serious than usual especially if you’re stumbling or crying.

“Whoa, babe… okay, deep breaths, okay? Just look at me… there we go. Focus on my voice.”

He'll take a hundred selfies to distract you, but deletes them all after, realizing you might be embarrassed later. He brings water, makes you laugh, and gets you tucked into bed with soft lights and soothing music.

“You good now, cutie? I’ll stay ‘til you crash.”

He’ll brush your hair aside and kiss your forehead.

Rook Hunt

Rook finds you breathtakingly poetic in your intoxicated state. That said, he takes care of you like a devoted knight.

“My dear, your skin glows with the blush of wine… but let us preserve your radiance, non?”

He sweeps you into his arms and sets you down with the tenderness of a courtly lover. He brings you warm tea, holds your hand as you sip, and fans you with a velvet handkerchief.

“I shall not sleep while you suffer, ma chérie. Your beauty, even in disarray, is divine.”

His care is sincere, if a bit dramatic. You fall asleep to the soft sound of his French lullabies and poetic whispers.

Silver

Silver’s instinct is protection above all. The moment he notices you wobble, he’s at your side in seconds.

“Careful. I’ve got you. Let me help.”

He holds you close, arms steady and warm, guiding you somewhere quiet where he can watch over you. He brings you a blanket, makes you lie down, and kneels by your side, holding your hand while you drift off.

“Even when you’re vulnerable, you’re strong. I admire that… and I’ll stay with you until you feel better again.”

He hums softly, brushing your hair with such care it brings tears to your eyes.

Lilia Vanrouge

Lilia is playful at first, teasing you about your drunk state until he sees even a hint of discomfort, then switches into protective boyfriend mode in a heartbeat.

“Oh dear, you’re wobbling like a baby bat. C’mere, darling, let Lilia fix you up.”

He brews a strange but effective herbal tea, and holds you while you sip it, rocking you gently. He cradles your face, soft and fond.

“You’re in good hands. Rest now, my sweet. I’ll guard your dreams.”

Even in chaos, he makes you feel entirely, completely safe.

..............................................................................................................................

596 notes · View notes

nhmkhnh · 30 days ago

Text

BABY MOMMA.

PAIRINGS: AMAB!DOM!VI X SUB!FEM!READER

PREFACE: you're thirty, she's twenty, but the moment you say “come to bed,” all vi wants is to knock you up and never leave.

WARNING(S): lowercase, explicit content (minors & men dni)

TAGS: age gap (v: 20 ;; r: 30) ;; obssesed!vi ;; perv!vi ;; baby fever-mode!vi ;; babysitter!reader ;; milf!reader ;; domestic tension ;; mommy kink ;; laundry sniffing ;; fever dream ;; dry humping ;; filthy thoughts ;; breaking point smut ;; breeding kink ;; oral (r. receiving)

navigation.

vi wasn’t even supposed to be home that morning.

she was supposed to be at the gym or… anywhere but standing shirtless at the window, mouth open, watching you haul boxes out of a small delivery truck like you weren’t the finest woman she’d ever seen in her damn life.

tight jeans. hair pinned up. a tattoo curling behind your ear. sunglasses you slid off with one hand as you called out something sweet to the driver, and holy shit—you smiled. at him. at the world. and her body locked up like she’d just been sniped.

you were older. she could tell by the way you carried yourself—like you knew better, like you didn’t care who was looking. but vi? vi cared. she cared so much, she was gripping the windowsill until her knuckles went white, watching you pop open a water bottle and tilt your head back to drink.

and just like that, she was hard.

not in a gross way. in a oh fuck i think i just saw god kind of way.

she scrambled. didn’t even think—just grabbed a hoodie (no shirt underneath) and jogged out the door like a complete idiot. nearly tripped over her own feet when she saw you bend over to adjust something heavy near the door. ma’am please i am twenty i will die.

you stood up, looked straight at her.

“oh hey, neighbor,” you smiled, and she forgot how to speak.

“i—hi. i mean, yeah. me. neighbor. i’m… i live there,” she pointed to her own house like a moron, hoodie still half unzipped, chest glistening slightly from sweat and thirst.

your eyes flicked down once. she saw. she definitely saw.

“thanks for the info,” you laughed, and her soul left her body. “i’m [your name]. moved in just now, as you can see.”

“i see,” vi muttered, and what the fuck kind of response was that?!

you tilted your head, amused, and extended your hand. “vi, right? your landlord mentioned you when i signed the lease. said you were helpful.”

she took your hand way too fast, way too eagerly. “y-yeah. i help.”

“great,” you nodded, letting go slowly. “then maybe you can help me with the crib inside.”

she blinked. “the what.”

you laughed. “i babysit. there’s a four-month-old who’s practically glued to me all week. she’s sweet. i’m just renting this place so she has somewhere quieter to nap. her parents live a few blocks over.”

vi’s brain short-circuited. crib. baby. you. you holding a baby. you cradling. you humming lullabies. you as a mom—

she choked.

you frowned. “you okay?”

“yeah! yeah. totally. i—uh. i like babies.”

oh my god shut the fuck up vi shut the fuck up—

you chuckled. “good to know. come help me build the crib, vi-who-likes-babies.”

she followed you inside, hoodie clinging to her back, heartbeat out of control, hard as fuck, stammering at every single thing you did.

because your perfume was expensive, your back arched when you leaned over the instructions, and you sat cross-legged on the floor like it was nothing—but everything—to her.

and when you casually said, “you’re cute when you’re shy,”

…she almost came on the spot.

vi’s not okay.

she was barely hanging on when you wore that little tank top and asked her to hold a wrench last week. but this?

this is full-on war.

you open the door holding a baby on your hip—some chubby-cheeked, sleepy-eyed little thing in a duck onesie—while wearing that fucking sundress. the pale yellow one. thin straps, low neckline, hugs your waist like it’s being paid to ruin her life.

vi forgets what oxygen is.

“oh, hey, sweetheart,” you smile at the baby first, bouncing her softly. then you glance up at vi. “you ready to help me carry the stroller down?”

vi opens her mouth.

nothing comes out.

because the cleavage. and the bare shoulders. and the baby in your arms like it’s natural.

“i-i—yeah. stroller. of course.” she’s already sweating.

you giggle. “you always this red, or am i special?”

“i’m fine,” vi lies through her teeth.

you walk ahead of her, barefoot in your little house, the curve of your ass visible through the soft cotton of your dress, and she thinks: i’m going to jail. i am going to jail and i will smile in my mugshot.

the stroller’s heavier than expected, but she handles it fine. she’s jacked. that’s the one thing she’s got going for her.

well—two things, if you count how fucking hard she is under her sweatpants.

you hum beside her, rocking the baby with one arm, hair tied up in a lazy bun. you’ve got soft lines around your eyes and a warmth she doesn’t know how to be normal around. and vi’s there—shoulders tense, jaw locked, trying not to pop a visible boner every time you coo, “sweet girl,” to the baby.

then you make it worse.

you reach over and gently wipe sweat from her brow. “it’s hot today, huh? thanks for the help, sweetheart.”

sweetheart.

vi twitches. physically twitches.

you raise an eyebrow. “everything okay?”

“yes,” she says, hoarse. “just—uh. you’re really good with her.”

“i’ve always loved kids,” you say, smiling down at the baby.

and vi mutters before she can stop herself: “bet you’d be a hot mom.”

you blink.

and then—you smirk.

“oh? that a fantasy of yours, baby girl?”

vi panics. “i—i didn’t—shit, sorry, that was—”

you’re laughing. genuinely laughing. “relax. you’re cute.”

vi’s frozen. she can’t believe it. she whimpered.

and then you kiss the baby’s cheek and say, "come back inside. i’ve got lemonade."

vi follows you like a damn dog.

she’s got baby fever, mommy issues, and a certified obsession with the thirty-year-old milf next door.

god help her.

vi’s been helping you move furniture all afternoon.

sweat trickling down her back. tank top clinging to her abs. hair pulled back. she’s been trying to be chill—trying so hard not to stare at how your shorts ride up when you crouch or how your bra peeks through that thin-ass top—but her self-control is in the fucking icu.

especially because you keep leaning over her shoulder, brushing close, saying things like:

“right there—mm, yeah, just like that.”

you’re not doing it on purpose, right?

right?

right??

she’s holding up a bookshelf now while you tighten the bolts, crouched in front of her, the top of your head level with her chest. she can smell your perfume and it’s giving her a stroke. she’s already lightheaded when you stand up, give her a once-over, and smile that slow, warm smile that makes her want to bark.

“all done,” you say. “thanks for being such a good girl, vi.”

and she moans.

like, not subtle. a real, shaky-breath, “nnnh,” straight from the chest.

you blink. “...vi?”

she freezes.

she wants to die.

her ears go red instantly. her fingers twitch. her soul tries to leave her body but gets caught on her raging boner.

“i—sorry—i didn’t—” she stammers, stepping back too fast and bumping into the wall. “you said—you called me—”

you smirk. that smirk. the one that says you definitely noticed.

“good girl?” you say sweetly.

she whimpers again.

you take a step closer. she backs up like prey.

“oh?” you tease, voice just above a whisper now. “that do something to you, baby?”

“i-i don’t—fuck—can we talk about literally anything else—” she’s not looking at you, hands fisting the hem of her shirt like she’s holding herself back from combusting.

but you just tilt your head, amused.

then? you lean in, real close, and murmur, “what if i say it again?”

vi’s eyes flutter. she stops breathing.

“good girl.”

her knees buckle. she physically has to catch herself on the side of the doorframe.

“jesus,” she groans under her breath, clearly hard now, sweat dripping from her temples, breathing like she just ran a marathon.

you chuckle and walk off like nothing happened, calling over your shoulder:

“lemonade’s in the fridge if you need to cool off, sweetheart.”

vi drops onto your couch the moment you’re out of sight, throws her head back, and mutters:

“i’m gonna die. i’m actually gonna die. from thirst.”

it’s not supposed to be a big deal.

you text her something casual:

“hey sweetheart, can you bring the bottle from the fridge? hands full 😭🙏”

vi sprints.

like sprints across the yard, slides through your back door in socks, bottle in hand, chest heaving like she just finished cardio. she’s sweating. heart racing. already down bad because you called her sweetheart again.

she doesn’t even knock. just steps into your cozy little living room like always and calls out, “got the—”

then stops.

and drops the damn bottle.

you’re on the couch.

top pulled down. baby cradled to your bare breast. your head tipped back, eyes half-lidded, lips parted slightly as you hum a soft lullaby. you don’t even notice her at first.

vi just stands there.

dead.

brain: blue screen. vision: blurry. crotch: raging boner.

she tries—tries—to look away. but the curve of your breast, the way the baby’s little fist clutches your shirt, the soft rise and fall of your chest…

she whimpers.

like audibly.

you finally glance up, blinking slow. “vi?”

“i—s-sorry—fuck—bottle,” she stutters, bending to pick it up and almost falling over. she keeps her eyes on the floor like that’ll save her from spontaneous combustion.

you smile, unfazed, lifting the baby gently off your chest and tucking your top back up. “she was starving. you got here just in time.”

vi can’t speak.

you walk over and take the bottle from her hands—her shaking hands—and nod toward the couch. “sit. you okay?”

she sits like a robot. legs clamped tight. face red as hell. “y-yeah. totally. normal. healthy.”

you laugh. “didn’t mean to shock you. you’ve never seen someone breastfeed before?”

“not—” you. “not someone like you.”

you raise a brow. “like me?”

she looks up, eyes blown out, and whispers, “hot.”

silence.

then you giggle and ruffle her hair. “you’re adorable.”

she dies again.

literally lays back on your couch with a hand over her eyes and mutters, “i’m gonna marry you.”

you just smirk, bounce the baby gently, and say, “better take me to dinner first, baby girl.”

she chokes.

it starts around midnight.

vi’s in bed. shirtless. half-hard. brain running laps about the way your ass looked earlier when you bent over the stroller. she’s just about to give in and touch herself—like she hasn’t already done that three times this week—when she hears it.

a moan.

muffled. desperate. yours.

then another one.

soft, strained, and punctuated by a frustrated groan. “ughhh, no—c’mon baby, please—”

vi sits up straight, eyes wide, hair sticking up in every direction.

is someone in your house?!

is someone… touching you?!

her jealousy catches fire. she doesn’t even grab a shirt. just yanks on sweatpants, grabs a wrench (???) from her closet like she’s gonna be your knight in shining fuckin’ armor, and sprints next door barefoot like a lunatic.

she doesn’t knock.

just bursts in like a heat-seeking missile. “hey! you okay?! what’s going on—!”

and freezes.

because you’re in the living room. hair messy, wearing a big sleep shirt, holding the baby upright against your shoulder. your eyes are bagged, chest rising and falling like you’ve been fighting demons.

you blink at her. “...vi?”

she stares.

you blink again. “why are you holding a wrench?”

vi lowers it. “i—uh—heard you moaning.”

you tilt your head. “i was soothing a baby, not getting railed.”

