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thecapricunt1616 · 3 months

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Papaya (c.b one-shot)

Part one here

Blurb (More BTC!) : He knew you were that out of your mind, when he pushed his way through the house, shouting “Squish? SQUISH!” Over the music as well as he could and he found you being basically fucking molested by some meathead that had a good 6 inches and 75 pounds on him. The sight made him so enraged, it made him see red so quickly, it made him black out in anger. He came to again a few moments later after he uppercut the guy so hard he fell back on his ass, and then punched him in the face so hard that his nose started bleeding. “Bear?” You said confused

“See the fucking cup, asshole?” He seethed, everyone was watching now as he dumped the remainder of your icy drink on him and crushed it before throwing it at his shocked face “ the blue cup means she’s taken”

♡ One-shot inspo: Papaya is associated with femininity & strengthening love connections. Hang twigs of papaya wood over a door to keep out evil. Eat papaya with a loved one to intensify your love. Mix papaya leaves with mandrake and burn or use in the bath to reverse hexes and jinxes. ♡ Summary: You & Carmys first time, F/U to 'Very First Time'♡ W/C: 4.7k ♡ A/N: EEEE It's here! The first was recieved so well, & my sweet @carmenberzattosgf requested a part 2 as well as this sweet anon, so I had to indulge! I hope it is everything you wanted <3 Who's ready for some sexy sexy Carmy tomorrow!? I know I am!!! I can't believe this is my last piece before the drought is over...It has gone so freaking fast!!! I can't wait to meet all the new fans that this season brings <3 :) (P.S. If you were tagged, it's BC you asked for a part 2 or are my moot!! <3) P.S - Tumblr was really trying to get me to commit murder while formatting this JFC ♡ Warnings for BTC: SMUT SMUT SMUT, College relationship, childhood best friend trope, virgin!carmy, Fem!/AFAB!Reader, R has long hair, No use of Y/N (r goes by childhood nickname 'squish' ), Drunk men being pervy, Physical violence, Angry Carmy

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You stumbled into the nearest vacant bathroom (with your drink in hand of course) as Miley Cyrus’ We Can’t Stop bumps through the speakers of the frat house so loudly that the floors shook.

The amount of stinky sweaty bodies and drunk people making out in various corners of the hallway would usually get to you if you weren’t so out of your mind. You weren’t exactly sure which drink you were on yet, but you did know that when your best friend Paisley had challenged you to a keg standoff and you weren’t a quitter, so you couldn’t count just how many beers you had chugged.

You tried to count on your fingers as you hovered above the nasty toilet seat to pee just exactly how many red solo cups of mostly liquor with a bit of mixer you had consumed. You were distracted by that nasty toilet seat, wondering how the boys that live here don’t gag whenever they come to pee. You were happy that Carmy wasn’t in a frat. You were really happy that Carmy wasn’t in a frat, the guys here were assholes. Most of them, anyway.

You grabbed your blue cup, that insinuated you were taken or dating someone steady, out with you back into the hot sticky living room, to hear someone (probably paisley, it had to have been paisley or one of your other sorority sisters) had requested they play Girls by The 1975, you tried finding her but got distracted by hands on your waist and “I love your shirt” in your ear. It was a voice you didn’t recognize, you could tell the man towered over you by the way he had to hunch over to talk to you.

Carmy was bigger then you, but not that much bigger, this guy would probably have a head on Carmy. He had grown just like Mike said he would, and it looked amazing on him. Funnily enough though, even though you had been dating since the week you graduated high school - and you were now juniors in college, he still hadn’t slept with you yet. You often after you left his house to head back to your sorority house since they had a curfew, would cry to your sorority about how he still only wants to do oral.

He didn’t often want blowjobs unless it was a special occasion, he would tell you your hand is fine and you don’t have to do ‘all that’ even though you wanted to- you figured since he was saying that he didn’t want you to. You weren’t aware - but Carmy was kicking himself in the ass every single day that he hasn’t fucked you the way you deserve yet. He was honestly getting worried he was going to lose you to some guy who would. You had asked him, he had told you that he wasn’t ready to go that far with you yet, that he wanted to wait and make it special.

But in all reality he was terrified out of his mind. He knew he could make you cum with his mouth, but his dick?! He had to dig his nails into his palms until they near drew blood whenever you put your fucking mouth on him, so if you let him fuck your cunt?! He was worried he was going to cum in 3 strokes and you would laugh and break up with him and tell him you were better off best friends and there goes his only friend and the love of his life and the person he wants to marry. But he found himself asking as he fantasized about marrying you how he was supposed to do that if he can’t even find the balls to fuck you right.

His anxiety was what led him to calling you 3 times tonight, because you were late - and you were never late - because the two of you wanted to spend as much time as possible together since his schedule was so packed between working at the beef and going to classes part time. He was nowhere near graduating, that was because he was stacking his money away in a savings account that gained interest like Uncle Jimmy taught him, so that his graduation present to you could be the Chicago brownstone you both had talked about having together since high school.

He found it so incredibly sexy and endearing that you put school first in your life, he wanted to reward you for it. He felt you deserved the world and more, since you were his world. Which is why, after the third nervous stuttering voicemail which is how you could tell he was really nervous, had gone unanswered? He opened the find my friends app and grabbed his brothers keys.

“Mike I’m going…out!” He called and shut the front door before he could get questions about why the hell he of all people would be leaving the house past 10:00 on a Friday night. He anxiously mapped the location on his phone and hopped in the car. When he got there, though- he couldn’t even park near the house. He had to park a block over and walk because it was so packed with cars. He made sure to lock the car in case any drunkards were to try and sleep in it or think it was there’s, and put on the walking directions.

Carmen had to deal with drunk behavior well - every night, so being with a bunch of drunk people wasn’t his favorite place to be - but for you he persevered, because what the hell were you doing here.

You, currently, were inside, grinding on the same guy that had come up to you to Mirrors by Justin Timberlake. You had finished another drink, and forgotten completely it wasn’t your boyfriend behind you - and didn’t even have the mind to ask yourself what he would be doing there. Said boyfriend was currently pushing his way through the kitchen, and rolling his eyes and the ‘single, taken, DTF’ different colored cups on the counter as he tried to find you.

He knew you were that out of your mind, when he pushed his way through the house, shouting “Squish? SQUISH!” Over the music as well as he could and he found you being basically fucking molested by some meathead that had a good 6 inches and 75 pounds on him. The sight made him so enraged, it made him see red so quickly, it made him black out in anger. He came to again a few moments later after he uppercut the guy so hard he fell back on his ass, and then punched him in the face so hard that his nose started bleeding.

“Bear?” You said confused

He grabbed your arm gently “squish y’wasted. We're going home” he said firmly but not mean, and you stumbled next to him as people move out of the way since the entire room was privy to what just happened. You weren’t sure what happened all you knew was the man was behind you and then he wasn’t and then carmy was punching him and now you were in the car and Carmy was lecturing you about how worried he was.

“He could have hurt you, angel. Please- I know it’s college and you can do what you want but I love you and those guys are all assholes, they’ll take advantage of nice girls the second they get a chance. And you’re so sweet squish, you’re too sweet. They don’t deserve to have you over” he squeezed your hand and brought it to his lips for what he knew was probably the hundredth time in the 35 minute car ride back to his house.

You didn’t say much of anything that could make sense, but he agreed with you anyway. “And theee um. The the- what was I saying?” You look over at him at a red light with a drunk smile, your eyes glazed over from all the alcohol and cheeks hot with the rush of it in your system.

“I dunno baby but you look cute” he tucked a piece of hair behind your ear and kissed your forehead gently

“Your knuckles are bleeding, did you hurt them?” You asked, the events from less than an hour prior already having been wiped from your mind. He chuckled a bit, shaking his head

“M’fine squish, you need some water” he helped you out of the car, supporting most of your weight as you stumbled up the stairs of the Berzatto house, and he unlocked the door.

“Ooooo you know what I want?” You asked and he smiled as he locked the door behind him and lead you to the kitchen

“What’s that honey?” He helps you sit down at the table and grabs a glass, filling it with ice water

“I want a bear special beef sandwich. Pretty please?” He came over and handed you the glass

“Drink that and we’ll talk about it” he said and you obediently chugged down the glass as he went back to the fridge and got out the beef they didn’t use today at the restaurant and a pan to heat it in

“This is good” you said, finishing it off and crunching on a piece of ice to which he cringed

“Ugh y’teeth babe don’t do that!” He scolded as he always did when you munched on ice, taking it from you and filling it again, adding a straw before giving it back so you were less tempted to repeat your actions

He was cutting up a bell pepper for your sandwich when you asked “why won’t you have sex with me?” Which almost made him slice his finger but thankfully he missed it by a centimeter.

“Who said I won’t” he looked back at you, his cheeks a pretty shade of pink as he flushed with embarrassment.

“I dunno. You say you’re waiting but I want to and paisley says maybe you’re shy and if m’drunk maybe you’ll wanna do it more but the problem-“ you’re interrupted with a drunk hiccup “with that is, paisley said you have to be drunk too, and you aren’t.” You slurred, struggling to find your straw again to chug down the other half of your second glass of water.

He stared at you, unsure of what to say and Mikey comes pounding down the stairs per usual and into the kitchen. A bull in a fucking China shop, just like Richie. “Yooo it’s squishy! Sup girl” he came over, giving you a brotherly push to the back of the head and doing the same to Carmy as he walks by to the fridge

“Hey! You could have killed me I’m drinking!” You slurred, “but I’m asking Carmy why he won’t h-“

“Heyyyy!!! Hey hey squish no we’re not sharing those things” Carmy cuts you off quickly and looks over, shaking his head

“She’s fuckin gone” Mike said to himself as he grabbed a can of soda

“Yeah why do you think I’m fuckin having her eat and drink water?” Carmy quips, putting the beef into the bun he’d toasted and adding extra cheese for you on top how he liked it.

“Mm. Make sure you have a few vomit bags ready I think the last time she was this wasted was her birthday” he headed back up to his room and Carmy sighed to himself, knowing he was right.

“Who’s vomiting?” You asked, sipping the last few dribbles of water and he set your sandwich in front of you, taking the cup to fill again and you gasp, having forgotten you even wanted the sandwich “I was just gonna ask you to make me one too!” You said excitedly and took a big bite.

He came back to the table, setting the filled glass down and sitting in the chair next to you, gently rubbing your back “chew it baby Jesus it’s not goin anywhere” he teased and pushed your hair back over your shoulders.

“I know- it’s just so good” you mumble with your mouth full and he chuckled, shaking his head and wiping some grease that had dribbled down your chin off with the pad of his thumb, wiping it on a napkin. He didn’t know what came over him, maybe it was the fact that you wouldn’t remember - maybe selfishly it was because he knew you’d be brutally honest, but he asked

“If we did have sex, and I didn’t last very long- would you be upset that you had to finish with my mouth or fingers instead?” His voice was laced with nervous curiosity, but he had to know this to be able to properly navigate having sex since you had been bringing it up more and more often as of late.

“What?! Upset? I think I’ll cry with joy that I actually can have your dick in me it doesn’t matter how long” you said casually. He wasn’t sure what it was about it, maybe it was the tone of your voice - like it’s an every day thought for you, like you were aching to have him inside of you. Yeah, that was it. The coolness mixed with desperation, it made his cock stiffen a little more than he figured it should have.

“Mm.” Was all he said, covering himself with his hand, it wasn’t like you would notice, anyway, but he was still ever so shy about you making him aroused - like he was doing something wrong. Even though you were his girlfriend of 3 years and you said I love you multiple times a day to each other.

While he was helping you shower, and then helping you dress for bed, that was when it hit him. This weekend, his mom would be out of town for some work thing he didn’t care to know the details of, and Mike goes to the casino every Friday and stays out practically until 5 am. He would have the house to himself, and it would be the perfect time to finally have sex.

He was mapping out in his mind the most romantic way to do it, flowers, candles, music? He told himself he had to do it right and make it a night to remember for the both of you. He had to cook for you - he figured he would make your favorite penne à la vodka, and he wouldn’t tell you about doing it just in case he bitches out. But the amount of thought he was putting into this, if he bitched out he was gonna be extraordinarily angry with himself.

Your voice pulled him out of his head as if always did “bear” you said sleepily

“Sup bug” he kissed your head tenderly and rubbed your arm as you nuzzled into his side.

“Can you turn the tv down m’tired” you mumble into his shirt and he took the remote, turning it off.

“Love you baby, g’night” he resumed rubbing over your hip as he got lost in his thoughts once again.

When the day came, he wasn’t sure how he didn’t bitch out. He thought about it 5 times that day and convinced himself not to, but now, now that you were sat at the table with him, a candle between you, giggling about how ‘romantic’ he had been acting tonight - he felt like a total fucking idiot.

“I’m sorry, fuck- do you not like it? I read one of sugars magazines she left behind before she moved - they said girls like candles and music” he pushed it to the side and you shook your head, moving it back

“I love it, bear. I’m just wondering why you’re treating me so special tonight is all, I’d have been a lot more dressed up and pretty if you’d have-“ he cuts you off

“You’re fuckin- y’perfect, squish. I love you, that’s why I’m doin it. I just wanna show you how much” he held your hand and squeezed it gently “you mean everything t’me. Really” he said and kissed your knuckles gently.

When you made it to his bedroom, you realized he’d hung romantic little white string lights along his headboard to provide more ambient lighting, and that’s when it clicked what was happening. Your heart raced in your chest like a hummingbird trapped in a cage as his hands roam your body.

You were sprawled out beneath him, both of you down to your underwear, the feeling of his lips nipping, and licking, and biting yours was enough to make you wet, but when his broad hands started palming your tits, his thumbs and forefingers massaging your nipples, you had to squeeze your thighs together to provide your throbbing clit some pressure. You were mewling and whining beneath him, he was panting and grunting into your mouth, your noses bumping with each unexpected kiss.

“Carmy” you whine into his mouth, reaching to pull one of your hands off of your breast and he pulled away just enough to speak, lapis eyes boring into yours that were no doubt lust blown.

“Y’good?” He asked gently, kissing the corner of your mouth chastely and eased his grip on your breasts. You moved the hand you were holding down, down, down, tucking his fingers into the waistband of your panties

“I want you to touch me here…please” you said softly and hook your arm around the back of his neck, tangling your fingers in his sandy blond curls as you pull him back for a kiss his breath hitched slightly at the action, his cock twitching at your words which you felt against your thigh, causing you to smile a bit. He cupped your heat with his hand for a moment, causing you to grind onto it needily and he sucked on your bottom lip as he spread your lips to slip his middle finger over your sticky soaked hole, teasing it gently before trailing it up to find the throbbing erect bud.

You gasped lightly at the contact, back arching a bit and moaning shamelessly, your voice coming out high pitched and whiny “oh yes” you said as he rubbed the pad of his finger back and forth and in circles, alternating between the two in such a way that was making your stomach tighten and thighs shiver.

“Yeah?” He kissed your jaw “feels good mm? Sound so pretty, princess” he said hotly in your ear, gently nipping at your neck in the way that drove you wild.

“So good you make me feel so good” you mewl as he moved his finger down again, thrusting it in and out as he does that beckoning motion with the finger and he gently rubbed your clit with his other hand. You sob in pleasure, fisting the sheets with one hand and tugging Carmys hair with the other.

“Good girl tha’s a good girl” his husky voice and hot breath made you shiver even though with how close your orgasm was- you felt oh so hot. You felt him lick your sternum where he had watched a bead of sweat trailing down and that caused your eyes to open once more, to see his staring back like a round eyed cat.

“M’gonna cum” you choke out, pulling the sheets harder to avoid hurting him by pulling his hair too hard. This brought a grin to his face, finding your nipple with his lips and sucking on the sensitive bud, just as he adds another finger, speeding up his beckoning motion. Your eyes nearly roll back when you felt his lips on your ear, encouraging you

“Yeah? Yeah pretty girl? Are you gonna cum f’me? Feels sooo good huh. Go ahead princess let me feel you cum on my hand I love it when y’pussy sucks in my fingers it’s so fuckin hot. Y’re so fuckin hot” your jaw fell slack in a silent scream, brows knitted together as he praised you while your orgasm came over you full force. You swore you saw stars behind your lids.

“Please please please pleaaase bear” you found yourself begging, pulling him up for a kiss and he chuckled into your lips, pulling away enough to ask,

“Please what, what baby what d’you want?” He cooed sweetly before ravishing your face with kisses which made your thumping, racing heart turn to goo

“Please fuck me. Please- oh god please I fucking need you inside your fingers aren’t enough I need to feel you.” You begged, your voice was raspy, needy, he never heard anything hotter in his life.

“Yeah?” He asked sweetly, resting his forehead on yours, nuzzling your nose in a eskimo kiss gently. “Open your eyes” he said softly and dried his hand on the sheets, pushing your sticky, sweat slick hair from your face and cupping your cheeks. Your eyes flickered open to meet his honest blue ones, blown with lust, glazed over with love. “Tell me again, I want to see you when you say it baby, so I know you want this.” He rubbed your jaw tenderly with his thumbs.

“I want you to show me how much you love me, Bear, please” you said softly and he smiled in the way that showed off his little dimples, to which you kissed it gently before he told you

“I don’t think there’s a way to show you just how much I love you, because it can’t even be described in words - but I’ll try anything f’you, squish” he kissed your forehead lovingly, lingering for a moment. Your eyes fluttered shut as you soaked in the moment, gently rubbing his back.

“I love you too, more than words” you said honestly when he pulled away, grabbing a condom from his nightstand drawer and ripping it open with his teeth, an action that had you clenching around nothing, but hopefully that would be resolved in just a moment.

“Now, if you want to stop just say the word, if you can’t find your words just like…bite me I guess” he teased and you giggled, shaking your head

“Will do” you watch as he slipped off his boxers, rolling the rubber all the way to the base, he tugged off your panties that had been soaked through, tossing them in his laundry basket since you’d need new ones after which lived in his top drawer, and got between your legs. You watch as he strokes himself a few times with his hand and you felt your throat go a bit dry. What if you were the one to ruin it all because it wouldn’t fit or something?

“You ok?” He asked gently as he caught you staring and you met his eyes again, putting on a smile and nodding, spreading your legs wider in hopes that might make more room.

“Amazing. Excited” you said, it wasn’t exactly a lie, but you left off your biggest and most present emotion nervous.

“Okay…that look says I’m worried so what’s up?” He held your hand, gently rubbing the back of it with his thumb and looking into your eyes. It was impossible to lie when he looked at you like that, even more impossible when you were both butt naked and his dick was in his hand.

“What if it doesn’t fit?” You asked nervously. He chuckled as if he didn’t believe you, shaking his head

“I’m not that hung, babe. It’ll be fine. Do you care if I touch you?” He asked and you shook your head, swallowing thickly. He knelt on the bed with his left knee, leaning over you and nestling the tip of his cock between your folds and rubbing your wetness up and over your clit, causing a small gasp to leave your lips. He watched you carefully, for any signs of discomfort or that you were having second thoughts.

Your lips were parted and little puffs of air fan his chin, eyes hooded in pleasure and little squeaks coming out of your throat each time his tip bumped your clit firmly and the ridge of it rubbed back down to swipe over your hole and back up to repeat the assault. You could cum just like this if he did it long enough. “Feels good?” He checked, intertwining your fingers and squeezing your hand lovingly.

“Uh-huh” was all you could manage to get out and he smiled a bit, kissing your chin gently

“Want me to try being inside Angel?”

In response, a needier, whinier “uh-huh”

He looks down for a moment, grabbing his cock and lining the tip up with your entrance. “Remember what to do?” He triple checked, this time- just a quick nod. He ever so gently eased his way in, his jaw tightening at the way it made his balls feel 10 pounds heavy, his cock twitching at the foreign sensation. He grunted to cover a whine instead, and you squeezed his hand tight, looking down and watching as he slowly pushed his shaft in about a fourth of the way and stopped, looking up at you. Once more.

“How do you feel baby?” He gently rubbed your clit with his other hand, causing you to clench around him and in turn a unconscious moan tears from his throat “jeeesus fuck” he grunts, hips sinking in further in instinct and you squeak, shifting uncomfortably which made him look down and quickly pull back out to just the tip “sorry- fuck I’m sorry, I don’t know what happened are you ok?” He kissed your wrist.

“Burning. Kinda. Not a bad, it feels…kinda good? It like…it feels like a good stretch when it almost hurts. And like…full. So full, but like a good full. A fulfilled kinda full, is that weird?” You rambled on all the thoughts swimming in your brain other than ‘cock feels good’ which was the main one.