“i—”

“you broke into my house.”

vi’s entire soul leaves her body.

you sigh and flop onto the couch, baby still whimpering against your shoulder. “she’s teething. i’ve tried everything. warm milk, lullabies, rocking, crying on the floor, begging the universe…”

vi shuffles awkwardly in place. “i really thought—i just wanted to make sure you were safe.”

you look at her again. that big, strong idiot in baggy pants and no shirt, still holding a wrench like she’s gonna fight your imaginary boyfriend.

and then you laugh. like, real laugh. the tired, cute kind that makes her chest ache.

you pat the spot beside you. “come here, bodyguard. you woke her up all the way, so now you’re part of this.”

vi slinks over, cheeks on fire, and sits close. the baby instantly grabs her hair.

you smile. “congrats. you’re a chew toy now.”

vi mutters under her breath, “worth it.”

then louder: “you’re… really amazing with her.”

you look at her, eyes soft. “yeah? you think i’d make a good mom?”

vi looks at you like she’s praying you’ll say that again.

“the best,” she whispers.

you smile. “so sweet. but you still broke into my house, dummy.”

vi nods solemnly. “i’d do it again.”

vi hadn’t meant to fall asleep thinking about you.

but you’d hugged her that evening.

you’d said, “thank you, sweetheart,” all soft and tired, arms around her waist while the baby slept upstairs. and she—poor, tragic, twenty-year-old vi—had gone home with trembling hands and a burning face, repeating your voice in her head like a spell.

so of course, when sleep hit, it hit wrong.

she’s dreaming.

you’re in a sunlit kitchen, barefoot and glowing. your belly’s round—swollen with child—and you’re humming softly as you stir something in a pot. wearing her old hoodie. stretching tight over that huge bump.

you smile over your shoulder. “morning, mama.”

mama.

she comes up behind you, presses her chest against your back, palms splayed over your stomach. you lean into her like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

“this all yours,” you whisper in the dream. “you knocked me up good, baby.”

vi groans.

you turn in her arms, lift her hand to your mouth, kiss her fingers—then suck one between your lips like you know she’s weak.

“you gonna fill me again?” you whisper, voice silk. “you wanna watch me waddle around carrying your babies?”

she’s panting in her sleep.

hard as a rock. grinding into her pillow like she’ll die if she doesn’t get friction. sweat at her temples. jaw clenched.

in the dream, you push her back onto the couch and climb into her lap. “i’m ovulating, baby. better hurry.”

she whimpers—a real sound that escapes her throat in bed as she ruts helplessly against the mattress.

still dreaming.

you straddle her. she sees your swollen tits, your fucked-out expression, your belly tight with her kid.

“you did this to me,” you moan. “all yours. you want more?”

“y-yes—fuck, yes,” she gasps into the pillow.

and then—

she wakes up.

drenched in sweat. hips still twitching. boner pressed against soaked boxers. pillow between her thighs like it personally wronged her.

she stares at the ceiling, chest heaving.

“…i need help.”

she doesn’t even bother cleaning up before grabbing her phone and texting you:

“do u need help babysitting. rn. i’m free. i’ll bring muffins. anything.”

you reply three minutes later:

“so sudden 🥺 come over. i just got peed on. again.”

she throws on pants and sprints.

it was supposed to be innocent.

you’d texted:

“can you throw the load in the dryer for me? baby finally fell asleep and i’m scared to move 😩🙏”

vi, of course, was already halfway across the yard by the time you hit send.

she lets herself in (as always now), heads straight for the laundry nook, and opens the washer.

and then she sees it.

your underwear.

not just any pair. that pair.

the black lacy one with the tiny bow and the high cut and—fuck—it still smells like you. a little fabric soaked in pheromones and torture. her brain flatlines.

she stares.

she’s so sick. so down bad. so gone for you that her fingers twitch and before she can stop herself, she lifts it to her face.

deep inhale.

one.

two.

“vi?”

she screams.

you’re behind her. holding a half-asleep baby against your chest. looking at her like she just got caught trying to rob a church.

“i—i—this isn’t—” she drops your underwear like it’s radioactive. “i can explain.”

you raise an eyebrow.

her voice jumps an octave. “it’s for a bet.”

you blink. “a bet.”

“yes! my friend dared me. i said i wouldn’t but i’m not a coward and—” she gestures wildly like that’ll save her soul. “look, i didn’t even mean to sniff that hard!”

you're silent for three long seconds.

then you tilt your head, absolutely unimpressed. “vi.”

“yes?”

“you sniffed it like you were dying.”

she opens her mouth. closes it. looks at the ground.

you sigh, adjust the baby on your shoulder. “finish drying the laundry, perv. and fold it properly.”

she nods, ashamed. “yes ma’am.”

you start to leave.

but before you disappear down the hall, you smirk over your shoulder. “for the record… that pair’s my favorite.”

vi stands frozen.

then whispers to herself:

“…i’m gonna nut in this laundry room.”.

vi never gets sick.

that’s what she says, anyway. but now she’s a sweaty, shivering mess on your couch, hoodie sticking to her back, cheeks flushed and nose red as she sniffles like a kicked puppy.

“you look like death,” you murmur, setting a bowl of soup on the coffee table.

vi glares up from her blanket cocoon. “you look like an angel. so we balance out.”

you laugh. “smooth even while dying, huh?”

she grins weakly. “trying to get laid before the fever kills me.”

you just roll your eyes, press the back of your hand to her forehead. “still burning up. eat your soup, dumbass.”

she eats two spoonfuls before she passes out on your lap.

you don’t move.

you just let her sleep, your fingers lazily carding through her messy pink hair while the baby monitor hums softly in the background. her face softens when she’s asleep—no cocky smirk, no flirtatious remarks. just long lashes, chapped lips, freckles. twenty years old and absolutely wrecked by your existence.

and then—

she moans.

soft at first. just a breathy, “mmnh…”

you pause.

then it happens again. louder this time.

“mm—[your name]…”

your eyes widen.

“…so fuckin’ soft…” she mutters, hips twitching under the blanket. “wanna… breed you full…” —it trails into a shaky whimper.

you blink.

breed you full.

this bitch is dry humping your couch in her fever dream.

you glance down. the blanket’s tented. her hips are doing a pathetic little roll and she’s straight-up panting now.

“…suck your tits while you’re pregnant…” she breathes, completely gone. “mine… mine…”

your face burns.

you should wake her up. you should. but instead you’re frozen, one hand over your mouth, staring at the down bad mess in your lap like she’s a perverted victorian poet possessed by baby fever.

then she moans again, almost a whine:

“mommy…”

you shove her off your lap.

she hits the floor with a thud, eyes fluttering open. “huh—what—?”

you’re standing over her, arms crossed, face unreadable.

she blinks, looks down at her very obvious situation, then back up at you.

“i—uh—bad dream?”

you raise an eyebrow.

“…really bad dream?”

you just toss her a pillow. “sleep on the floor, romeo.”

she groans and flops back down, whispering into the cushion, “worth it.”

you say it casually.

like it’s nothing.

like you didn’t just rip her entire soul out of her chest and crush it lovingly between your fingers.

you’re both at the park. it’s quiet. sunset bleeding gold into the sky, baby sleeping in the stroller as you sip your drink beside her on the bench. you’ve been chatting about nothing—about strollers with better wheels, about vi’s new job at the gym, about your favorite lullabies—and then you just drop it.

“you know…” you hum, looking out over the grass, “i think you’d be a good dad.”

vi chokes on her spit.

you glance over, confused. “what? i’m serious.”

she wipes her mouth with the sleeve of her hoodie like a panicked man-child, eyes wide, ears red, legs spread too far like she’s trying to hide a very obvious situation in her pants.

“you okay?”

“i—yeah—good—great—just—” she gulps. “why’d you say that?”

you shrug. “you’re sweet with the baby. patient. you carry her like she’s made of glass, and she always stops crying when you hum. it’s just cute.”

cute. she’s gonna pass out.

you look away again, smiling to yourself like you didn’t just nuke her from orbit. “some people aren’t built for it. but you’ve got that soft part under the muscle, you know?”

vi’s silent for a beat too long.

then:

“i want it to be you.”

you blink.

“what?”

she’s breathing fast now. can’t stop herself. doesn’t want to.

“i want it to be you. i think about it all the time, okay? you—round with my kid, sitting on my lap, feeding them with your tits out, walking around the house glowing, whining about cravings. i want all of it. with you.”

you stare.

she keeps going. “i can’t stop thinking about it. it’s sick, probably. you’re older, smarter, out of my league—fuck, i know—but every time you call me sweetie or ask me to hold the baby, i get hard. i dream about knocking you up. i dream about putting a ring on your finger and watching your belly swell.”

you open your mouth.

she rushes to fill the silence. “if that’s too much, i get it. i’ll back off. but i had to say it before i fucking explode. you make me crazy. i wanna breed you and worship you and hold your hand at the same time.”

you look at her. really look at her.

the trembling hands. the flustered face. the heart practically beating out of her chest. and all you can do is smile, slow and wicked.

“okay then,” you say.

“…okay?”

you lean close. lips nearly brushing her ear.

“breed me, then.”

vi blacks out.

literally slumps on the bench.

you shake her gently. “vi?”

“i’m fine,” she groans, hand over her face. “i’m gonna nut and cry at the same time but i’m fine.”

vi never meant to stay this long.

you’d invited her over to “watch a movie,” but the baby had been fussy, the wine had been opened, your head had ended up on her shoulder. now it’s nearly 1 am, and she’s still on your couch—stiff, sweaty, trying not to come in her fucking pants just from the weight of your body against hers.

you yawn. stretch. rise from the couch in that loose silk nightgown she’s been trying not to look at all night. thin straps. clingy fabric. no bra. nipples poking through like it’s personal.

“c’mon,” you murmur, eyes half-lidded. “come to bed, sweetheart.”

her whole body tenses.

you walk off slow. the sway of your hips deliberate. that little flash of skin where the hem lifts when you turn the corner into your bedroom.

vi doesn’t think. she follows.

the room is dim. lamp glowing. sheets pulled back like you’d been waiting for her. the baby’s long gone—safely back at her parents’ place. and you’re standing at the foot of the bed, lips curved in that tired, sexy smile as you murmur,

“take your clothes off, baby.”

that’s it.

that’s the moment she breaks.

vi steps forward like she’s in a trance, hoodie hitting the floor, then her sweatpants. she’s already hard—aching, throbbing, tip leaking like her cock’s been waiting for your voice this whole time.

you sit on the edge of the bed, part your thighs slightly, and whisper, “show me how much you want it.”

vi sinks to her knees instantly.

she pushes your gown up, breath hitching at the sight of your thighs, the way your pussy’s glistening—already wet. her hands tremble as she presses her mouth to the inside of your knee and drags her tongue up.

“god, you smell so good,” she groans. “so fucking sweet, mommy.”

you tangle your fingers in her hair and guide her in.

she doesn’t hold back. her tongue drags slow and deep through your folds, lapping like a woman starved. she sucks on your clit until your hips jerk, then moans against you when you tug her hair.

“s-shit, vi—” you breathe, thighs trembling. “you’re eating me out like—”

“like i’m in love with you?” she growls between licks. “i am. been in love with you since the first time i saw you hold that baby.”

you cry out as her tongue plunges inside you.

she groans. “wanna knock you up so bad. wanna fill you and watch it take. you’d look so fucking pretty with my kid in you.”

you’re gasping now, one hand over your mouth as your body tenses, riding her face until you break—spasming on her tongue with a soft, desperate moan of her name.

she keeps going. slower. gentle. worshipful.

when you finally pull her up by the hair, eyes glazed, lips swollen, she looks at you like she’d die if you asked her to.