“Yeah? Feels good f’me too baby” he leaned in, kissing your lips and sinking in further, half way now. He kept kissing you, gently sucking on your tongue as you got used to the uncomfort of the stretch. “Can I try moving Angel?” He asked , almost into your mouth, you just respond with a huffy hum of agreement before pulling your lips back up to his. He very slowly at first started to thrust and had to let go of your hand to fist the pillow so he didn’t bust right then.

“Holy fuck” he pants, nuzzling his face in your neck and continuing to rub your clit as he thrusted in and out. The feeling left you breathless, wordless, thoughtless. You were on cloud nine, you could die like this. You felt that sensation of an orgasm coming in your belly again, this was the quickest he’d ever brought you to another.

“Bear-bear- I’m-“ you whine out, back arching and jaw dropping as his tip brushes your g spot and you nearly cry, tears gathering in the corners of your eyes at the intense pleasure it brought. “Cumming, cumming im cumming” you babbled, as your orgasm took over, clenching and unclenching around his cock in such a way that he literally couldn’t stop himself from spilling into the condom if he tried.

The whiny grunt he made when he came was the hottest noise you had heard to date and was nothing short of beautiful. He bit down on your neck, sucking a pretty purple bruise into the skin before burying himself to the hilt as he shoots rope after rope of seed into the condom. Your thighs tightened around his waist, nails digging into his shoulders so hard they’d leave moon shaped bruises come morning that he’d proudly walk around the house with at breakfast so Mike could finally believe that he’s not just lying about doing sexual shit with you.

You wrap your legs around his hips, keeping him there and relishing in the feeling. You felt like he was made for you, you fit together like 2 puzzle pieces. You knew he was your forever, but this solidified it even more. After he fucked you through both of your highs, he pulled out and laid next to you in a heap, panting for a few moments before he finally spoke

“Biggest mistake of my life was waiting so long to do that”

@carmenberzattosgf @daysofyellowroses @aestheticaltcow @l4long-winded @thehouseofevangelista @w31rdash @caramelberzatto @wtfsteveharrington

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just-jordie-things · 1 year

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Megumi that just lives for the sound of your voice.

Like say anything midly suggestive and suddenly his pants are gone. It's honestly ear candy, hearing you say his name when you ask him a favour, to hearing you whine his name in bed, he just can't get enough. 🤷🏿‍♀️

nsfw brainrot talk under the cut! also bear with me i don't usually write stuff this dirty (on the blog anyways hehe)

YES i totally believe he gets so flustered and worked up over the sound of your voice especially if you're saying his name no matter the context.

"megumi can you pass me the salt?" blushing in front of the whole table!!

"can i borrow your notes, megumi?" butterflies!!

"hey megumi are you free tonight?" uh yes he's free for eternity if it's for you.

but jfc if you're saying his name in bed you're so fucking in for it i think it'd spur him on soooo much. everything's dialed up to a hundred.

i'm talking soft whispers of affection turn on to babbled, whiny praise. one second he's sharing the occasional whispered 'i love you, you're so perfect' murmured into your shoulder, to holding you by your chin so you couldn't break the eye contact as he praises you almost nonsensically. i think he'd particularly like telling you how good you are for him, all the while pleading with you to keep telling him who you belong to or who's making you feel this good.

(that's probably around the time you realize just how much he's affected by hearing his name in your voice)

his love for you borderlines on obsession, and he'll work very hard to make sure your pretty lips keep calling his name, no matter the setting or reason <3

#megumi brainrot #fushiguro megumi x reader #megumi x reader #jjk #jujutsu kaisen #megumi smut #fushiguro megumi x reader smut #megumi x reader smut

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ugh-yoongi · 1 year

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about u | jjk

❝ this song is about a love that you can’t reconcile—wanting to make a home out of a person that has proved to you time and again that they are not a home; they are just a person. it’s about retracing scars, negative patterns, all with the silent belief that moments of communion and understanding might justify months of misfiring and regret. we’re all just trying to get back to that ‘first high’ feeling—an honest endeavor, however futile. ❞

✤ PAIRING jungkook x f. reader ✤ GENRE exes to fwb to strangers, college/grad school au; angst, smut ✤ RATING explicit. minors do not interact. ✤ WARNINGS toxic & self-destructive behavior (inc. jealousy and possessiveness). infidelity (with an external partner). reader is bisexual (which is not a warning but a general statement so the homophobes stay away) and there is a brief mention of coming out. two people who are both too honest and unable to communicate. swearing. cigarettes and alcohol use. kissing, some spitting, fingering, oral sex, protected vaginal sex. every time i asked jess to read this over for me she always came back with "jfc jewel" so i guess this is angsty. unhappy ending. ✤ WORDCOUNT 7.3k ✤ LISTEN TO this was based off of "winterbreak" by muna, but there are bits and pieces of the entire about u album in here, "everything" and "outro" especially. ✤ THANK YOU to muna for writing the album, @the-boy-meets-evil and @hot-soop for reading over this for me multiple times and putting up with all my brainstorming and my beloved @here2bbtstrash for the extra set of eyes. ✤ AUTHOR'S NOTE hi, thank you for reading! i cannot emphasize enough how much more sense this story will make if you listen to about u in the background. i would also like to reiterate that these two are maybe not all that likeable most of the time, but i hope they're still human. as i once saw in an ao3 tag, you are more than the worst thing you've ever done.

[ the first. ] You’d read an article once—something about the second time you fall in love.

It’s going to feel different, it’d said. The first time felt like a dream.

As you stare across the kitchen at Jeongguk, you think that might be true. The part about it feeling like a dream, because it used to be a pinky-lavender haze and everything that has come after hasn’t felt so good. Not a nightmare, but close. At least with nightmares you can force yourself awake. You can tell yourself it wasn’t real. You can pretend.

This is as real as it gets, watching him smile over the rim of a plastic red cup. Someone else’s hand on his arm. The girl it belongs to looks nothing like you, and you wonder if she’ll be the second time he falls in love. You also wonder why you didn’t stay home. You wonder about fault and regret and if either of them even matter. No, you eventually decide: there’s just you in Taehyung’s kitchen and Jeongguk on the other side of it and the result of a million decisions in between you.

There had been a plenitude of reasons you’d fallen in love with Jeongguk, but he’s undoubtedly beautiful. Soft, tinkling laugh; a smile that reaches his eyes. Not all that long ago you used to be responsible for both, so there’s a lingering, bitter sting beneath your wonder. Jeongguk is beautiful and no longer yours, and that’s enough to have you retreating to the living room.

Jimin’s at your side immediately. Wraps an arm around your shoulders and presses a kiss to the top of your head that does little to alleviate your guilt. Missing someone is always easier with thousands of miles in between you. All those distractions. Just like a nightmare, distance lets you pretend. Not so easy to do when all those ghosts come back to haunt you; when you can still hear Jeongguk’s soft voice in the kitchen. The music is so loud but you’d be able to hear him anywhere, you think.

Even places he’s not.

Jimin leans down, forces his way into your personal space. “Are you doing okay?” he asks, and his words are warm and wrapped in alcohol, but you nod. You’re scared you might start crying if you open your mouth. Afraid of what might come out besides shuddering breaths, which just makes you feel stupid. Baby’s first breakup, you chide yourself. Maybe Jimin can get you a commemorative ornament.

Taehyung is turning twenty-four and it should be joyous. It is joyous. People that aren’t you are laughing and dancing and pressing their cheeks together as they huddle close to take selfies. Someone you don’t recognize is cackling wildly as they wrangle Taehyung into a headlock and smear cake frosting on his face. Someone else is tutting and running a rag under the tap to wipe it off and then the frosting is gone. It’s hard not to draw parallels.

There one minute and gone the next.

Gently wiped away.

But the feeling lingers, doesn’t it? The tack of the frosting, all the love that transpired between you and Jeongguk. Sometimes you fear it’s permanent—not able to be wiped away with a rag run under the tap, not able to be wiped away at all. Just this burden you’re cursed to carry, because Jeongguk isn’t and can’t be yours but knowing does nothing to erase the past. Doesn’t help you forget. It’s fucked and it’s unfair, but that’s just the way it goes.

“I think I should leave,” you say, watching another scene play out in the kitchen. Jeongguk fills a cup and hands it to a different pretty girl. Everyone here is so pretty. Makes sense; so is Taehyung. Pretty people are drawn to one another like that. “Is it too soon? Will it be obvious?”

Jimin sighs, wraps you in a hug. Says, “Oh, love,” in a way that’s too sympathetic. Makes you sound too pathetic. “No one will blame you. These things are hard.”

You squeeze your eyes shut. Not that you don’t appreciate Jimin’s reassurance, but sometimes it all feels a bit silly. Weren’t you the one to walk away? Call it off? Are you allowed to mourn the very thing you destroyed?

And Jimin, bless him, is so patient with you. Asks if you need a ride home and you wave him off, remind him your parents’ place isn’t far, that the cold might do you some good. You tell him you appreciate him and his night shouldn’t be ruined on your account, and you just laugh when he tries to protest, tell him to go get himself another drink.

“Text me when you get home,” he says, voice stern, and you brush that off, too. “I’m serious. It’s late and it’s dark and anyone could be out there—”

“Maybe I should walk you home, then?”

All those articles you read about the second time you fall in love didn’t mention this. Said nothing about the way a voice will always be able to turn your world on its axis and how to right it again. Said nothing about how to coexist with ghosts. Said nothing about what to do with all the yearning and the pain and the stupid, selfish strands of hope. There are paragraphs about an overarching, general grief, but nothing about the specific one living inside of you.

The shock on Jimin’s face is reflecting your own. It’s nice to not be the only one caught off-guard and stammering over their words. It’s nice to have a friend when it feels like your entire world is on the edge of collapse. “I don’t…” he begins. Swallows thickly and turns to look at you, an obvious question biting at the back of his teeth.

You know the answer.

You know that what you should say isn’t what you want, just like you know it isn’t fair, this thing you’re doing. Because you turn to Jeongguk and say, “Are you sure?” which might as well be a yes, because you’re selfish and suspended in this liminal space and don’t want him to go home with anyone else. You don’t want him to move on.

He shrugs. “It’s on the way.”

You say okay. Let Jimin help you into your coat, hide his face in your neck as he tells you to be careful, and that stings. You’ve never had to be careful around Jeongguk before. The two of you never, ever hurt one another—until you did. The kind of hurt your heart hasn’t easily forgotten, is still stubbornly clinging to.

Your heart wants Jeongguk, always.