“i want it,” you whisper.

vi’s cock twitches. “y-yeah?”

you nod, chest rising and falling. “come inside me, baby. you’ve wanted it, haven’t you? fill me up like you mean it.”

she lets out a shaky breath. “fuck.”

she climbs onto the bed, cock heavy between her thighs, flushed and leaking. you reach between your legs and guide her in yourself, moaning when the fat head of her cock pushes past your folds and stretches you open.

vi’s voice cracks. “oh my god, you’re—shit—you’re perfect.”

she starts slow. long, deep strokes that have your eyes rolling back, her hands gripping your thighs as she fucks into you with growing urgency.

“you want my baby, huh?” she pants. “want me to pump you full ‘til it sticks?”

you nod, delirious, grinding up into her. “y-yeah—fill me, vi, please—”

she snaps her hips. hard.

you cry out.

her hand grips your jaw, holding your gaze. “look at me while i do it. look at me when i breed you.”

you shudder under her, legs wrapped around her waist, nails digging into her back as she pounds into you.

then she slows—presses her forehead to yours.

voice soft now.

“i love you,” she whispers.

you blink up at her, tears in your lashes, body full and aching.

you smile. “i love you too.”

she moans. deep. shaky. like the words undid her.

and then she buries herself inside you.

you feel it—hot, thick spurts flooding your cunt as she cries out your name, body twitching, cock pulsing deep inside. you hold her through it. rock with her. feel her collapse into your arms, panting, still buried to the hilt.

she kisses your collarbone. your cheek. your lips.

“mine,” she whispers again and again.

“yours,” you promise, holding her close.

you fall asleep like that—her cock still inside, your bodies tangled, your future rewritten in the heat of one shared breath.

#vi x reader #violet x reader #vi arcane #arcane #smut

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deansbeer · 1 month ago

Text

when your car breaks down in the middle of nowhere, you call the one person you shouldn’t — your ex, dean winchester.

♡ ⋮ minors do not interact.

the engine dies with a pathetic sputter, and you barely manage to coast to the side of the empty highway before your car gives up completely. “you’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” you mutter, turning the key again. nothing. not even that clicking sound that means a dead battery. just absolute silence except for the wind whistling through the kansas plains.

you pop the hood even though you know it’s pointless. you can change a tire, check the oil, jump a battery — basic stuff. but whatever’s wrong with your car right now is beyond basic, and you’re stranded on a stretch of road that hasn’t seen another vehicle in the past hour. the sun’s starting to set too, painting everything in shades of orange and pink that would be beautiful if you weren’t completely fucked.

your phone has two bars of signal, which is a miracle out here. you scroll through your contacts, thumb hovering over the name you haven’t called in exactly three months. not since that night when everything imploded, when you’s screamed at each other in bobby’s salvage yard about hunting and danger and how tired you were of patching him up just to watch him throw himself into the next fight.

but dean’s only forty minutes away, still in lebanon according to sam’s last text. and he knows cars better than anyone. knows your car specifically, since he’s the one who helped you buy it, who spent a weekend underneath it making sure everything was running perfectly. “reliable and safe,” he’d said, wiping grease off his hands. “nothing fancy, but she’ll take care of ya.”

ironic, considering you’re now stranded because of said “reliable car.”

you hit call before you can talk yourself out of it. it rings once, twice, and then— “sweetheart?” dean's voice is rough, surprised. the nickname slips out like he can’t help it, like the past three months haven’t happened. “everything okay?”

“my car broke down,” you say, hating how small your voice sounds. “i’m on route 36, about thirty miles east of smith center. it just... died. won’t turn over, no clicking, nothing. i think maybe the ignition?”

there’s a pause, and you can practically see him straightening up, switching into problem-solving mode. “you somewhere safe? off the road?” when you confirm, he’s already moving — you can hear keys jingling, boots on floor. “i’m leaving now. forty minutes, maybe less. just stay in the car, doors locked. you got water?”

yeah,” you manage, throat tight. this is so unfair. three months of silence, of trying to move on, and one phone call has you remembering why you fell for him in the first place. the way he drops everything to help, no questions asked. “dean, you don’t have to—”

“yes, i do,” he cuts you off. “just... stay put. i’ll be there.” he hangs up before you can argue, which is probably for the best. you slouch in your seat, watching the sky darken. this is fine. should be fine. he’ll fix your car, you’ll thank him, and you’ll go your separate ways again. simple. easy. no need to think about how good he looked the last time you saw him, or how your body still remembers the shape of his.

thirty-five minutes later, you see headlights in your rearview mirror and hear the familiar rumble of the impala. your traitorous heart speeds up as dean pulls up behind you, parking close enough that his headlights illuminate your car. he’s out in seconds, and damn him for looking even better than you remembered. worn jeans, that damned leather jacket of his, dark blue flannel with the buttons unfastened revealing the tight gray t-shirt underneath, that concerned furrow between his brows.

“hey,” he says softly when you get out to meet him. his eyes do a quick scan, checking for injuries even though you told him you were fine. “you okay?” the question carries more weight than it should, like he’s asking about more than just the breakdown.

“i’m fine,” you lie, wrapping your arms around yourself. the temperature's dropped with the sun, and you’re in just a thin sweater. “thanks for coming. i know things are... weird.”

he shrugs off his jacket immediately, holding it out. “put this on before you freeze.” when you hesitate, he just steps closer and drapes it around your shoulders himself. the smell of leather and him overwhelms you. “and things aren’t weird,” he says, but won’t meet your eyes. “you needed help. end of story.”

“right,” you mutter, pulling the jacket tighter. “so, the car?”

he’a already popping your hood, pulling a flashlight from his pocket. “tell me exactly what happened.” you explain while he works, trying not to stare at the way his shoulders move under his dark blue flannel with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, the competent way his hands check wires and connections. it’s been three months, but your body remembers exactly how those hands feel on your skin.

“found it,” he announces after a few minutes, pointing with the flashlight. “ignition wire snapped. must’ve been wearing thin and finally gave out.” he straightens up, wiping his hands on his jeans. “i can fix it, but not here. gonna need to tow it to bobby’s.”

“shit,” you breathe. bobby’s is two hours away, and it’s already dark. “okay, i’ll call—“

“i’ll drive you,” dean interrupts. “we can call for a tow in the morning. no point paying extra for night service.” he’s already closing your hood, decision made. “grab what you need from your car.”

you want to argue, but what’s the alternative? spend a fortune on a late-night tow to a shop that won’t even look at it until morning? “are you sure? i can get a motel or something...”

“there’s nothing out here for miles,” he points out. “just... let me help. please.” the please gets you. always does. dean winchester doesn’t say please often, and the vulnerability in it makes your chest ache.

you grab your phone and purse from your car, locking it up even though there’s literally nothing around. the impala is warm when you slide into the passenger seat, and muscle memory has you adjusting the vents the way you like before you remember this isn’t your place anymore. dean pretends not to notice, just puts the car in drive and pulls onto the empty highway.

the first ten minutes are silent except for the radio playing low — some classic rock station you know he’ll never change. you sneak glances at him in the dashboard light, noting new lines around his eyes, a healing cut on his knuckles. he’s been hunting without you, and the thought makes your stomach twist.

“so,” he finally says, voice carefully neutral. “how’ve you been? still working at the clinic?” he remembers. of course he does. the veterinary clinic job you’d taken in the next town over, trying to build something normal.

“yeah,” you answer, grateful for safe territory. “it’s good. steady.” boring, your mind supplies. nothing like the adrenaline of hunting with the winchesters. “how’s sammy?”

“he’s good. still a pain in my ass.” there's fondness in his voice though. “keeps asking about you.” he glances over quickly. “told him to give you space, but you know how he is.”

you do know. sam winchester, ever the optimist, probably thinks you and dean are just taking a break. probably doesn’t know about the screaming match, the accusations thrown like weapons. how you’d told dean he was reckless, that he had a death wish. how he’s shot back that you were asking him to be someone he wasn’t, that hunting was in his blood.

“i miss him,” you admit quietly. “both of you.” the last part slips out before you can stop it, and dean’s hands tighten on the wheel.

“yeah,” he says roughly. “we miss... sam misses you too.” the correction is obvious, and something in your chest cracks. you turn to look out the window, watching empty fields fly by in the darkness. this was a mistake. you should’ve called a tow truck, dealt with the expense. anything but sitting in this car that holds too many memories, breathing in the scent of leather and gunpowder and dean.

“i can drop you at a motel,” dean offers suddenly. “in smith center. get your car towed there instead.” he’s giving you an out, even though it makes no practical sense. that’s dean though — he’ll inconvenience himself before making you uncomfortable.

“no, it’s fine,” you say, because you’re apparently a masochist. “bobby’s makes more sense.” what you don’t say is that you’re not ready for this to end. three months of missing him, and having him this close is torture and relief all at once.

the next hour passes in fits of conversation and comfortable silence. he tells you about a vengeful spirit in iowa, you tell him about the Great Dane who ate an entire thanksgiving turkey. it’s easy, too easy, falling back into this rhythm. by the time he mentions being hungry, suggesting a diner he knows, you’ve almost forgotten why you’re not supposed to be here.

“i should probably just wait in the car,” you say when he pulls into the parking lot. it’s one of those 24-hour places, neon lights flickering, maybe three other cars in the lot. “not really hungry.”

he gives you a look. “when's the last time you ate?” when you don’t answer immediately, he shuts off the engine. “come on. my treat. least i can do since i’m kidnapping you to kansas.”

“you’re not kidnapping me,”, you protest, but you’re already unbuckling your seatbelt. “i called you, remember?”

“details,” he says with that half-smile that always made you weak. inside, the diner is exactly what you’d expect — cracked vinyl booths, ancient jukebox, waitress who looks like she’s been working since the place opened. dean guides you to a corner booth with a hand on your lower back, and you pretend the touch doesn’t send electricity up your spine.

you order coffee and a sandwich you probably won’t finish. dean gets a burger and fries, and when the waitress leaves, the silence stretches awkward for the first time. here, under fluorescent lights instead of dashboard glow, the reality of your situation is harder to ignore.

“this is weird,” you finally say, fidgeting with your napkin. “right? this is weird?”

“yeah, it is,”, dean agrees, but he’s smiling a little. “good weird or bad weird?” the question catches you off guard. you look at him, really look at him, and see the same conflict in his eyes that you’re feeling.

“i honestly don’t know,” you admit. “both? neither?” you take a breath. “i wasn’t expecting to see you again so soon. or at all, maybe.”

something flashes across his face — hurt, maybe. “you really thought that was it for us? one fight and we’re done forever?” he leans forward, intense now. “baby, we’ve been through too much for that.”

“we broke up, dean,” you remind him, voice sharper than intended. “that usually means done forever.” but even as you say it, you know it’s not true. nothing about you and dean has ever been usual.

“we had a fight,” he corrects. “a bad one, yeah. but i never said... i didn’t want...” he runs a hand through his hair, frustrated. “fuck, i’m bad at this.”

the food arrives before he can finish, and you both pretend to be very interested in your meals. but the tension’s there now, thick between you. your sandwich tastes like sawdust, and you notice dean’s not really eating either, just pushing fries around.

“i’m sorry,” he says suddenly. “for what i said. about you not understanding the life, about being clingy. i was pissed and scared and i said shit i didn’t mean.” he meets your eyes. “you weren’t asking for too much. you were asking me to be careful. to come home. that’s... that’s what people do when they care.”

your throat feels tight. “i’m sorry too. i knew who you were when we got together. hunter first, everything else second. i shouldn’t have tried to change that.” you pause, chose your next words carefully. “i just... i got tired of patching you up. of wondering if each hunt would be the one you didn’t come back from.”

“i know,” he says softly. “i get it. hell, sometimes i wonder the same thing.” he reaches across the table, stops just short of your hand. “but these past three months... hunting without you, coming back to the bunker and you’re not there. it’s been...”