You want Jeongguk, always, so you let him grab your hand, link your pinkies together. You let him lead you out of the house and don’t turn back to see who might be watching. God, you want to, though. Want all those pretty girls to see that he’s leaving with you. Want them to know it’s your name that’s branded on his heart; your name beneath his skin. For once, you want someone to want what you have.

It’s strange. The two of you have been apart for eight months, and there’s a lot of things you might want to tell someone in that amount of time, but you find it hard now. Don’t know where to start, which words to use. Don’t want to say something stupid, because Jeongguk is just walking you home but you’ve assigned a lot of meaning to it, and eight months is a long time to yearn for something and finally get it.

So you say, “You didn’t have to do this, you know,” because it’s something that’s true and easy to say.

Jeongguk doesn’t answer right away. Drops your pinky so he can hold your hand properly—fully, all five fingers intertwined—and squeezes. “Is it weird for you?” he asks, and he doesn’t sound nervous. Almost sounds like he’s smiling a little, giving you shit. He sounds familiar.

“No. I don’t know. Maybe a little.” He asks why? at the same time he passes under a streetlight. Lights up golden and amber. He’s beautiful—“I don’t know. It’s just… I guess it’s just been a long time. We didn’t leave things the best.”—and no longer yours.

The Jeongguk walking beside you is not the same Jeongguk that walked out of your dorm eight months ago, tears staining his cheeks, the smell of a goodbye fuck still clinging to his clothes, his skin, sweat still dotting his hairline. This Jeongguk is sharper, more selfish with his laughter, and you wonder about all the ways heartbreak can change a person. How you’re changed for facilitating it. You wonder if Jeongguk blames you before deciding you’re too much of a coward to find out the answer.

“Was it that bad?” When you look over at him, he’s chewing on his lip ring, trying to bite back a smile. “You’ll have to remind me. I don’t remember.”

You stop walking, jerking forward when Jeongguk is left unaware and keeps going. “That’s not funny,” you say. “Jeongguk, that’s not—I did what I thought was best, okay? I thought I was doing the right thing—”

The smile drops from Jeongguk’s face. “Hey, hey, look at me,” he says, and he’s hesitant to reach out and touch you but he does it anyway. Cups your face in both hands. “I know, it’s okay. That’s just—it’s just life, right? You did what you had to do, babe. It’s okay.”

You did what you had to do, babe.

Did you?

Jeongguk is selfish with his laughter but never his affection, and knowing that feels like an albatross around your neck. You have broken him so entirely, but he’s still kind to you, finds it a worthwhile thing to be.

His eyes go to your lips. Tattooed fingers dimple your face just a little more, dig in deeper. When you dare to take him in, he looks… different. No longer amused, the way he was just seconds ago; now, there’s something dark there. Longing, anger, hunger. Jeongguk looks like he wants to swallow you whole and make you suffer; looks like he wants to cage you beneath him and worship you through the comedown.

I’d let him, you think as you bury your face in the crook of his neck. As you smell the smoke that lingers, the sweat and the alcohol. I’d still let him.

It’d be so easy to press a kiss there. To feel his skin beneath your lips: flushed, still warm from the party, not all daunted by the bitter winter wind biting at your cheeks. As you lean in further, you wonder if it’ll taste the same. You wonder how much can change in eight months and if all those old comforts change, too. If it’s something inevitable.

Jeongguk moves his hands to your waist. Crawls his fingertips beneath your jacket and finds bare skin. Sucks in the smallest bit of air, and you would’ve missed it had it been any other time, but winter is always quiet and subdued. Always smells transitional, something dangerously close to hope and redemption.

And eight months is a long time to miss the feel of someone’s lips, isn’t it, so you think you can be excused for reaching for something you thought you’d never have again.

The first kiss is hesitant, testing; pressed to the spot just beneath his ear. Maybe you don’t know this Jeongguk, but you know the version of him you used to love—the one you still do—and you know the way he’ll sigh. You know the way his hands will grip tighter. You can still hear it, the way you used to kiss him there and he’d say, don’t start something you can’t finish, baby, and the way you’d laugh and always, always finish it. Can still feel the warmth that used to bloom in your chest. The love.

Jeongguk won’t say that now, you know. Wonder if it’d sound more like don’t start something you already finished if he did. He huffs a small laugh, more an exhale than anything, and asks, “What are you doing?”

And you answer, “I don’t know,” because it’s honest. You admit, “I guess I just miss you,” because it’s true.

A war wages within Jeongguk. You can see the storms, the white flags that are close to being thrown out. Can see the way his gaze flits between your lips and your eyes. What he’s looking for, you don’t know, but the storm rages on. And just like real life, just when you think it’s at its worst, there’s a break in the clouds: a tangible beam of silvery-warm light when Jeongguk tangles his hands in your hair, thumbs at the hinge of your jaw. Jeongguk tilts your head back and looks ethereal in the amber glow of the streetlights.

He says, “We shouldn’t,” and you nod, because you know and the anguish on his face is surely mirrored on yours, but when he follows it with, “let me take you home, let me take care of you,” you find it impossible to care.

You nod.

Everything is amber.

Eight months is a long time to go without the way Jeongguk kisses you: intentionally, demandingly, insatiably. He still tastes the same. Tastes like the first time you’d ever dared to kiss him, back at that party freshman year, tongue flavored with cheap liquor. Jeongguk tastes forbidden and feels like coming home.

You couldn’t say how you make it to Jeongguk’s apartment, but the way you stumble over the threshold feels familiar. The way the door is barely locked when Jeongguk crowds your space; picks you up, wraps your legs around his waist, presses you against it, hips moving on their own accord, rutting, all those little sounds spilling from his lips—everything is familiar. This is not just a practiced song and dance but something memorized. Something instinctual. You could be apart from Jeongguk for years instead of months and your body would still know what to do.

He carries you to his bedroom and you don’t think about who else has been between his sheets, because he puts you down so gently. Kisses your lips, your jaw, your neck—all gentle, powder-soft. Sounds like spring when you paw at the velvety cashmere of his sweater, pull it over his head, and he sighs. Feels like he’s breathing fresh life into something he shouldn’t, something long dead, but then you skim along his warm skin and your world is reduced to the way it feels like silk beneath your fingertips.

“I still love you,” Jeongguk whispers against your mouth, his inked fingers toying with the button on your jeans. Pops it open, pulls the denim down your thighs. Doesn’t bother pulling them off, only goes as far as your knees. And it’s uncomfortable, the way it’s bunched there, but the way Jeongguk says, “Fuck, missed you so much,” is so sweet.

Everything happens too fast.

Jeongguk leaves your shirt on. Drags it up and over your breasts and kisses at the newly-exposed skin. Sinks his teeth in, lets it hurt for a second before he laves over the marks. Settles between your legs and coaxes an orgasm out of you with his mouth and his fingers. Speaks his praise into the juncture of your thigh, breathless as he touches himself, strokes his cock with the wetness lingering on his fingers. Looks so, so pretty when he sits back on his haunches and says, “Just wanna look at you,” and makes it sound wistful and longing.

Makes it sound like it means something.

He’s still touching himself, still slicking himself up. There’s a split second where he goes to move and thinks better of it. Looks to the side before looking back at you. The storm kicks up again. “Have—” he begins before he swallows thickly. Dares to look hopeful, even through the squall. “Have you been with anyone else? Since…?”

You haven’t. Tried to, once—another stupid party, more cheap liquor passed to your mouth from someone else’s, but it hadn’t gone anywhere. They hadn’t tasted like Jeongguk; hadn’t felt the same. Two puzzle pieces that fit together all wrong.

Jeongguk has, though. Something you’d heard from a friend of a friend that you weren’t meant to. They’d called it a rebound, and it had bloomed so many ugly thoughts in your head. Five months had passed. Jeongguk was fucking someone else in his bed while you were in yours, torturing yourself over whether or not to tell him happy birthday. Whether it was allowed to or not, it’d stung.

(You had. You’d reworded the text a million times, plucked up all the courage you could find before you sent it. It’d gone unanswered, just like you expected it would, and you thought it was because Jeongguk didn’t want to talk to you. Thought you were digging your fingers into wounds that had yet to heal, so it’d stung but you understood.

But Jeongguk hadn’t answered because he was fucking someone else. Had someone else’s taste on his tongue; was panting someone else’s name into the dark. The embarrassment had been the worst part.)

Still does, if you’re being honest with yourself, so you lie. “I—yeah,” you answer. “Just one.”

Looks like it stings Jeongguk, too. “Right,” he responds, blinking back tears, and he’s got a lot of nerve, you think. “Yeah, okay, I’ll just—a condom. Are you…”

“Jeongguk—”

“Are you sure? Maybe this isn’t…” He huffs. Drops the condom on the bed, hangs his head. “What are we doing?”

You stare up at the ceiling. Nothing up there but the swirls in the plaster. “I don’t know,” you admit. “Hurting each other, probably.”

Jeongguk walks his fingers down your thigh. Grips at your skin, wants it to bruise. Wants you to have something to remember him by come morning. “Sometimes I’m really mad at you, you know?”

“Yeah, trust me, I know.”

He nods. Refuses to look you in the eye now that you’re watching him. “I still love you so fucking much and I’m still so angry. What am I supposed to do with that? What am I… fuck, I thought I was over it. I thought I’d see you and not feel a fucking thing.” There’s fresh ink on the back of his left hand. You hadn’t noticed it earlier, but you notice it now, when he runs his hands down his face.

You also notice the way the atmosphere shifts, the split second in which his heartache bleeds into something else—resolve, maybe. Obstinacy. Like he knows how this is going to end and he’s going to do it anyway. He’s going to find the most painful part and press on it, dig his fingers in, and it’s just an inevitable, foregone thing. Something he can prevent and something he’s choosing not to.

“You fucked someone else,” he sneers. Rips the foil open with his teeth, flashing too white in the dark of his bedroom. Rolls the condom on like it’s an inconvenience. Like you’re an inconvenience. “Was it good? Was it worth it?”

You roll your eyes. Feel the way your breath catches in your throat, because you’re not going to cry. Jeongguk fucked someone else and is vilifying you and it’s hypocritical and ugly and unfair, but you’re not going to cry over it. You’re going to press the gas pedal as far as it can go, say, “Yeah, it was,” and find some wicked delight in the way his eyes squeeze shut, as if it can spare him from the pain.

The two of you used to love each other. Jeongguk used to smile down at you when you were naked beneath him like this. Used to lean in close and whisper that he loved you just as he pushed inside even though you knew, you could feel it in everything he did. Now, there’s no smile. Now, he leans down and spits on your pussy and pushes inside and doesn’t tell you a goddamn thing.