“i know,” you whisper, because you know. you’ve felt it too. the empty spaces where he should be. waking up alone, no one to call after a long shift, no one who understands the nightmares. “dean...”

he does touch your hand then, fingers brushing yours. “i fucked up. letting you walk away. not calling. being too stubborn to...” he takes a breath. “i missed you. every damn day.”

you turn your hand palm up, letting your fingers intertwine. “i drove past the bunker,” you confess. “two weeks ago. almost stopped.” you’d sat at the end of the road for twenty minutes, engine running, trying to find the courage. “…missed you too.”

the moment stretches, both of you holding on like letting go means losing this again. then dean’s phone buzzes, breaking the spell. he checks it with his free hand. “sam,” he says. “making sure i found you okay.”

“what did you tell him?” you ask, curious despite yourself. dean types one-handed rather than let go of you.

“that i got you. that we’re stopping for food.” he pauses, then adds something else. when he sets the phone down, there’s color in his cheeks. “he says to tell you hi. and that your room’s still exactly how you left it.”

your room. not the guest room, not a room. your room. like you still belong there. “dean...” but you don’t know how to finish. everything’s too complicated, too raw. three months wasn’t enough to get over him. you’re starting to think three years wouldn’t be enough.

“i know,” he says. “i know it’s complicated. but...” he squeezes your hand. “just come back tonight. we’ll figure out your car in the morning, and then... then we can talk. really talk. if you want.”

you should say no. should insist on a motel, on boundaries, on protecting whatever healing you’ve managed. instead you find yourself nodding. “okay. but just tonight.” it’s a lie and you both know it. nothing with dean is ever just anything.

he pays the check despite your protests, and then you’re back in the impala, except now there’s this thing between you. this acknowledgment that you’re not over, maybe never were. his hand finds yours across the seat, and you let yourself have this. for tonight. when he parks behind the bunker two hours later, you’re still holding on.

“home sweet home,” he says, but catches himself. “i mean…”

“i know what you meant,” you tell him. because despite everything, part of you has always known this was home. not the bunker itself, but wherever dean winchester is. that’s the problem.

that’s always been the problem.

you don’t make it inside the bunker. dean kills the engine and the silence is deafening, both of you still holding hands across the seat like teenagers. “we should go in,” you say, but neither of you moves. the air feels charged, heavy with everything unsaid. “sam’s waiting inside.”

“yeah,” he agrees, but his thumb is stroking across your knuckles and his eyes keep dropping to your lips. “he is probably waiting.” another beat of silence. “fuck it,” he mutters, and then he’s pulling you across the bench seat and into his lap.

his mouth crashes into yours and it’s like coming home and drowning all at once. three months of missing this, of pretending you didn’t need him like air, and now his hands are everywhere —. tangling in your hair, gripping your waist, pulling you impossibly closer. you kiss him back just as desperately, grinding down against him and swallowing his groan.

“backseat,” he pants against your mouth. “now.” you scramble over the seat ungracefully, dean right behind you. the space is familiar, how many times you’ve done this before, but it feels different now. charged with the weight of your separation, the raw need to reclaim each other.

“missed you so fucking much,” dean breathes, pulling you back into his lap. his hands slide under your shirt, rough palms against soft skin. “thought about this every night. how you feel, how you taste.” he mouths at your neck and you’re already falling apart, three months of built-up want making you hypersensitive.

you gasp softly, rocking against him. he’s rock hard already, denim rough against your core through your thin leggings. “please, i need you inside me.” there’s no room for putting on an act here, not when you’ve been starving for him. your hands shake as you work at his belt, desperate to feel him.

he helps, lifting his hips to shove his jeans down just enough. then he’s pulling at your leggings, the fabric catching awkwardly in the confined space. “these fucking things,” he growls, and you laugh breathlessly, helping him get them off one leg so you can straddle him properly.

when you sink down onto him, both of you moan so loud it could probably be the only thing heard for miles and your heavy breaths start to fog up the windows. “fuck, baby,” he grits out, hands gripping your hips bruisingly tight. “so perfect. always so perfect for me.” you can’t speak, too overwhelmed by the stretch, the fullness, the rightness of having him inside you again.

you start moving and the impala rocks with it, shocks creaking with each roll of your hips. dean’s making these broken sounds against your neck — grunts and whimpers that shoot straight to your core. “that’s right,” he pants. “ride me. show me how much you missed my cock.”

the dirty talk unlocks something in you and suddenly you’re bouncing on him hard, the car protesting with every movement. “missed it so much,” you confess in a whimper, nails digging into his shoulders. “nothing else... mmm, nobody else feels like you.” he groans and bucks up into you, feet planted on the floor for leverage.

the position changes everything, letting him thrust up deep and hard. the whole car is moving now, rocking obviously with your rhythm. “everyone’s gonna know,” he grunts in your ear. “gonna know i’m fucking you so good you can’t keep quiet.” as if to prove his point, he hits that perfect spot and you cry out, not caring who might hear.

“i’m so fucking close,” you gasp again, that familiar tension building. dean’s thumb finds your clit, rubbing tight circles as he continues pounding up into you. “dean, shit , i’m gonna—“ you come with his name on your lips, clenching around him.

he follows right after, arms tight around you as he empties himself inside with a broken whimper. you collapse against his chest, both breathing hard as the car finally stills. “definitely not making it inside anytime soon,” you murmur against his neck, and feel him laugh. “good,” he says, arms tightening around you. “not done with you yet.”

891 notes · View notes

pittrabbit · 2 months ago

Text

warnings: smut, kind of pwp, sexual harassment (from some guy, not pope), afab reader, age gap implied (everyone act shocked), p in v sex, soft dom reader and sub andrew, reader and andrew want each other bad, physical altercation, dry humping, prolonged foreplay, etc etc etc.

summary: you weren't sure how you ended up at this random party by the beach, but you started to regret it when some idiot wouldn't leave you alone. thank god the guy you'd been making eyes at all night decides to come to the rescue.

word count: 5.9k

note: not really happy with this one but here it is i guess!!

➽──────────────────❥

attending a party at some unknown's house by the beach hadn't really been part of tonight's plans. but when your best friend had shown up after work with a pout on her face and an annoying insistence you tag along, you sighed in compliance, slipping on a tiny dress and some kitten heels before trailing behind her.

there was some guy that had invited her, she'd said. you weren't really sure about it, never having heard of the guy or of the people hosting it. she'd stay with you all night, she'd claimed, and apparently parties went down there quite often without any trouble.

you were mostly past your partying days, but being a good friend, you still agreed, knowing it was better to go as a group rather than let her go to a strange place alone.

too bad she hadn't been as good a friend to you at said party.

almost within minutes of your arrival, you'd lost her in the crowd of bodies. as soon as she'd locked eyes with whatever guy she attended the party for, she decided to leave you on your own in favor of going with him. she promised she'd be back, that she'd just hang with him for a while before coming back to you.

and for some stupid reason, you stayed. instead of calling up an uber and drafting some angry text to her, you decided to stay and make the most of it. you wanted to be a good friend, wait around for her so she wouldn't have to go home alone — if she even went back home tonight.

it was a nice house, they had enough drinks to go around, and hell, you looked amazing. it would've been stupid to make the trek back home and waste the twenty minutes it'd taken you to get here (and the hour to get ready) just to turn right back around.

unlike your friend, you weren't really planning to hook up with anyone tonight. you were past your partying era, as you'd told your friend before being dragged here. however, enjoying the atmosphere and maybe dancing a little wouldn't hurt you. you'd keep things casual, just enjoy yourself for an hour or two before searching around for your friend in order to check in (and hopefully leave).

➽──────────────────❥

you grew bored of the party within an hour.

it had quickly turned into rowdy men fucking around in the pool and far too many people spilling their drinks carelessly into the water. after dancing and mingling for a while, you decided to stick to a wall, take the role of a loner and just watch the idiots wrestling one another in the pool.

there was still no sign of your friend (other than a lone text letting you know she'd get back to you soon, she promised!!), and you were in a low social battery mode, so you were really just killing time by holding up the wall.

and you would've been okay with that for another hour or two if it wasn't for the guy that had started harassing you one hour into the party.

it started with a look from across the pool. a very suggestive look, might you add. you were used to those, usually being able to shrug them off and keep it moving. this guy, however, was one of the unlucky insistent ones.

immediately looking away after making eye contact had not been enough of a hint, apparently. no, this man had actually taken that as a sign for him to make his way across the room and join you in holding up the wall.

finding his way to your side, he left about a foot of distance between you as he leaned against that same wall, drink in hand to occupy his hands as he did a terrible job at shooting you subtle looks from the side.

not wanting to be straight up rude, you didn't walk away — a mistake, in retrospect. instead, you became interested in your shoes, the guys fucking around in the pool, the couple making out to your left, just anything but him.

it didnt take long for him to get bored, though. within five minutes or so, that foot of distance became just a few inches, the man now standing shoulder to shoulder with you, leaning down a bit to share his first words with you over the music.

"hey. never seen you around here before. you a friend of the cody's? what's your name?"

god. way too much all at once. not to mention that his breath was too heavy against your ear.

whatever happened to personal space.

"uhm, nope. i'm just here with a friend. actually, i should go look for-"

he stepped closer then, taking your response — however non-receptive as it was — as a welcome to keep talking.

"yeah? i don't see any friend. i've been watching you, actually." he chuckled. "you looked kinda bored. thought id keep you some company."

he smelled like tequila. reeked of it, actually. that was never a good sign. he was clearly drunk, or at least well on his way there.

you took a step back, wanting to revive the space between you. your eyes didnt meet his, knowing he'd also take eye contact as a welcoming sign.

instead, you looked past him. you looked past him in hopes of finding someone else to latch on to, some excuse to walk away.

and past this man's shoulder, you found another pair of eyes watching you, a face you hadn't taken notice of until now.

you kept looking at him, now meeting his eyes. the effect was immediate. the intensity in his gaze had you captivated within mere seconds of focusing your eyes on his own.

he didn't seem to be too tall, but his build made up for it. his arms remained crossed over his chest, a serious look in his eyes. some fresh cuts and bruises adorned his arms, you could tell as much from the small distance between you. there was one on his eyebrow that called your attention. you instinctively wanted to reach out and run your thumb through it, ask if it hurt, how he got it.

usually when meeting someone's eyes in the middle of a crowd like this, someone will look away (usually you), but the two of you stayed focused on one another. you pushed aside any of your surroundings and kept staring, eyebrows furrowing at the sudden feeling his gaze gave you.

he was a little further from the two of you, though still close enough to be able to observe your interaction with precision if he so wished. and it seemed like he was very focused on it. his eyes only left you to stare a hole into the back of the man that had been cornering you. with his eyebrows twisted together, his face showed a expression of slight annoyance at what he was seeing.

you were about to signal him with your eyes, having somehow forgotten the other man in your vicinity, but you were once again rudely interrupted.

"don't be rude, i'm talking to you." he huffed, face tilting to meet your eye line so he could force some eye contact with you.

your eyes finally left the stranger's, refocusing on the unknown man in front of you. you couldn't help but feel even more annoyed now, wanting to continue the silent conversation you were having with the mysterious man, but now being unable to even see him due to your view being blocked by some idiot.

you decided to try again, clearing your throat before responding to him.

"i told you. i'm here with a friend. i should really go look for her-" you made move to walk away, but were interrupted once more, though this time physically.

one of his hands found your arm, grasping it loosely enough to not raise any alarms to anyone nearby, but hard enough to send you a silent message.

"stop lying to me, you cunt. if you're not interested, just fucking say so. have some respect." he practically barked, not caring for the remnants of saliva that slipped out of his mouth.

your fight or flight mode activated as soon as he raised his voice — as soon as he put his hand on you, really. as unfortunate as missing out on more intense eye contact from the cute guy you'd missed sight of felt, you needed to get out of there as soon as possible. before this guy escalated things.

without thinking, you put your unoccupied hand on his chest in order to create some distance between you. that's when you lost your balance and spilled some of the overflow of your drink on him, simultaneously pushing him away with more force than you'd intended.

your eyes were focused on his white shirt, now covered in a burgundy mixture of drinks you'd found in some punch by the kitchen.

before you could react, the man practically growled at you, shaking his head with an angry scoff and throwing his own drink on the floor, making sure it splashed all over your legs before crowding you even more against the wall.

"you fucking bitch. i swear to god, i'm going to-"

you ducked, scared he might hit you or retaliate in some worse way, eyes closed shut and hands covering your face.

but nothing ever came after that.

just a voice. a very neutral one.

"step away." said the voice.

when you opened your eyes, you found the scary man with his hands behind his back, behind him the man with the intense eyes clearly holding him against his will, mouth almost attached to his ear as he directed the threat towards him. his eyes landed on yours when you opened them.

the man tried to get away, failing as he was not as strong as the man who'd stepped in to defend you. "this doesnt concern-"

"either you get the fuck out of my house, or i'll take care of you myself." he tightened his grip, twisting the man's arms and getting a yelp out of him.

he didnt wait for a response, pushing him towards the wall next to you, causing you to jump back at the sudden commotion. a few other partygoers were now watching the scene, but with one threatening look from the man, most of them drew their attention away.

"fucking freak. not worth the trouble anyway." were the last words from that other man, muttered under his breath as he got up and walked away.

the nameless man looked back to you, still looking a little threatening but with a newfound understanding look in his eyes. stretching his hand, he spoke to you.

"come with me."

and you followed, a little shocked and a little shaken up by the other man's actions, but numb enough to not question this guy.

the two of you walked away from the scene, with him leading you without another word.

➽──────────────────❥

within moments, you made it to what you could only assume to be his room. you hadn't asked. you hadn't really said anything in the past five minutes you'd been behind closed doors with your savior.

he'd just led you in here without much information, only telling you "it's empty in here." before taking a seat next to you at the edge of his bed.

he was quiet, serious, a brooding presence. but you still felt safe around him. he'd stepped in and helped you without you so much as asking. any other partygoer near you just ignored what was clearly a threatening presence looming over you while he stepped in and took care of matters within seconds, not a single sign of cockiness or need for praise at his actions.

you'd been attracted to him from the moment you met his eyes. even as you had some other guy showing clear interest in you (far too much, to be honest), your eyes had been glued to his, captivated by the way he looked back at you. you didn't believe in the love at first sight bullshit, but you could at least admit that this was infatuation at first sight. hopefully a mutual one.

"are you okay?"

he finally broke the silence, eyes still ahead of him rather than on you. his posture was relaxed, his avoidance of facing you clearly a result of social awkwardness rather than nerves.

you turned your body to face him, inadvertently causing your knees to touch the side of his thigh.

"yeah, i- thank you for helping me back there, that guy was-"

"yeah. it's no problem." he interrupted, rough, cutting without really meaning to.

silence washed over you again, slightly awkward, slightly comfortable, a weird mixture that left you not knowing what to do.

"uhm, is this your room?" you asked, getting up with some hesitation as you attempted to make some conversation.

"yeah." was all he responded with, though you could now feel his eyes on you, following you as you took slow steps and looked around his room.

you were about to brave a look at some of the stuff around his room before his voice broke out again, making you fully turn your body towards him in question.

"your legs." he began, hand pointing at them as if you needed confirmation as to where they were. "they- his drink spilled all over you. let me help you clean up" he spoke, getting up before even letting you respond.

he exited the room after that, closing it behind him and leaving you there confused.

it only took him a few moments to come back, opening the door and closing it back up as he held rags and a water bottle with him. with the objects in his hands, he gestured at you to sit back down on the bed, to which you obeyed without objection.

now sitting, you gaped at him when he knelt in front of you, nearing your legs far too much for someone you had only exchanged a handful of words with.

"is this okay?" he asked though he'd already uncapped the water bottle, pouring some of its contents on the rag.

"oh, uh, yeah. thanks."

you weren't usually this socially inept, but his blunt yet awkward behavior made you unsure of how to act. you feared that you'd be off-putting to him if you were too forward, but maybe if you kept to yourself too much he'd think you were scared of him. so you opted to just sit there, facing your body towards him and letting him press the damp rag to your calves, which had already gone sticky from letting the punch dry on your skin.

"what's your name?" you asked after a few moments of silence.

he appeared so innocent as he looked up to you. even with the threatening aura he'd displayed outside, he was completely calm in here with you. his wide eyes gave you the opposite effect the man outside had caused in you. you didn't know this man, yet you felt comfortable with him. he was taking care of you. it made you want to return the favor.

him on his knees also caused an entirely different effect on you, but you shoved it aside. it was clear this poor guy had no interest in anything like that. he had you all alone in his room, tiny dress riding up while he had you heavy-breathing at his through a damp rag, yet he remained entirely disinterested.

"andrew."

"andrew." you repeated. "i like it. thank you for all your help, andrew. i'm sorry i caused a scene at your party, i didn't-"

"don't apologize." he interrupted, letting silence invade the room once again.

you couldn't really think of anything else to say, but you didn't want your time with him to end so quickly. maybe he just wasn't interested at all. he kept his answers short, kept all his focus on helping you, getting you cleaned up, didn't engage in any sort of back and forth, nothing that expressed any sort of emotion toward you. those looks earlier at the party must've just been coincidental. he was probably lost in thought and you just so happened to be in his line of sight. there was clearly nothing going on between you.

then he mumbled something. under his breath, not loud or intelligible enough for you to make out.

"sorry?"

you leaned your body down a bit, causing him to look up at you. he stiffened a little when he noticed the closed proximity between you, hand stilling on your calf.

"your name."

you gave it to him, smiling at yourself for getting a few more words out of him.

"i, uh, i like it." he looked back down as he said it, rag now tending to your strappy heels — he was being quite thorough, slow in his movements and gentle as he removed the sticky remnants of alcohol from your skin.

"thank you."

without thinking, your hand went to his hair, fingers running lightly through the curls at the top. they were soft under your touch, long enough for you to pull at if you so wished — and you did wish, only holding back for the sake of decorum.

"i- uh."

you drew your hand away at his discomfort, nose scrunching awkwardly at having crossed a line without meaning to.

"shit, sorry, i-"

"no. it's okay. keep- you can do it again." he looked up at you again, using one hand to draw yours back to his hair, immediately going back to pouring fresh water onto the almost-dry rag and continuing his work.

but you interrupted him, hand leaving his hair in favor of removing the rag from his hand, putting it on the floor next to him.

you had to take advantage of the first time of the night in which he'd been receptive to you. he liked it when you touched him? you could do way better than that.

"why don't you sit up here with me, andrew? i think you've cleaned me up enough."

it was true. by now you were sure he'd even cleaned you off the moisturizer you'd applied on your legs before leaving your apartment. he seemed very adamant in getting you free of any remnant of the party outside, but who were you to complain?

with some hesitation, he let your hand go to his bicep, leading him to sit far too close to you despite his half-hearted attempt to sit a little further. and even as he sat, you didn't let go of his arm, now using your thumb to caress its skin softly, far too softly for someone you'd just met.

"i'm all clean now. see?" your other hand went to his chin, tilting it so he would look down at your legs, but strategically so that his eyes would land on your thighs rather than your calves which he'd been wiping at.

he continued to say nothing, eyes staring straight at your legs before turning back to your eyes, hands firm and resting on his own thighs. you decided to remedy that by taking his hand in yours, resting it atop your legs, fingers intertwined.

"thank you for taking care of me tonight, andrew." you thanked him again, voice sweet, sickly so.

"yeah." he mumbled. he looked down at your interlocked hands before looking back at you, eyes unreadable. but the rising of his chest told you enough.

scooting even closer, legs now completely pressed to his own, you let go of his hand, softly thumbing at the fresh cut on his eyebrow, the same one you wanted to take care of earlier in the day. now you could see it up close, pout at the thought of him hurting even if you didn't know the injury's origin.

"can i return the favor?"

he took a breath, air releasing from his nose, recalibrating almost.

"how?"

"just trust me." you smiled at him. "the same way i trust you."

he seemed to like those words, mouth opening and closing before his hands went down to your waist, aiding you in taking the final step so you could straddle him.

under you, he was sturdy, full of reliable muscle. you could feel the hardness hiding under his skin as your hands gripped at his shoulders. but you didn't need to hold on to him, not when his arms wrapped around your waist, keeping you safely pressed against him.

slowly, as if you couldn't risk any sudden movements, you leaned down, eyes resting heavily on his lips. andrew leaned into you, nose bumping softly into yours, lips gracing over your own. it was tense, breaths mixing together before you finally lost your patience and closed the distance, diving in for an open-mouthed kiss.

maybe it was too needy a kiss to give a guy who seemed to keep to himself, but you were surprised to find that he matched your energy with no complaint. his hands gripped at your hips, his mouth open just like yours, tongue being chased and trapped by yours. your hands traveled from his shoulders to his hair, running your hands through it and pulling lightly at the dark amber strands. this drew a muffled groan from him, wordlessly urging you to do it more.

"andrew." you sighed against him, hips beginning to ground into his own, slowly at first, creating an intimate rhythm between you.

a pained groan left him when you began your movements, fingers digging into the fabric of your dress bunching at your hips. his legs opened further, causing yours to do so too, which made it so you could grind even deeper into him. it took him a few moments to match your movements, but when he did, he had you dizzy, moaning into his mouth and enticing him to lick into it.

"are you sure about this?" he asked, though he didn't falter, unlike his eyes that began fluttering in pleasure.

"so sure."

you said it in between pants. you were already affected by him, enough to have your head dropping on his shoulder. taking advantage of the angle, your lips trailed the sharp line of his jaw, finding a sensitive point at the end of it and latching your teeth lightly on the skin.

"fuck."

that was enough encouragement for you to keep going. if you left marks, that was andrew's problem for tomorrow. his skin was already decorated in scars of all kinds, what was a few love bites among them?

"that feels- that feels good."

"i can make you feel even better." you offered with a teasing smile against his skin.

"yeah?"

you nodded with a giggle. you were already lightheaded at the situation — in a good way. in an amazing way. biting your lip as you looked down at him, you lifted your hand, tracing the side of his face lightly, thumb landing on his chin and lifting his face towards yours. below you, you found the prettiest pairs of eyes staring directly into yours. and he seemed just as affected as you. he appeared pained, the sound of his panting filling the room as you delayed the pleasure you'd promised him. your hips had stilled by now, which seemed to be much to his dismay.

"yeah." was all your whispered back before closing the distance once more, pulling his bottom lip between your teeth and sucking at it before kissing him again.

this time your hands went down to his shirt, beginning to unbutton it before his hands took over, rushing the process and practically throwing his shirt off. when his hands finally became disoccupied, you dragged yours up and down his chest, appreciating every ridge created by the strong muscle adorning his abdomen. you moaned in satisfaction at the feeling of his warm, muscled skin, making him hum in appreciation.

"god, andrew, look at you."

he had you dizzy with desire. he was so docile, so sweet for you despite his hardened exterior. his skin was so perfect under yours. and his every reaction to your touches had you losing your mind. he was yours in this moment. it was an unspoken agreement. his body sought your touch, a service you were more than willing to provide.

reaching behind you, you guided his hands from your back to the hem of your dress, silently guiding him into lifting it up and throwing it off.

his eyes widened slightly at the sight of bare skin, only covered by a bra and panties. gaze finding you, he opened his mouth as if to ask for something but giving up before the words left him. you answered anyways, pulling his head towards your chest and sighing when his mouth immediately went to kiss and suck at the nude skin.

the barrier your bra caused drove you mad within seconds, so you remedied it by practically ripping it off and letting it fall aside. this earned you another gratuitous groan from the man whose lips were attached to your chest.

softly, his kisses made their way to your breasts, face nuzzling into your skin as he dampened your skin with his saliva. his lips wrapped around your nipple, licking at it with a sigh of relief, reserving his more depraved sounds for when your fingers would dig a little harder into his hair.

"a-andrew ... that feels so nice." you sighed in an almost-whisper. "love your mouth, angel. shit."

and, god, did he like your words.

the groan he let out at that was grueling. it only intensified his kisses, which now morphed into suckles and bites of your nipples. his hands were now digging into your skin, holding you against him as if it were urgent. your hips began moving away, making your eyes roll back at the friction and the feeling of his mouth combined.