Not with words, anyway.

Because the way he fucks you says it all. Impersonal, desperate, bitter. He grips your hips and fucks into you frenzied and fast. Takes your hand and puts it on your clit and tells you to get yourself off. An inconvenience. Tells you he misses your tight cunt, tells you he misses the way it milks his cock, tells you he misses watching the way you come undone underneath him, but he doesn’t tell you he misses you.

There’s a moment, just after he spills into the condom and stays inside, just catching his breath, when you think he might say it. Might tell you he loves you around the lump in his throat, might apologize, might ask if you two can’t figure it out.

There’s only a moment.

Jeongguk doesn’t say anything. Lets the moment pass. Pulls out and ties off the condom and wordlessly gets up to throw it away. It’s the silence that pisses you off. The disregard. Jeongguk hates you for something you’d lied about doing that he’d done for real, so you can be wordless, too. You can treat him like an inconvenient, cheap fuck, too. You can get up and find your clothes and pull them on and let him watch, words biting at the back of his teeth, and you can tell yourself to feel nothing.

You can say, “You’ve got a lot of fucking nerve,” and not shy away from the resentment in your voice, because it’s properly placed. “You fucked someone else, too, so you’ve got a lot of fucking nerve, Jeongguk.”

Eight months is a long time to miss someone, to play at daydreams. To think of all the things you want to say, the things you’ll do. In not one of them did you think about this: you, fully dressed and stinking of sex, saying, “It’s late. I’ll show myself out.”

Jeongguk, tears glistening on his cheeks, saying, “No, let me—baby, I’m sorry, please—I’ll drive you.”

A shake of your head. Jeongguk doesn’t push it.

Roll credits.

[ the second. ] Jimin wants to talk your ear off about it—the girl you’re seeing.

It’s new and there isn’t much to say. You tell him the two of you met at one of the student showcases put on by the art department and leave off the part about all of Jeongguk’s old friends being there, that he would’ve participated, too, if he hadn’t dropped out after you broke his heart. Leave off the part where you would’ve been there to support him instead, in another life. Leave off the part where it’d just been morbid curiosity: you, not an art student, wandering those halls to see if Jeongguk’s photographs were still framed on the wall.

“Is she nice?” Jimin asks, head nearly knocking into yours as someone shoves by him. “Fucking asshole.”

You nod. “Why would I date someone that wasn’t nice?”

Jimin, perpetually unbothered until he decidedly isn’t, sends you a look that he hides behind the rim of his cup. “Because you’re in your self-destruction era and aren’t thinking clearly.”

“The fuck does that mean?”

“Exactly what I said. You know I’m happy if you’re happy, but…” He pauses as he trails off. Tries to wrap his words in something delicate. “It’s pretty clear you still aren’t over it. That’s all.”

You snort. “That’s all?” you repeat, like it’s some small thing. Like it’s normal and fine.

“I’m sure it’s easier to pretend when the two of you are thousands of miles apart,” Jimin amends, and he must see how you bristle, stung by the callout, because his eyes soften. “Tell me about her.”

She’s beautiful and kind and smart. Smokes clove cigarettes and the smell is always clinging to her skin. You know how to make her come but don’t know what she’s majoring in—fashion, you think, because she’s always holding fabric swatches against your skin. Tells you what suits you and what doesn’t. Tells you which textures don’t work, what’s too warm, and she doesn’t need to tell you what’s too cold because you already know it’s you.

She’s beautiful and kind and smart and has no idea you’re still in love with someone else.

But you can’t tell Jimin that, can you? Can’t tell him about how she’d dragged you to a private corner in the gallery and kissed you breathless; the way she made you come on her fingers; the way Jeongguk’s name nearly slipped out of your mouth as you shook. Can’t tell him that she’s got arms full of art. Delicate patchwork; nothing like the harsh, bold colors inked into Jeongguk’s skin, but it feels the same to trace the lines.

You can’t tell him much of anything, so what you settle on is, “She’s nice—good for me,” and it doesn’t sound convincing to either of you.

Jimin doesn’t call you on it, though. Not again. Instead, he keeps his gaze steady, staring into the fire, the flames dancing wildly when you meet his eye. “You need to be careful,” he says. “You’re going to hurt her, too. Maybe worse than you hurt him.”

“Jimin—”

“Just be careful,” he reiterates, and all you can do is nod. What else is there to do besides wait for the inevitable crash and burn?

And it’s a little unfair, you think, that Taehyung grows older every single year. A little unfair that guilt won’t let you decline the invitations. A little unfair that you can still pick Jeongguk’s laughter out of a crowd. A little unfair that these hometown friends-turned-acquaintances still throw sideways glances whenever someone else touches him, as if he still has someone to answer to; as if they’re expecting something.

An hour. You’ve survived an hour longer than you did last year, and it’s not much but you’re still proud of yourself. You’ve had a drink, talked to someone other than Jimin. Managed to ignore the way Jeongguk is ignoring you; the way he immediately leaves a room as soon as you enter. Maybe it’s better like this, you reckon. Maybe it’s what you need.

An hour is long enough. Jimin doesn’t comment on the way your bones crack when you stand to leave. No one needs a reminder of growing older. He doesn’t ask if you’ll be okay, either; if you need a ride home. Instead, he stays quiet as he studies you, clearly wondering if lightning strikes twice. If you’re going to be able to walk past Jeongguk and out the door without making another mistake.

You can at least make it across Taehyung’s sprawling yard and to the house. You can dodge the sweat-slick bodies and the girls sitting in laps. You can toss your empty cup in an overflowing trash can. You can pretend the eyes on your back are well-intentioned.

You can make it to the bathroom.

Annoying, the way your phone has been vibrating all night only to disappoint you. Irrational. You scroll past the emoji-laden messages, the coy flirting, because they’re from the person you’re actually dating—the person you told you were going to sleep early—and not from Jeongguk. You should feel guilty. You should feel guilty, but the face staring back at you in the mirror doesn’t look guilty at all.

She looks tired. A little beat-down, but that’s life.

Maybe that’s just what happens when you’ve spent the last two years of your life chasing after ghosts.

A knock at the door startles you. Sends your phone tumbling to the floor, screen probably cracked to hell, and you swear under your breath. “Just a minute!” you call out, a little stunned from how threadbare you feel all of a sudden.

Still, the knocking continues, and you’re on your knees on this bathroom floor and all you want to do is cry. You don’t want to be on this floor in this house. You don’t want to keep putting in the effort of maintaining the facades of all these friendships. You don’t want to keep coming back to this town, don’t want to keep being confronted with the harsh reality of all your mistakes.

“Just a fucking min—”

The words die on your tongue, because there Jeongguk stands, all the air in your lungs dissipating at the amount of space he takes up. Even worse when he steps inside and locks the door behind him. You feel like you’re going to drown. You feel like you’re going to scream or cry or both, and you’re still on the floor, still on your knees, and it feels too much like penance when you look up at him. Feels like you’re groveling, praying for forgiveness.

You stand quickly, ignoring the rush of blood to your head, the way your legs tingle. Jeongguk still hasn’t said a word, doesn’t seem like that’s going to change, either, and it’s really all you can do to stay on your feet when everything in you is screaming to collapse.

Eventually, he says, “You’re seeing someone,” and it isn’t a question, not really, but it borders on one. It’s a question and a confirmation and somehow sounds a lot like he’s asking for permission for something.

“I—yeah.” You swallow. “It’s new.”

He hums. Steps a little closer. Leans against the sink. Darts out his tongue to swipe at his bottom lip before he tugs his lip ring between his teeth. “Yeah? Does he treat you well?”

“She,” you correct, and there’s a flash of something in his eyes. Surprise, maybe. Jeongguk, at one point, had known everything about you, but not this. “And yeah,” you add on, barely a whisper, “she does.”

Part of you feels embarrassed. Jeongguk had known everything about you but not this, and you shouldn’t feel embarrassed or guilty but it still sits there in the middle of your chest. Feels like you’ve been keeping secrets. Feels like shame, even though you aren’t ashamed. Feels like you’re awaiting judgment. But the surprise in Jeongguk’s eyes disappears and something else settles in its place—uncertainty, if you had to guess.

“Are you happy with her?”

You shrug. “Like I said, it’s new.”

And Jeongguk is as emulous as ever, because he asks, “Does it feel like what we had?” and you already know the answer is no.

“I’m not sure anything will.”

It’s honest; you hadn’t said it to appease him, but he looks pleased anyway. You’re starting to understand why so many people write about their first love. Why it’s such a powerful role to fill. Because you and Jeongguk are standing in a bathroom behind a locked door, feet apart from one another, and you think, I don’t think there’s anyone I will ever love more than him even though it’s been two years. You think, I don’t think I’ll ever recover from this.

You think, I would try over and over and over again if he asked me to.

Later on, when you’re alone in your childhood bed and your face is streaked with tears, only your shame and guilt for company, you won’t be able to figure out who moved first, but one of you had.

Once upon a time, you had known everything about Jeongguk, too. You could recite his taste from memory, but it’s different this time. He licks into your mouth and it tastes like ash—nothing like the clove cigarettes your girlfriend smokes, but close enough that the parallel burns like acid in your throat. It’s close enough that you can keep your eyes shut and pretend again.

This time there’s no softness to be found. There’s just Jeongguk’s mouth pressed to yours, barely letting you breathe, not wanting anyone to hear. There’s just the sink digging into your back. Jeongguk’s hands gripping at your waist, pulling at the hem of your skirt. There’s the frustration and desperation of two people who love each other but will never, ever get it right.

There’s Jeongguk asking, as he spits into his hand and slicks you up, if you’re going to tell her.

There’s you, already too far gone, saying you don’t know.

There’s Jeongguk asking, as you’re clenching around him and dragging him with you to the edge, if you’d come back to him if he asked you to.

There’s you, already knowing the answer to this, too, saying you would.

But this isn’t that and Jeongguk doesn’t ask. When it’s over, he tosses the condom and does a half-assed job of helping you clean up and he doesn’t ask. He splashes water on his face and fixes his hair and he doesn’t ask. He tucks his cock back into his briefs and zips his jeans and he doesn’t ask.

Jeongguk has one hand on the doorknob and he doesn’t ask you to come back. Instead, he asks, “How long are you gonna keep doing this?”

For once, you don’t have an answer.

[ the third. ] You go even farther away for grad school.

You try to put more distance between you and Jeongguk, more distance between you and all the skeletons in your closet, but you just pack them up in different boxes and bring them with you.