"let me make you feel good, handsome." you bit your lip, looking down at him as you pulled his head away from your tits, using herculean effort to not lose your mind at the needy look on his eyes.

the poor guy was so starved of touch, so pliant and willing to do anything you wanted. it was a fucking dream come true. he was barely doing anything, yet he was doing an excellent job at breaking your resolve.

you softly pushed at his chest to lay him down on the bed, his honeyed eyes never leaving yours. before sitting on him again, you dragged off your panties and threw off your heels. that's when you found his hands gripping at the sheets as he looked up at you. he reeked of silent desperation. there was no way this man would take what he wanted from you on his own. you'd have to give it to him, and just imagining how much effort his self-control must've taken him made you lose your own.

you sat back on him, wet cunt likely ruining his pants. your hands undid his belt, haphazardly pulling his pants down while you remained on top. after the fact, you were now straddling him, with his boxers remaining the final layer between you.

biting your lip, your hands dragged up and down his body, appreciating how perfectly laid it was for your taking. he practically whimpered at your teasing touches, swallowing back groans when your fingers trailed up to his nipples and circled around them, not touching but coming near enough for the desired effect of your touch.

"you want this, baby?"

"please."

he was so polite, such a pent-up pretty little thing under you.

you leaned down, body splayed over his own as your lips wrapped around the shell of his ear, nibbling at it lightly.

"tell me how much you want me."

he inhaled, a shaky breath leaving him in return.

"i want you. please-"

"yeah?" you smiled, hands trailing their way down to his middle, fingers teasingly trailing the outline of his cock trapped within his boxers.

it practically wept under you. twitching at your initial touch, you reached under the fabric and wrapped your hand around it, lowering the fabric with your other hand for better access. his breath was heavy when you began working him, head lowering to your shoulder and mouthing at the skin there. his noises were quiet and mostly controlled, but every so often you'd get a broken moan out of him that had you tightening around nothing.

not too long after, you lifted yourself up by your knees, dick on one hand while you balanced yourself with the other by gripping his shoulder. grabbing onto him, you ran the tip up and down the length of your cunt, circling it on your swollen clit for a few moments. this drew moans out of the two of you, which you silenced by pulling him into a deep kiss.

"got a condom, baby?" you interrupted between kisses.

this made him grip you tighter in realization, slowly halting his kisses.

"maybe on my nightstand?"

you reached behind him, removing most of your weight from him. his hands gripped your hips even tighter. he didn't want to let go, risk ending this before it even started. you instinctively pouted at the act, stopping for a second to give him a reassuring kiss on his lips before you attempted to retrieve the condom once more.

once it was in your hand, you did the usual song and dance of ripping it open, pinching the tip and lowering it on his hardness. he hissed at this, mumbling a curse as he looked down at the space between you. when you finally lined him up, lowering yourself on him, you released a sigh of relief.

andrew filled you up to completion. he was so warm and perfect inside you, curving deliciously. it hadn't been in your plans to end the night like this, but the feeling of andrew inside you was all you needed to turn your mind around.

"is that good, baby?" you whispered into his ear.

with the muffled music outside, it felt like the two of you were in a world of your own. you felt as if andrew was your secret, like you could keep him all to yourself as long as no one invaded your bubble.

"feels good. yeah, you feel ... fuck."

"i'm gonna move now, okay? wanna make you cum, andrew."

he gave you yet another pained look, but nodded lightly before settling his hands on your waist. his fingers found purchase on your skin, helping guide your bounces on his lap. it started slow and mellow, passionate almost.

andrew was a quiet man, unnervingly so, but the small sounds of pleasure he released had you in incomparable state of ecstasy. knowing that your swollen walls had him losing his composure, trying but failing to keep down his groans of pleasure, it made your eyes roll back, it made your nails dig into his back, leaving marks you hoped would keep a memory of you instilled in his brain for days to come.

he nosed at your neck, burying his head in the hollow and breathing you in deep. one muscled hand went up to your head, digging his fingers in your hair to ensure you couldn't go anywhere. he seemed to have some unspoken fear that you'd abandon him, not realizing just how good he'd made you feel from the moment your eyes found his.

there was nothing you wanted more than to make him feel good, to break him, ruin him, keep yourself buried in his mind and make him think of you every night he laid on this bed.

"you feel so amazing, andrew. so perfect for me." your hips sped up, creating that erotic sound of slapping skin.

you pressed your hands flat on his chest, softly pushing him to fully lay down on the bed. his eyes, though silent, told you that he did not want any space between you, so you remedied his fear before he could voice it by pressing yourself flat against him, dragging your hips up and down.

your clit dragged perfectly against his pelvis. his hands perched themselves on your ass, aiding your movements. he groaned at the sensation, legs settling flat on the bed to begin driving his hips up into yours. that's when it all became a filthy exchange between you. up until then, it'd all been soft, intimate, but now it was a passionate mess.

"i need you to come." andrew huffed, head throwing back when you tightened at his voice. "need to get you there for me."

"i'm almost there, baby, just- fuck, keep fucking me."

every whine, every scratch of skin, he was receptive to it all. you could feel the physical effect you had on him. without much words, he made you feel wanted, as if he couldn't breathe if he didn't make you feel good. his hands could not get their fill of you, being dragged up and down every inch, fingers tracing every ridge they could hang on to.

"you're so good, andrew- so fucking good." you praised when he brought his hand down to your clit. he knew just how to touch you to get you melting for him, not needing even a nudge in the right direction.

"come for me." he practically pleaded. "i want it. need it." he groaned in a whisper.

and then you came, nails dragging down his chest, surely leaving your mark on his skin, just as you'd wanted. if it hurt, he expressed no pain, only faltering the hammering of his hips when his orgasm finally caught onto him. he buried himself in you as deep as he could, face deep in the crook of you neck as he kissed and sucked a last few love bites into your skin.

when he finished, he didn't let go, instead flipping you off him so you'd lay side by side. he only pulled out when it became uncomfortable, throwing the condom to the side and reaching out to you immediately after. he wanted you close, which you appreciated.

his hands ran up and down your body, latching onto your leg and pulling it to wrap around his waist, removing any possible separation between you. it was like he wanted to melt into your skin, as his hands refused to stop rubbing at every curve they could get to. with his head buried in your neck, he nosed at your skin, breathing it in deep and pressing the occasional chaste kiss there.

"don't leave yet." he broke the silence. "you can leave if you want, just ... just stay like this for a while."

the defeated tone of his voice made you frown. it made you want him closer, want to become his comfort. you wanted him inside you again, but not in a sexual way. in that moment, you'd do anything to make him feel as safe as he'd made you.

you wrapped your hands around him, hands running through his curls as you held him against your chest, cradling him like a baby in your arms.

"i'll stay as long as you'll let me." you pressed a kiss to the top of his head. "just wanna be here with you."

he shuddered, kissing your chest again and again.

"thank you."

➽──────────────────❥

note: wouldnt be me if it didnt turn domestic at the end

#pope cody #andrew pope cody #andrew cody #pope cody x reader #andrew pope cody x reader #andrew cody x reader #andrew cody fanfiction #pope cody fanfiction #pope cody smut #andrew pope cody smut #andrew cody smut

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jinwoosbabyboo · 6 months ago

Note

Can you please do a hc of the guys helping you out after you come home tipsy(or drunk) from a girls night?

𝙿𝚊𝚖𝚙𝚎𝚛𝚎𝚍 𝙿𝚛𝚒𝚗𝚌𝚎𝚜𝚜

The lads men taking care of you after a girls night out. You came home drunk and you woke up with the worst hangover known to man. A/N: for this we’re going full messy drunk okay? great. cw: mentions of vomit/puke

𝚉𝚊𝚢𝚗𝚎

[Coming home]

he picked you up after you drunk dialed him

drove on side roads so he could go slower so you wouldn’t get motion sickness

keeps your hair out of your face while you puke

listens to you ramble on and on about handsome he is and reminds you that you’re already dating him when you ask if he’s single

dodges you every time you try to kiss him in your drunken state ; does not care how fussy you get

let’s you hang on him like a koala while he removes your makeup and runs you a bath

tucks you into bed and holds you while you sleep

[The hangover]

has been checking on you periodically while you were passed out asleep the second you start to stir he grabs water and pain meds for your headache

in full doctor mode ; not gentle at all making you down two pills and a glass of water

left a trash can by the bed for you incase you vomitted overnight

spoons feeds you ginger chicken soup so you’re not digesting pain meds on an empty stomach ; doesn't leave until the whole bowl is gone

makes you lay on your side when you fall back asleep ; he doesn’t want you to choke one your own vomit

rubs your back while giving you a small lecture about drinking too much

𝚁𝚊𝚏𝚊𝚢𝚎𝚕

[Coming home]

teases you about how you can’t hold your liquor

helps you take off your heels/shoes when you come stumbling through the door

picks you up carries you through the house while rubbing your back

is blushing furiously from your shameless flirting in your drunken state

sits you on the counter and holds your chin while he wipes your makeup off

finds it funny when you get fussy while he’s trying to take care of you “you’re so adorable”

strips you out of your current outfit and puts you in one of his shirts “You look better in my clothes anyway”

cradles you in his arms and has a trash can within reach if you have to puke

[The hangover]

has you laying on him while he reads a book when you wake up “good morning cutie does your head hurt?”

teases you again before kissing your forehead offering to get you food

“Come on you need a shower” carries you to the bathroom and showers with you ; dresses you in another one of his shirt again “you should just wear my clothes”

washes your face for you “I can do it Raf!” “I know you can, but let me take care of you”

wraps you up in the blanket like a burrito and carries you into his studio so he can keep an eye on you while he paints

gives you pain meds for your headache and orders or makes you whatever you want to eat

tells you all about your shameless flirting while you were drunk ; over exaggerates how he had to fight you off because you wanted him so bad

ends up laying on the couch with you instead of working on any of his projects

𝚇𝚊𝚟𝚒𝚎𝚛

[Coming home]

woke up from his sleep when he heard you fumbling with the front door lock

fell to the floor with you on top of him when you stumbled through the door

concerned with how much you drank “Did you overdue it?” ; your giggles gave it away

is half sleep while he sits you on the counter and wipes your makeup off ; is unbelievably gentle while he does this

sits on the floor of the bathroom with you while you throw up ; stays like this with you until you start dozing off

rubs your back and wipes your mouth for you

grips you by the chin and lets you lean against him while he brushes your teeth

strips you down to your underwear and when you get too fussy for him he just lets you lay down like that

[The hangover]

is sitting up in bed when you wake up and immediately drags you into the shower ; towel dries you ; dresses you in his clothes and puts you back in bed

offers to cook you something ; orders takeout after the look you gave him

gives you pain meds after you get something in your stomach

lazy day with Xav naps, naps, and more naps

lazes around in bed all day with you

gets up to get you anything you ask for

𝚂𝚢𝚕𝚞𝚜

[Coming home]

it’s night time so you know he’s in his element when you call him to come get you ; your night is ending and his day is just starting

picked you up from your girls night out ; promised to send Luke and Kieran for your car when you started throwing a fit about it

carries you bridal style through the house

already had a bath ready for you ; strips you out of your clothes and puts you in the tub

wraps you in a warm towel ; sits you on the counter ; puts your bonnet on you(or ties your hair back) ; wipes your makeup off and washes your face

doesn’t care how fussy you get when he’s trying to brush your teeth for you ; holds you in place with his evol “ahm roking(im choking)!” “You’re not choking sweetie spit”

lets you sleep in his lap and doesn’t care if you drool on him

[The hangover]

canceled everything to take care of you

him and the twins are at your beckoned call especially Sylus of course

gives you scalp massages

brings you a menu of foods that are good for hangovers ; watches you eat ; encourages one more bite before giving you some pain killers

teases you about your bratty fits you threw while you were drunk “it’s not that funny” “You’re adorable when you try to act angry” “im not acting!” “Whatever you say Princess”

if you have any body aches he’s giving you a massage

sits in bed with you letting you take naps on him ; once again he doesn’t mind you drooling on him

1K notes · View notes

cravetive · 1 year ago

Text

𝗖𝗢𝗡𝗙𝗜𝗡𝗘𝗗

✩｡ Pairings: Neighbor!Jungkook x Fem!reader

✩｡ Synopsis: Y/n didn't think testing out a new sex toy would cause so much havoc but no worries, her next-door neighbor Jungkook doesn't mind lending her a bit of assistance.

✩｡Warnings: Smut! cussing, mentions of masturbation, spanking, doggy style, sex in a public place, unprotected sex (sigh), teasing, creampie, rough sex, pinning, sex toys, sweat and other bodily fluids, a bit of exhibitionism i guess (elevators have cameras), sexual frustration, consensual sex, if you're reading this for the plot don't, there is no plot.

✩｡ Authors Note: lord give me one chance, one chance is all i need.

✩｡ Word Count: 5.k

“Are you using it right now?”

“Yes, it’s a bit uncomfortable, to be honest.”

“Omg! Are you in public?!”

“I just made a quick run to the convenience store for a few snacks.”

“Oh, you’re brave” Mina, Y/n’s friend spoke through the phone that was pressed between her ear and shoulder. Y/n sighed, grabbing a bottle of water and making her way to the front of the store. “it’s in low mode anyways, it just feels like I’m riding the bus on an unpaved street” Y/n laughed whilst placing her items onto the counter for the cashier to scan.

“I've never had anyone try it out in public, this is exciting!” Y/n rolled her eyes and scanned her card, grabbing her receipt and bag before stepping out of the convenience store and into the scorching sun of July.

“Relax I’ll be home in like 3 seconds” Y/n huffed, wiping some of the sweat beaming on her forehead. Having been locked in her air-conditioned apartment for the last 2 days had caused her to forget the heat wave that had taken over the city in the last week and it didn’t matter that she was wearing her shortest summer dress because she felt like she was boiling alive.

“Okay, just remember you can change the motions and speed on the app, but I would recommend you start off slow so that you can adjust” Mina spoke urgently on the phone, but Y/n could only focus on her apartment building as it came into view, her flip flops dragging against the pavement as she took hurried steps. “Yes, yes just know that you owe me big time!” Y/n yelled into the phone.

Y/n wasn’t experimental in any aspect of her life, she liked what she liked, and she knew what she didn’t. Her life was simple, boring as Mina would describe it, but she preferred it that way, it had worked out for her, and she didn’t see the need to stray from it. which had only made her that much more apprehensive when Mina came to her with the proposition of testing out one of the new sex toys her company was developing.

Y/n didn’t like the idea at all, and she had even readied herself to decline but upon noticing the desperation in Mina’s eyes that late afternoon she just couldn’t bring herself to say no. Y/n first-handedly witnessed how hard Mina had worked on this project and she couldn’t be the reason behind its failure which had led her to reluctantly accept. It had only taken 4 days for the package to be delivered to her front door, the small box containing the pink bullet vibrator Mina had designed which was now nestled between her legs.

“I will kiss the ground you walk on after this!” Mina promised on the other end of the call which caused Y/n to laugh as she stepped into her building. her feet shuffled as she leaned forward to tap on the elevator button and She subconsciously pressed her legs together as she stood waiting for the doors to open, the low vibrations from the toy leaving her a bit out of breath.

“Alright, I’ll call you back later on” Y/n huffed which caused Mina to giggle on the other end.

“Hot and bothered already?” Mina joked which caused Y/n’s already flushed cheeks to deepen in color.

“Shut up, it’s the heat” Y/n yelled as she watched the elevator doors open.

“sureeeee” Mina teased which led Y/n to end the call without further explanation.

She stepped into the small space and pressed the button to her floor before standing all the way back into the corner, her back pressed into the mirrored wall behind her. Y/n bit her bottom lip as she watched the elevator doors close slowly. she didn’t understand the buzz behind these sex toys or this market, the bullet wasn’t even doing anything to stimulate her and if she was honest, the vibration alone was starting to irritate her.

Y/n was sure her hand could do a better job.

“Hold it!” a voice shouted which caused Y/n to snap out of her frustrated trance, she reached forward and stopped the doors from shutting. The voice’s owner rushed inside, and Y/n took in his flustered appearance as he turned back to thank her. She recognized him as the man who lived 2 doors away from her and was notoriously known for his loud parties and for the woman who came and went from his apartment. It had been more than a few times she had found herself knocking on his door at 3 am due to the loud music.

And if it wasn’t for the fact that the guy was easy on the eyes she probably would’ve already complained to management.

His name is Chun-woo? Jungkook? Something like that she thought.

Y/n offered him a small and awkward smile before pressing herself against the wall once again. She rarely ever interacted with any of the residents in the building and today would not be the exception. She was already hot and sweaty and all she wanted to do was to get to her cool air-conditioned apartment and binge on her delicious snacks.

“It’s really hot outside” the man commented, tapping on the button that Y/n had already pressed earlier. She dragged her eyes over to his back and hummed, nodding her head in agreement.

“you’re from apartment 902 right?” He glanced back at her, and she noticed the piercing that wrapped around the end of his bottom lip, she had never stood as close to him to notice it before and for some reason it only made him appear that much more handsome.

“Yeah” she smiled, squirming in the small space in which she stood.

Within the silence that soon overtook the small elevator, she could hear the way the man struggled to catch his breath, having fallen victim to the heat wave outside. His long black hair had stuck to the dampened skin of his forehead and his broad shoulders rose and fell as the elevator began to ascend.

Y/n tried to focus her eyes on the floor beneath her and not on the man who stood there with his back now turned to her but ever so often she would find herself staring at the white loose fitted t-shirt he wore, drenched with his sweat. She also tried to stop herself from biting down on her bottom lip while she noticed the muscles that pressed from the thin material around his shoulders while subconsciously rubbing her legs together.

It was rude to stare, she knew that, but the elevator was so crammed there were only so many alternative places she could look, and he was so tall, so broad and his tattooed arm called for her attention, the intricate colors and patterns leaving her in a trance…she blinked quickly, her cheeks turning crimson from the thoughts flooding through her mind.

She opted to stare at the ceiling instead, noticing the way the bright lights would flicker subtly as the elevator continued to climb levels, and then suddenly there came a pulsation from between her legs, one that was probably already there but she hadn’t been able to notice before. Her eyes widened in horror as her mind registered the cause and her hand reached for her phone in urgency as the small vibrations from the small toy caused a faint sound inside the compact space.

“Do you hear that?” Jungkook spoke, turning to look at a very disheveled Y/n, she looked back to him in pure embarrassment, her fingers frantically searching for the app her best friend had downloaded onto her phone.

“Mhm? Ah No, I think it’s the elevator” she giggled nervously and Jungkook nodded, biting down on his lip and turning to face the elevator doors once again.

Y/n had forgotten all about the small object that lowly vibrated inside of her, which was now causing her clit to pulsate painfully under her black thong. Her hands shook as she pressed on the pink icon shining through her screen, and her eyes scanned the app quickly trying to find the off button on the small evil little thing stuck inside her pussy.

“fuck” she breathed as sweat beads began to form on her skin.

The panic running through her body didn’t allow her to focus on the small words in front of her, no matter how hard she squinted. Her fingers continued to urgently press against random buttons, trying to shut off the damn thing but all she had accomplished was for it to change motions, going from a light vibration to full-on pumping. She covered her mouth in shock at the new movement and gripped the handrailing on her side for support.

“how the fuck- “she groaned.

“What was that?” Jungkook asked, looking at her through the reflection on the doors and for a moment she loathed how attentive this man was.

Y/n could only shake her head, her hand trembling against her phone while she tried to overpower the sensation taking over her body.

She had underestimated the damn thing, thinking all would be good if she kept it at a low tempo, who even goes to the store with a sex toy in their pussy? She cursed herself for the irrational idea.

She stared at the screen in concentration, soon finding the pulse button and beginning to tap on it frantically but the thing wouldn’t budge and soon she felt the speed increase. Her mouth widened in horror; her eyes fluttered closed as the vibrations rocked through her body in waves and soon her breaths became extremely uneven. She hoped and prayed her neighbor wouldn’t notice but Jungkook watched from the distorted reflection in front of him at how much she struggled to stay still.

She was sure the universe hated her, she must have been paying for some karmic event she had forgotten about because there was no way in hell this was happening to her.

Suddenly almost as if in coordination, the elevator began to tremble underneath her feet and then her eyes opened wide, was this a figment of her imagination? Was this a silly joke being played on her by the gods? Was this punishment for experimenting with her sex life?

The elevator shook uncontrollably causing Y/n to lose grip of the railing, she fell onto the floor with a loud thud, her bag of snacks ripping open and spilling its contents on the floor. The lights above her flickered on and off and then everything stopped.

Her heart, the rocking of the floor, her brain, and even the elevator came to an abrupt halt but not the vibrations between her legs, it was the only thing that remained as her body squirmed on the floor from the pulsations erupting from her clit.

“What the fuck” Jungkook muttered as he held onto one of the railings, his arms strained with veins running under the skin as he was too shaken by the sudden tremble.

“Did we just have an earthquake?” he exclaimed while his eyes trailed to the spot where Y/n once stood but she was no longer there and then his eyes trailed down, where he found Y/n thrown across the floor along with her snacks. Jungkook let go of the railing and reached for her limp body in an attempt to help her.

“Hey, are you okay?” he asked, taking a step towards her but Y/n squirmed, backing into the wall behind her.

“Hey, relax” he spoke, his voice but a whisper as he grabbed onto her arm and lifted her off from the floor. She whimpered as he brought her back onto her feet, her hands holding onto his forearms for support.

“I think we’re stuck” he concluded, unable to feel the motion of the elevator beneath his feet. Y/n didn’t say a word, afraid that her attempts at speaking would demonstrate the utter pleasure she was in, and she was mortified. Jungkook noticed the way she slightly trembled underneath his touch, her eyes looking up at his in fear and then an urgency to calm her came over him.

“don’t worry, we can just call someone to help us” he removed his eyes from the agitated woman and scanned the panel at the side of the door, reaching to tap on the red button at the very end. Y/n could only focus on 2 things, the wetness that soon pooled through the thin fabric of her panties and the feeling of his hand on her arm.

His hands were big and soft, and she could feel the small callouses on his palm pressing against her skin. She had to get out of this situation and quickly, she could feel the pressure building in her gut and it was familiar to the one she always got when pleasuring herself during late nights.

She was going to come.

She should’ve been focused on the elevator, on trying to get out of the cramped space, and not on coming undone in front of her neighbor from 2 doors down while he held her. She pushed aside her current desires and removed her eyes from Jungkook's hand on her arm. She carefully scanned the floor for her cell phone and once in her view, she bent down to collect it, her hand fumbling with the device as she picked it up from the floor.

When she turned it over, her heart plummeted. The screen had cracked completely, a few pieces of glass missing, and the screen blinked in different colors in front of her. at that very moment, she wished the elevator would plummet down to her death, she gasped for air as the realization hit her that the only other option she had was to remove the little bullet herself, but she couldn’t, she wouldn’t.

What would her neighbor think? She would have to move from the building entirely to escape from the humiliation alone. What would she even say? oh, hey yeah hold on a minute let me remove my SEX TOY from my vagina…she was mortified.

Her attention was drawn back to the elevator in which she stood as a voice appeared from within the small speaker inside the panel and her heart skipped a beat at the sudden relief that someone would come to help her leave this hellish predicament.

“Sun tower, how can we help you?”

“Uh yea, listen we’re stuck in the elevator” Jungkook spoke his hand reaching to wipe away some of the sweat forming on his face.

“Oh yes sir, sorry about that the building has lost power due to the heat but no worries we are working on the issue, and the elevator should be up and running in no time” Y/n groaned in frustration, deciding it would be best to move away from Jungkook’s touch entirely and found her place back to the corner of the elevator.

“How long do you think it’ll take?” Jungkook sighed, growing frustrated with the entire situation.

“Mhmm, it should take about an hour” the person informed. Y/n jolted in surprise, An hour!? Y/n wouldn’t be able to hold off for an hour. Her legs were trembling, and her heart was beating abnormally fast against her chest. She knew her body and she had a good 5 minutes at best. She ran to the speaker, attempting to focus on controlling her body as she screamed into it in desperation.

“No sir” she moaned, her teeth coming down to bite down harshly on her lips as she attempted to contain herself “You don’t understand I need to get out of here!” her hands held onto the elevator panel for dear life, and she was almost at the verge of tears. “Sorry ma’am we are doing everything we can” Her breaths were uneven as she retracted from the wall, her hands falling by her sides in defeat.

Jungkook noticed the way she struggled to breathe, her chest heaving as she attempted to bring oxygen to her lungs and his eyes squinted in suspicion.