You spend New Year’s Eve chain-smoking in your parents’ back yard—that same brand of clove cigarettes, because hearts are easy to break but some habits are not. Sometimes it’s a comfort to hurt yourself in the same way you hurt others, so you chain-smoke and you don’t go to to Taehyung’s birthday party because you weren’t invited and it doesn’t sting in the same way that it doesn’t sting that Jimin doesn’t call you once you’re home because he hasn’t spoken to you in a year.

The clock ticks down to midnight. Someone sets off fireworks. Absolutely nothing changes.

There are no half-baked resolutions. There’s no hope that this is going to be the year you get your shit together. There’s just you and the bed you’ve made for yourself; the autopilot you can’t—won’t—turn off, because you don’t know where you’re going anyway so you might as well just go wherever it’s taking you. There’s guilt and there’s shame and there’s baggage, but they’re all old friends. Those are old scars.

The sweatshirt you’re wearing doesn’t belong to you, and it does little to protect you from the bitter cold that bites at your skin. Jeongguk doesn’t belong to you, either, but he keeps coming back to you like he does.

“Mind if I sit down?”

You shrug, gesturing to the empty chair beside you. The small fire you’d built is down to its last embers, and it’s what you focus on, because you can’t focus on Jeongguk anymore.

“You weren’t at Tae’s.”

“Wasn’t invited.”

“Oh,” he breathes. “Sorry, I didn’t know. I would’ve—”

“It’s fine. I wouldn’t have gone anyway.”

He seems to hear what you don’t say. I wouldn’t have gone because I can’t be around you anymore. I wouldn’t have gone because I don’t trust myself with you. I wouldn’t have gone because I’ve burned down every good thing in my life trying to keep you. “Oh. Yeah, that—that makes sense.”

He’d texted you. Asked if he could see you. Just wanted to talk, and you’ve never cared much for symbolism, but nearing midnight on New Year’s Eve had seemed as good a time as any to let it go, so you’d said yes. Now, when there isn’t much to say, all of Jeongguk’s flimsy excuses are laid bare. Transparent.

“Was Jimin there?”

Jeongguk nods. “You didn’t know?”

You shake your head. Feels like it’s made of concrete. “No. We haven’t talked since last winter break.”

“Because of—”

How cruel, that you’d confessed to Jimin instead of the one person who deserved to know. “Yeah.”

“I’m sorry.”

You shrug again. “It’s okay. I don’t think it’s permanent, just until I can get my shit together, I guess. Wasn’t fair to drag him into my mess anyway.”

“It’s not that easy,” Jeongguk says, and it sounds like something he wants to be true. It sounds like something he’s said countless times in defense of himself. “We’d—I’d do it if I could.”

“Yeah,” you agree, “of course.”

Silence creeps up again, so you dig another cigarette out of the pack and offer one to Jeongguk that he waves away. “Cloves? That’s a weird choice.”

“Just something I picked up along the way.”

He hears you again: They’re what she used to smoke. It helps me heal to hurt myself with something that reminds me of her. Sometimes I chain-smoke clove cigarettes and I don’t wash the smell from my hands, my clothes, my hair, because it makes me feel less alone.

So he asks, “Was it real?”

“Doesn’t matter,” you answer, flicking the wheel of your lighter, words spoken around the cigarette stuck between your lips. “It never had a chance. Not a real one, anyway.”

“Do your parents know?”

“Know what? That I went away to college and started fucking women?” Jeongguk shrugs. Has the audacity to look embarrassed. “What are you trying to ask me? You wanna know if I keep coming back to you because I’m scared to come out to my parents?”

“No. I don’t know. I just—”

The laugh that escapes you is scorched and bitter. Sounds the way the tobacco tastes. “No, Jeongguk. I keep coming back to you because I keep hoping you’ll ask me to.” I keep hoping you still want me.

“I almost did,” he admits, and you can hear how he swallows around the lump in his throat. “The first time.”

“When you were a dick about me sleeping with someone else? Yeah, okay. You didn’t want me back, you just didn’t want me to be with anyone else.”

He huffs. “How the fuck do you know what I want? You’ve never bothered to ask.”

“Because it doesn’t matter,” comes your response, stilted and practiced. “It doesn’t matter what we want, because we’re just going to keep hurting one another trying to get it right.” You suck in a breath, wipe furiously at the tears on your cheeks. “And we’re never going to.”

“You don’t know that.”

“Then ask.” Jeongguk startles, looks at you with wide eyes. “Ask me to come back for real, Jeongguk, and I will.”

A beat of silence.

Two, three, four.

Someone sets off another round of fireworks. A dog barks. It’s so cold that you can see Jeongguk’s breath each time he exhales, each time he breathes out instead of speaking. All the words he isn’t saying. And it’s exactly how you knew it would go, but it does nothing to tamp down the devastation in your chest.

You’d confessed your transgressions to Jimin and thought your silence to your ex-girlfriend was a gift, that it was sparing her the pain of what you’d done. Now you understand that someone’s silence can be the most vicious thing of all.

[ the last. ] Graduation looms. It’s the last winter break you’re spending at home.

Your therapist suspects you get your compartmentalism from your parents.

They don’t mention it. They see the stack of boxes and your bare bedroom walls and they don’t say a word about any of it. They watch you pack everything in your car and don’t offer to help. They process their grief silently, and when you can’t stand it anymore, you say, “I dated a woman my senior year of undergrad, you know.”

They don’t say anything to that, either, but it feels good to tell them. Feels a little like freedom and reclamation, like you can be who you are in front of others.

When you leave for good, you don’t want to repackage all those same skeletons.

So you meet Jimin for lunch and you take it in stride that everything is weird, that there’s nearly two years of silence to fill. You don’t ask for forgiveness and he doesn’t demand it of you, just asks if you’re doing better. “I’m doing the best I can,” you answer, and it’s human and honest enough that he accepts it with a warm smile.

Jeongguk is more difficult.

There’s no way to neatly box up that kind of baggage.

You’d intended to stop by his apartment to talk, tell him you aren’t coming back anymore. There’s nothing left here for you, you’d told him, and there was a flash of something. A there’s me, isn’t there? that had gone unsaid, destined for the same fate as a million other unspoken words between you.

Because there is him, but there’s also the way you’re desperately trying to claw back into something resembling normalcy. You’d lost yourself when you also lost Jeongguk, and you need to figure out who you are without him. You need to know who you are once you stop running and let your demons catch up with you. You need to hear what they have to say.

Maybe Jeongguk had said it best last year—“It’s not that easy. I’d do it if I could.”—because you’re nothing if not predictable and self-destructive.

You’re nothing if not naked and on your back beneath him, your fingers threaded through his hair as he rocks his hips into you, more tender than you deserve. His lips are ghosting along your skin and every press feels like a brand. Feels like he’s both making a mockery of you and declaring you ruined for anyone who might come after him. Feels like you’ll love him until you die.

(Some version of you must exist outside of Jeongguk’s grasp—outside of his orbit, his bed—but right now, as he twines your fingers together and pins them above your head, you can’t figure out who she might be.)

Eight months had been a long time to think of all the things you wanted to say, and four years is worse. Four years, and you still can’t bring yourself to ask him to try again, but there’s nothing after this, nothing to lose, so your voice is hoarse and raw when you say, “Jeongguk,” and he groans a little, nips at the column of your throat because he loves the way you say his name. “Jeongguk,” you repeat, because he senses the urgency, hears what you aren’t saying.

“Yeah, baby, say it. Whatever it is, tell me.”

He rolls his hips faster. Before, he would’ve tried to prolong the ending, but he’s hurtling towards it now. There’s nothing after this, you know, but you need the confirmation. You need to finally put all of this to rest. “I want to—” His cock strokes someplace that whites out your vision. “Fuck, want to—want you to come with me.”

He laughs, full of himself, probably smirking out the side of his mouth. “Keep squeezing me like that and I will soon.”

“No,” you insist, shocked at the conviction in your voice, “when I leave. Come with me.”

Everything slows. Jeongguk pulls back, moves his hands to cover himself, and there’s nothing but cold confusion in his absence. “What?”

“I didn’t ask you before. Last year. I just—I left it up to you, and you’re right, I didn’t ask what you wanted, but I didn’t tell you what I wanted, either. But I’m telling you now. I’m asking—”

There was never going to be anything after this.

Jeongguk’s silence says it all.

The way he pulls out and rolls you onto your stomach. The way he fucks as fast and as hard as he can. The way he used to love you openly and honestly and now holds whatever’s left close to his chest like it’s something to be ashamed of.

Someone’s silence can always be the most vicious thing of all.

Roll credits.

thank you so much for reading, and an additional thank you in advance if you decide to reblog my work. as always, my inbox is always open for any feedback! ♡

#jungkook x reader #jungkook x you #jungkook x y/n #jungkook imagine #jungkook angst #jungkook smut #jungkook fanfic #bts x reader #bts x you #bts angst #bts smut #bts scenarios #bts imagines #bts fanfic

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politemenacephd · 8 months

Text

Arachnophilia: (Part Fifteen)

Drider!Miguel O'Hara x Reader (+18)

Chapter Masterlist 🕷️

Content: Heavy Voyeurism/Mild cuckoldry, Fingering, Bondage, Praise kink, Oral (reader recieving and giving), PinV sex, Creampie, Breeding kink, Size difference, Monsterfucking, Masturbation.

Word count: 6200 Notes: this really might be the most smuttiest smut i've ever done, this shit made me blush writing it, jfc pls enjoy

You’d hoped to get home to Mig as soon as you left Miguel’s office, but at the last minute you were been called to help wrangle an escaped Lizard with a few other lower-level spiders.

You hated not being able to message Mig about your whereabouts. He knew you might be gone for most of the day but you knew he’d worry regardless, and with nothing to distract his mind it must be so much worse.

You took a few dangerous risks while trying to capture the escapee just to get it done faster, risks that your colleagues absolutely noticed. When they asked what you were thinking and you just awkwardly shrugged them off, you saw in their eyes the same mix of morbid curiosity you saw in everyone now.

Everyone knew. You couldn’t avoid it now. Whether Miguel had snapped after your fight and spread it even wider you didn’t know, but you knew you’d just have to learn to live with the universe’s judgement.

You were dating a spider. Big deal. Everyone here was a spider in some way or another, and nobody looked at MJ weirdly.

By the time you returned to Mig’s universe it was getting dark, with the sky a messy palette of dark red and purple above the darkened silhouette of the pines. You called up to Mig after dropping the tech you’d brought at the base of the nest.

‘MIG! Babe, you okay?’

‘Ah, mi arañita!’

You paused, your hand hovering over the rope ladder. Did he sound okay? You tilted your head as you replayed his voice. That was weird, he sounded almost worried? Was he still stressed out?

You grappled onto the rope and tore your way up to the entrance.

‘Hey! I’m okay Miggy, don’t worry!’

‘Arañita! Don’t—’

You grabbed the door right as he spoke, but you didn’t hear the last part of his sentence as you grunted to get over the edge.

‘Hey baby! Are you—’

You jumped out of your skin as you pushed the door aside, only barely catching yourself from falling back out and onto the earth below.

‘AH—WHAT—YOU?!’

Miguel was sitting in the nest, his body perched on one of the stools to the right side of the central fire. He didn’t even look up as you entered, but Mig rushed to steady you from falling.

‘Arañita, are you okay?’ he whispered. You didn’t hear; you were utterly fixated on Miguel.

‘What are you doing here?!’ you snapped.

Miguel narrowed his eyes, still refusing you eye contact.

‘Change of plans. Until you fill out the full paperwork to sanction this relationship, I’ve filed for an emergency supervision order. I need to be sure that you’re not breaking any rules.’

You were incredulous. Wait, is this what he’d meant? Was he really that petty? This man who was supposed to be in charge of the multiverse?

‘What- what the fuck are you— Why not put a camera up? Why not fucking warn us first?’ you snapped, your hands flying wildly as you pointed between him and the nest.

‘You could turn off a camera’ Miguel noted. ‘Besides, it’s a waste of resources.’

‘Oh, and the head of the society wasting his night watching us personally wasn’t a waste of resources?’ you argued back.

Miguel was keeping a straight face, but his smug aura radiated out of him like pus. He simply curled his lip and scoffed. ‘My job is to avoid anomalies. I’m doing that now, by ensuring that you’re both… following orders, and remaining on birth control, and that you’re not getting hurt. It seemed- the right approach, to me, as boss.’

‘You don’t need to watch us to prove that!’ you snapped back. ‘Put a- tracker in my fucking patch or something, or let me do the check ups like we agreed!’

Miguel had the audacity to yawn as you stared at him with an open mouth and clenched fists. ‘I could. But that would be a breach of your physical rights, you’d have to sign off on it, and you haven’t gone through the company mandated relationship therapy or de-escalation training. We need to agree the terms of surveillance. Until then it seemed safest to keep you on observation. That’s all.’

You opened your mouth to argue back but Miguel was faster. He raised his hand, halting you in your tracks, as those cold red eyes lingered on your face. ‘Or, would you rather hand over your watch?’ he said, his voice dipping as he spoke.

Your eyes narrowed until it hurt, your forehead furrowing with the injustice of it all.

‘You—You petty bitch.’

Both Mig and Miguel seemed startled by your language. You pointed your finger squarely at Miguel’s face, your lips drawn back over your bared teeth.

‘You petty bitch. You really think I’ll let you do this? Signing off orders so you can invade my space, because I wouldn’t sleep with you?!’

Miguel’s lips twitched. Was he holding back the urge to smile?

Mig, in contrast, looked horrified. His eyes darted between the two of you.

‘He- arañita, I-I don’t understand’ he stammered. You looked at him with nothing but sympathy in your eyes.

‘Your variant, there, revealed that apparently while I was in heat, he was hoping to— what did you say Miguel? Help me out? Ease that, hormonal pain? Something as slimy as that, anyway. He even asked why I picked you over him, and now he’s here, what a fucking surprise, huh?’

‘Mm. That’s quite the accusation. Shame you don’t have any evidence’ Miguel noted as he admired his claws.

You felt Mig beside you bristling violently.

‘You… Is this true?’ Mig murmured. He was addressing Miguel, not you, which was a comfort. He clearly believed you, as he was clutching you so tightly against his side that it was crushing your ribs.

‘Yes’ Miguel said. ‘It’s true. Of course I was interested. They reeked of heat, it was distracting. Repulsive almost. The most- desperate stench. But, that was supposed to stay between us. And it will. Because like I said, it’s your word against mine.’

‘You—’

Mig took a step forward but froze again when Miguel raised his claw, pointing it directly at your watch.

‘Again. I will remove your watch if you don’t follow the societies rules. Understand?’

You and Mig both glanced at each other. The hopelessness in your eyes was clear; you could lose your watch, and then you’d lose Mig. With a frustrated huff you turned and stormed across the nest. ‘Fucking—asshole’ you hissed beneath your breath.

Mig followed and caught you in his arms as you practically fell into his lower abdomen. You allowed his fur to muffle your continued insults.

‘It’s okay arañita. We’ll be okay.’

His soothing words were like honey, warm and sweet after a long and exhausting day. You settled into his grip.

‘So- fucking unfair’ you grumbled into his fluff. Mig didn’t disagree.

‘You need to learn some accountability’ Miguel snapped across the room. ‘You chose to do this. You chose to put yourself in a situation where you could cause an anomaly, and even though I can’t bring it forward in formal writing, you decided as a member of my society to get close to someone who is a threat. Now its my job to make sure you’re safe.’

You felt Mig breathing on your neck as he turned to watch his counterpart. His lips parted as he tasted the air with his tongue, feeling the brewing tension in the back of his throat.

In his heart, something was changing.

He’d spent so much of his life terrified of the man before him. Miguel had posed himself as the better O’Hara, the superior O’Hara, the one who knew what was best for him. But, was that true?

Mig had been told he wasn’t safe, worthy of love or affection. He was disgusting compared to Miguel, a monster in the flesh, and yet he’d soothed his self-loathing by promising that they were at least both monsters inside. Both bound to abstinence for the greater good.

And this hypocritical scum, now sitting in his nest, had tried to steal his arañita from out under his paws? How could he?

But you weren’t with Miguel, were you? Mig looked down at you as his rage boiled over. His poor arañita, nestled into his fur. No, you were with him. You’d slept with him, and you were still alive.

You’d looked him in the eye, knowing what he’d done, and you’d said he was still beautiful to you. You said you’d stay. Not with Miguel, but with him, the monster.

In his heart, something was definitely changing.

‘Fine. Miguel, you may stay’ Mig bluntly replied. ‘I’ll let you observe.’

Miguel, ignorantly assuming Mig’s concession was a sign of him backing down, took a step forward. He had such a smug look on his face.

‘Good. If you want to continue this charade, then you have to—’

Miguel’s words turned to muted gibberish as you squeaked. Mig had grabbed you between his forelegs and arms, and while Miguel had been preparing his self-righteous speech, he’d lifted you up into the air. This wouldn’t have been that unusual spare for one thing: Mig had shifted his fluffy little foreleg between your thighs, and now it was lightly probing at your clothed pussy.

Miguel just stared, too blankly shocked to respond.

‘Mi arañita, I’m so glad you’re home. I missed you so much.’

Mig purred softly as his hands began to grope you in a similar manner. He cupped your chest and your waist with his clawed fingers, lightly ripping the fabric to reveal the tender skin beneath. He prodded your clit a second time and noted the way you squirmed.

‘M-Mig, fuck—that’s, sensitive—’

‘Mmhm. Soft little pretty spider’ Mig breathed. ‘So, so pretty… Let me help you relax.’

‘What- the, f- what the fuck are you doing?’ Miguel spat in disgust.

Mig’s foreleg continued to squish against your clit, the fluffy appendage moving in neat little circles over the bunched-up fabric. He pushed it in until your lips were perfectly highlighted by the thin silk. You felt Miguel staring.

‘F-Fuck—’ Your legs kicked involuntarily as a whimpered moan escaped you.

‘I said, what do you think you’re doing?!’ Miguel repeated louder.

‘I’m just abiding by the rules, sir’ Mig hissed. ‘If you want to observe, then you may observe. But this is my home, and I’ll act how I usually would on my own territory.’

It clicked for you then, still suspended in a potent mix of embarrassment and pleasure, what Mig was doing. You caught Miguel’s eye. This selfish asshole, who’d hounded and followed and attempted to embarrass you at every turn, was now stuck here watching Mig ravage your body. Against your better judgement, you were filled with the sheer thrill of embarrassing him right back.

You gave in and relaxed in Mig’s grip. ‘M-Miggy, fuck—more, please—’

You whimpered as he moved in to kiss your neck. His full lips were warm and wet on your jugular. You felt his tongue on your skin, his claws kneading your chest. A full body shudder went through you as he gently bit down and sucked.

‘F-Fuck- Mig—’

He was rough on your neck, his fangs easily piercing down through the soft flesh. It was a potent mix of pain and pleasure, especially with his paw still massaging your clit. Your blood was pumping at this point. Your pussy throbbed in short bursts with each tender caress.

‘You—Y-You—’

To his horror, Miguel stammered. He couldn’t even find the words to berate you with. All he could do was stand and stare, eyes fixated on this ravenous display of sexual need, powerless and confused.

‘Mm—mm—’ Mig released your neck with a wet pop and a satisfied grunt, revealing a deep red and blue hickey mark. He kissed it once.

‘Mm- you like that, arañita? Mi tesoro?’ he whispered.

‘Yes, fuck—so much. I missed you so much.’

Miguel continued to stare as Mig dropped you to the mattress. He watched his variant crawl across you, with his abdomen rustling and his soft paws tapping. He was drooling venom, practically shaking with the adrenaline rush of having an audience to his physical validation.

You reached out and sleepily welcomed him with open arms, drawing him down with your arms around his neck.

‘Let me mate with you, arañita’ Mig begged, his voice muffled as he kissed your neck. ‘Please. I need you. I need you. Te necesito, mi tesoro, te lo pido por favor.’

‘Yes’ you breathed, ‘yes. Please.’

Miguel snapped his eyes away and gripped the edge of the nest with his claws. He couldn’t stand this. If he left, he was a liar, but if he stayed he had to endure this show. He could tell you to stop, but, could he force you to stop?

He could have theoretically started a fight. He could have. He could have continued barking at you to stop.

But he didn’t. He just stood there, eyes on the wall and arms folded, trying to ignore your sweet little whimpers as Mig tore your suit aside.

He drew you close with his spider legs and began to spin a silken web across your bare skin, easily turning and spinning your body. He was soft, dexterous, so alien on your human skin. Such a filthily delicious taboo.

You lay back and let your monster bind you. You succumbed to him far too easily.