“Hey, are you okay” he asked again, taking a few steps towards her but Y/n raised her hands, her stare darkened and blurred. “Please just stay on that side” she panted, her legs pressing together once again as she battled with another moan that sat on her tongue.

“Are you claustrophobic?” Jungkook asked and oh how Y/n wished that was the reason her body convulsed in the way it did now, her extremities shaking at the feeling of the sex toy vibrating inside of her.

“I-i” she whimpered, attempting to form words but her brain was too consumed by the pumping between her legs, her hands reaching to force her hips from buckling at the feeling. She promised herself she would never speak to Mina again, this was all her fault, she didn’t even want to do this and now she was masturbating in front of this complete stranger. She leaned over and her mouth fell wide open, a loud yelp falling from within.

“woah” Jungkook rushed to her side, his hands reaching to give her support but that only caused her to shiver, the stimulation of both the toy and the man holding her throwing her into complete disarray.

“What is that buzzing sound?” Jungkook asked again, his eyes falling on the floor in an attempt to find the source, but he was met with bags of chips and bottles of water. He focused his hearing on the sound, it was faint, but it was there, and it was driving him crazy. He followed the sound and once his eyes reached the exposed skin of Y/n legs, he looked up into her eyes in surprise.

She looked back at him in embarrassment, her face reddened in shame as sweat trickled down her forehead. She didn’t have the energy to pretend anymore or to try to explain how she wasn’t a sex addict of some sort, she could no longer control what was happening, deciding that she was no match against the orgasm that would soon rock through her.

“Are you? - “his eyes looked into hers and a moan escaped her lips in response. His body tensed at the realization, but he couldn’t take his eyes off hers, entranced by the way she trembled underneath his hands. “Is that?” he gulped looking back down to her shaking legs.

“ah fuck” Y/n moaned, burying her face into his chest, the action causing Jungkook’s heart to leap out of its position. he should’ve been focusing on the predicament they were in, how it would take an hour for the apartment to get them out of there, how hot it had gotten in the cramped space, but he could only think about the girl who was coming undone in his arms, soft pants and moans erupting from her lips into his chest.

“My phone” she whimpered “Ah my phone is broken” She gripped his arms trying to regain control of her body but it was no use, she had been pushed past her limit and she could feel her arousal drip from between her legs.

Jungkook couldn’t ignore the way her whimpers caused goosebumps on his skin, the way her soft moans called upon his member to rise and press against the fabric of his underwear. It was wrong and he knew it, she was vulnerable and unraveling in front of him, but he couldn’t fight it, he was salivating at the thought of what her pussy would look like underneath the skirt of her dress, he imagined it glistening with her juices as the toy moved inside of her and his dick quivered underneath the constraints of his clothes.

“Can I-? “He whispered his half-lidded eyes glancing into hers with lust and desperation.

“Can I help you?” Jungkook gulped, his body tensing at the question. He wouldn’t be surprised if she pushed him back and screamed at him, in under different circumstances he probably wouldn’t have been so upfront, but they had an hour to kill and it almost pained him to see her like this, the toy not being able to assist her in the way he knew he could.

It took a moment too long for Y/n to realize what he was asking, it was not like she was even in the right state of mind to think over anything at that moment yet, she nodded her head miserably, her eyes shutting as another wave of pleasure ran through her body whilst she permitted him to assist her.

“Shhh don’t worry, I’ll take care of you” Jungkook whispered into her ear which lured a moan out of her lips.

He moved in front of her, and his eager mouth found hers, their lips melting as they slid against each other, Jungkook felt the warmth of her skin as she pressed her body into his and his hands snaked along the fabric of her short dress. She was so complaint, so willing and it was driving him over the edge. He responded by pressing his body against hers and she soon felt Jungkook’s prominent boner against her lower belly.

She wondered how long he had been that hard, how long was he pondering if he could fuck her…Y/n wasn’t like this, she didn’t think about these things, and she also wasn’t often so eager to fuck a stranger in the elevator. She couldn’t control herself; she needed relief, and she needed it fast.

“mm gonna take it out” Jungkook dragged his lips away from hers with a hum and trailed his fingers down to the hem of her dress. Y/n whimpered as he teased her, his fingers hovering over the skin of her thighs which were tightly pressed together in an attempt to stop her wetness from dripping down her legs.

“Is that okay?” Jungkook whispered, staring back into her eyes with hunger and she was sure that look alone was going to have her spazzing in a short moment.

He guided his hand past her thighs, his fingers brushing by the hem of her panties and hooking his fingers along them, Y/n threw her head back in pleasure at the intrusion, her legs shaking beneath her as he played with the lace material that was between his digits.

“p-please” she begged, her body trembling from the mere anticipation.

Jungkook smirked at the sight before him, he loved the control he had, loved the fact that she needed him. he unhooked his fingers and dipped his hand inside her panties, turning it over so that his palm was now facing her sensitive clit and applied just enough pressure to make her squirm.

“Fuck, you’re wet” Jungkook hissed, his lips finding shelter on the exposed skin of her neck.

“p-please” Y/n whimpered, unable to repress the longing from between her legs.

Jungkook dipped his hand down further, finding the toy embedded between her warm walls, and groaned at the feeling of her juices coating his fingers as he slowly extracted the toy from its rightful home. The pink little object vibrated against his hand, and he chuckled lowly at the feeling, Y/n sighed in relief, perhaps thinking that was the end of her torment.

Her pussy pulsated sorely, her mind clouded by the impending climax that pressed down on her gut and she needed it, she needed it badly. She pulled Jungkook closer and crashed her mouth into his with eagerness. She would often hear the screams of pleasure that poured out of Jungkook’s apartment when she walked past his door and right now, she needed him to help her in the same way.

Y/n reached for the strings of his sweatpants and quickly undid the knot there, pulling them down from his waist and then dipping her hand into his underwear where she found his rock-hard cock, painfully quivering against the material. Jungkook groaned into her mouth, his body lurching forward at the sensation of her warm hand stroking him under his Calvin Kleins.

“fuck” he muttered as he pulled away from her kiss, his eyes fluttering close.

“I want to fuck you so bad” he groaned, his hands reaching to caress her breasts through the fabric of her dress.

“Then fuck me” Y/n moaned, and it didn’t take more than a second for Jungkook to turn her around and press her against the mirror of the elevator, his hands moving quickly to pull down her black thong and throwing it across the floor. He parted her legs and Y/n watched from the reflection as he licked his lips in admiration.

She didn’t know what she had gotten herself into and she sure as hell wasn’t prepared but she didn’t care, she needed his cock inside of her walls and that’s all she could think about.

Jungkook pushed down his underwear, exposing his cock as he gave it a few more pumps before aligning himself to her welcoming pussy. He watched her arousal drip from her core, and he whimpered at the sight. it was all that he had expected and more, he slowly dragged the tip of his cock against her wet folds which caused Y/n to yelp, her hands reaching to grip the handrails for support.

They moaned in unison as he entered her walls, her legs bucking as he began to move himself inside of her. Jungkook moved slowly, patiently waiting for her to adjust to his length but the feeling of her walls gripping him tightly like his dick was meant to be there was urging him to lose control and it didn’t help that he had a full view of her ass while his dick retracted from her pussy ever so slightly.

“f-fuck me harder” she moaned, and Y/n was sure she had never used those words before, but it was all the instructions Jungkook needed to pick up his pace. He began to thrust roughly inside of her, his hands coming down to hold her hips in place, keeping her from moving away as he pounded into her. Y/n leaned her head against the mirror, her mouth wide open as whimpers and moans fell from it.

The small elevator was soon filled with the symphony of moans and skin clashing together, Y/n could feel a burning sensation building as Jungkook kept his tempo, his black locks hanging over his face as he continued to ram into her. his hand came down quickly against her ass cheek, leaving a red imprint there and Y/n screamed in excitement.

“look how good you’re taking it” Jungkook moaned as he watched his wet cock retract and enter into her pussy over and over again. he reached underneath where their bodies remained interlinked and pressed the vibrating bullet that was still in his hand against her clit. Y/n yelped; her eyes fluttering shut at the sudden action.

“Come on, be a good girl, you know you can take it” he hummed his eyes taking in the way he was completely destroying her. He removed his other hand from her hip and reached to grab her arms, pulling them behind her back and pinning them tightly together on her lower back. Y/n shrieked in pleasure, sweat dripping down the sides of her face.

Jungkook moved his hips skillfully as he fucked into her, his eyes remaining on the view of her ass trembling as his cock glistened with her juices. It was beautiful and it only made his cock pulse with anticipation. He bit down on his lip as groans poured from his chest. never in a million years did he ever think he would be fucking his neighbor but never in a million years did he ever want to stop.

Y/n felt her clit vibrate against the toy, the nerves there buzzing with enjoyment. Her arousal dripped from between her legs onto the silicone material and down Jungkook’s hand, but he kept it pressed there while he hammered into her. She didn’t know if she liked it rough but whatever it was, he was doing, she wanted him to keep going.

“Come for me baby” he moaned, licking his lips as if he was tasting her juices in his mouth. “I know how badly you want to come” his hand came down harshly against her ass cheek again and Y/n responded with a yelp. Y/n was bent over, her tits flowing past her dress and her hair a mess, but she could only focus on the feeling of Jungkook’s balls slapping against her clit, the bullet that worked hard to keep up with Jungkook’s thrusts, and the way this man was fucking her into oblivion.

It felt good, fuck that, it felt amazing.

Jungkook plunged into her pussy with such need, with such desire that she was sure he was close to his climax as well. Y/n’s walls clenched around his cock, urging him to come undone inside of her and Jungkook groaned loudly, his hips beginning to move with a mind of their own as he searched for his own relief.

“Ah'm gonna come” Y/n yelled, her legs giving out from under her as they began to tremble, but Jungkook held her, and gave her the support she needed. He pressed her against the mirror and continued his pace, his eyes trailing to the reflection in front of them.

“Look at us baby, look how good you look while I fuck into you” he whispered into Y/n’s ear, his eyes falling on her hooded eyes and reddened cheeks. Her walls were tight and warm, and he knew he wouldn’t last long, his hand fell on her hip once more, gripping it there while he continued to drive into her quickly. Y/n couldn’t take her eyes from his strained arms, the way his veins stuck out from underneath the skin as he gave her his all, it was almost poetic and that’s all it took for her to reach the peak, her body shuddering against the wall and Jungkook’s chest. Y/n couldn’t hear anything, her eyes falling tightly shut as her orgasm rippled through her body. Her senses were completely gone as she tried to control herself and then there was a sudden warmness dripping from her core, it dripped down her legs and onto the floor.

“Fuck, you squirted baby” Jungkook groaned, his hips buckled and with one last hard thrust, he came into her quenched walls. He let out a trail of curse words Y/n couldn’t make out, too stuck on the way she had unraveled.

She had never felt something so euphoric, and she felt guilty about it.

Jungkook removed the toy that had remained pressed against her clit and threw it on the floor beside them. the bullet buzzed and jolted on the floor before turning off. Y/n blinked her eyes open and stared at the floor in shock, the little fucking thing had finally given out after tormenting her for so long, but she was too high off her orgasm, unable to find any other emotion but relief.

She turned over and looked up at Jungkook, his face was flushed just like hers and sweat dripped from his forehead as he adjusted his dick back in his sweats, a small smirk appearing on his face once he glanced back at her. He reached down to grab her thong and assisted her with slipping it back up her legs, his stare remaining on her. He took in how her chest rose and fell with each harsh breath she took. His fingers glided upward against the sides of her legs as he brought her panties back, his hands landing on the sides of her hips before grabbing the hem of her dress and sliding the fabric down to its rightful place.

Y/n was beyond embarrassed and sore, she didn’t know what to say to the man who had just fucked her literally senseless. Thank You? no that was fucking ridiculous. She reached for her bottle of water and extended her arm out to Jungkook, offering him some refreshment, it was the best she could do given the circumstances.

“Here, drink some” she smiled while Jungkook reached for the bottle, removing the cap and bringing it to his lips, taking a large gulp.

“don’t use those stupid toys anymore, next time just knock on my door” Jungkook muttered, passing her the bottle. Y/n nodded biting down on her lip before taking a drink herself.

“Hello! Is everyone okay? we are coming in to get you out” a voice yelled from outside the elevator doors. They both giggled at each other before innocently standing side by side waiting to be freed from the confined space.

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