Mig spun you into a shibari style tie, with a neat little spider web on your chest and your hands tightly bound at your sides. He finished by binding your ankles with webbing he’d attached from the ceiling, using it to draw them up until they were taut and spread, with your hips right at the same height as where his phallus would emerge.

‘There. Perfect. Are you comfortable, arañita? In my web?’ he asked.

‘Y-Yes’ you rasped.

You watched Mig give an affectionate grunt as he admired you from above. He was huge. You saw his abdomen twitching and rustling with anticipation, the black fur faintly glowing the same red as his eyes.

‘Mig’ you whimpered, your lips pathetically wet. You were so hot it hurt.

‘Arañita…’

Mig purred as he put his clawed hand on your naked rear, giving your right ass cheek a firm squeeze. He wanted to look at your tight little hole, desperately dripping and clenching around nothing, aching for attention. You felt him brush one calloused finger against it and jolted in place.

‘That’s my little spider’ he purred. You felt him circling his finger around your entrance, stroking that velvety flesh until you whined.

‘Mi tesoro, my precious thing. Let me see how much you’ve missed me.’

He pushed two fingers in and you melted. The moan that escaped your lips was loud enough to echo, loud enough to grate on Miguel’s ears until he hissed.

He was trying not to look. He was facing the wall, body rigid as stone, but the noises were getting to him regardless. His mind kept imagining what you felt like.

‘You were supposed to be observing, sir’ Mig noted. He was still fucking you with his fingers, still spreading you wide as you dribbled over his hand, but his eyes were fixed on his counterpart now.

Miguel refused to turn. His eyes darted, once, and he immediately felt that disgusting flush rising in his cheeks.

‘I’ll- kill you, I swear to god’ Miguel seethed.

‘You can just go’ Mig offered. He was aggravatingly calm, the only emotion in his voice the slight pant of arousal from feeling you clench around his fingers. ‘If you’re- uncomfortable, with how I conduct myself with my mate.’

‘I can’t just, go, I am stationed here’ Miguel spat. ‘YOU could have some human dignity and cover yourself up!’

‘This is my home. My territory. THIS is my territory’ Mig replied coldly, emphasising the word ‘this’ by pushing his fingers as deep as he could. You bucked your hips and cried out in response, something that make Miguel’s stomach knot.

‘It is normal for- males, to assert their territorial claim. You’ve given me no other option. Besides, aren’t you curious? Since you’re so- good, and abstinent. Right? That’s what you told me, so how about I show you what it looks like?’

Miguel was forced once more to look away. The sound of you moaning, the sound of you pathetically whimpering, and worst of all the wet slap of Mig’s hand against your pussy as he pulsed his fingers in and out, it was stirring up something potent in him.

Anger and arousal flooded his mind. He was fighting to not throb. He couldn’t allow it, he couldn’t. He’d never forgive himself if he got enjoyment from this.

But, fuck you sounded so wet. You’d probably swallow him whole, begging and whining the whole time. Were you a little brat when fucked, complaining about it being too big, or did you beg for more? No. You probably took it all, your eyes covered in those pretty little tears as you were fucked raw.

He violently shook his head as if that would clear his thoughts, but your body cruelly decided to cum right as he was reaching the peak of his tether.

‘F-FUCK—’

Your back arched as that sweet release flooded over you. All you could see was Mig’s smug, fang-filled grin as he felt your insides clench, his enormous spider legs pattering back and forth to indicate his own excitement.

‘There you go. Well done, mi amor, you feel so pretty when you cum.’

Your body went limp as your orgasm sapped all your energy away, but Mig wasn’t done. He shifted himself down between your spread thighs and began licking up your slick with his flat, wet tongue, that warm muscle flicking deliciously right on your overstimulated clit.

You screamed, unabashedly, in a way that drove Miguel mad.

With a wet pant Mig pulled back just to slather you with praise. ‘Estas mojadita, mm- Quiero explorar tus sabores, arañita.’

You knew he was speaking deliberately to provoke Miguel, but you didn’t care. You enjoyed it even more that way.

He settled down to gently suck on your clit, his red eyes fixed on Miguel’s rigid form in the corner. The man was trying his hardest to stay sober but his eyes kept darting, and every time they did Mig widened his lips and ran his full tongue across your folds, wilfully dribbling hot spit and venom down your sensitive lips.

Miguel quickly looked away, but he just kept looking back.

You kept wincing from the overstimulation, your wet lips parting and then pursing hard to avoid screaming again. You must be so god damn sensitive, he thought. Such a fucking brat. Crying over a tongue like that.

He felt his cock throb and struggled to adjust his suit. He wondered what you tasted like. He’d never got to taste one before. It probably tasted amazing.

‘Mm… so soft…’ Mig murmured, his voice muffled by your pussy as he continued his rabid smothering of your cunt with his tongue. He wasn’t skilled so much as desperately passionate, and god knows it was enough.

‘Wish—I could eat you right up—all of you, all of you, mm—’

His eyes were dangerously red, but you were too close to cumming to care. His claws dug into your hips as he pulled you into his mouth, his lips soft as they ravenously made out with your clit.

You came quickly the second time.

‘FUCK—’

As you shuddered in his grip his entire body shivered, a low rustle emanating from his abdomen as it visibly shook.

‘Ahh.. ah, good arañita, that’s it’ he breathed dreamily. He was still licking, still lapping up everything he could, to the point that his spit was sliding and dripping down your thighs and rear and back.

Once you collapsed with exhaustion for the second time, Mig began to move in. He couldn’t wait a second longer. His cock was painfully erect, having sprung from the slit on his abdomen the moment he tied you down, and it was aching for you.

‘Here. Help get me wet’ he said softly.

You looked up to find Mig bent over your bound head, his thick shaft lightly pulsing about an inch from your lips. You could see each black vein pulsing, the tip already smeared in pearly cum. In a trance you licked it.

‘M-mm—that’s it, that’s it.’

It was adorable the way he shivered at just the lightest brush of your tongue. He let you take the tip into your mouth and gently suck on it a little. Fuck, you thought, his cum was sweet. Strangely sweet. The sensation of warm, heavy, throbbing skin on your tongue was mesmerising.

After a few wet licks Mig gently released your mouth with a wet pop. With everything now utterly saturated and sopping, he moved to fuck you instead.

‘Shh, that’s it’ he soothed. You stirred in your bindings as he mounted your strapped body.

‘I’ve got you. You can take it.’

With both hands on your ankles, Mig drew you body up and began to penetrate. Instinctively you squirmed.

‘A-Ah--!’

‘Shh, shh. You’re so tight, mi tesoro. Can you loosen up for me?’ Mig affectionately whispered. You tried your best to relax as he edged deeper but with an audience it was hard. His thick veined cock was pulsating hard, stuck with only about a fourth of it inside you.

In truth, Mig was enjoying it. He would never hurt you, but, was his ego slightly peaked at how big he looked inside you? Absolutely. Spiders were judged on their size, after all, and that primal part of his brain loved feeling so large. He wanted Miguel to see you spread wide on his cock.

‘Shh, you can do it. You’ve done it so many times before, arañita.’

Another subtle jab, one that made Miguel sneer.

Mig gave himself plenty of time to fit. He’d pump a few times, gently stretching you out, and when it proved too tight he moved to licking you instead. He’d let his cock slide out and replaced it with his tongue, eagerly slathering every inch of your pussy with venom and spit. The venom helped ease the ache and the spit was lubricating enough, and after three or so tries he bottomed out.

You whimpered as he settled himself inside you. Yes, you’d taken him many times, but it always took you by surprise. You were stretched to the limit, your belly bulging, his thick shaft putting a heavy pressure on your muscles that you felt whenever you moved. When he throbbed it pulsed through your entire body.

He could see those pretty little tears on your lashes as you grappled with the pressure, the light pain in your core.

‘F-Fuck… ‘s so big, fuck—’ you whined.

‘You’re doing so good’ Mig praised. He vibrated his abdomen just a little to help ease the ache, as it allowed his shaft to gently vibrate against your insides. Your body shuddered at the unusual sensation. ‘Shh, you’re doing so, so good. That’s it. You’re taking it so well.’

Slowly, Mig started to move.

His whole body arched as he thrust into you, the power of each movement making your thighs and ass jiggle on impact. He loved feeling how soft you were, how squishy and comparatively small you were against him, how his claws sank into your bare skin. He started to pant.

‘Ah… ah, that’s it.’

In the corner Miguel was wincing. His eye kept twitching from the strain of not looking, and now the soft thwap of your mating was ringing in his ears. He couldn’t stand this. He couldn’t take his humiliation. He couldn’t take it.

‘Ah-- Maybe I’ll, rip that patch off, arañita’ Mig purred. He was pushing the limits in this pussy drunk state, pushing every button that Miguel possible had.

‘I think—you deserve a belly full of my babies, don’t you, sweetheart?’ he panted. ‘I want to see what you do with my seed. Let- let me fill you, please, pretty little spider. Let me get you pregnant.’

It was too much. Miguel snapped. He rose to his feet and stormed forward in a blind rage, his claws spread and ready to tear you both apart.

‘¡QUÉ CABRÓN ERES!—’

But then he faltered. Once actually face-to-face with the mirror image of himself he weakened, because Mig was, as you’d noted before, huge. He was bent over to fuck you but still had to look down at Miguel, his red eyes burning in the dim light. His fangs were bigger, his claws sharper, and his body heftier from carrying such weight.

Miguel froze. He’d always seen Mig cowering or backing down, too afraid of his own strength to show it, but he wasn’t afraid anymore. To his great shame, Mig saw the hesitation in his eyes. The spider’s lips curled into a soft smile.

Mig continued to move inside you, openly panting onto his counterpart’s face with each hard thrust.

‘Mm—mm—mmf—’

You jolted slightly with each pump as your belly bulged.

Beneath the two you were helpless, your body small and bound. You were inches away from Miguel’s thick thighs, his carefully contoured pelvis sitting right above your face. You saw his suit throb and desperately tried to look away.

‘You— Y-You—’ Miguel bared his teeth in a desperate attempt to regain control, but his eyes gave away his own perverted thoughts. He was losing. His breath was hot and his cheeks were the colour of burnt umber.

You let out another pitiful whine as Mig arched himself back, allowing just half of his shaft to pump into you so he was rubbing your g-spot. You immediately swooned, a slurry of mewls and moans dripping from your wet lips.

Miguel couldn’t help it. He looked down.

Right in front of Mig he looked down at you, bound and helpless beneath, brainlessly taking that monstrous cock right into your guts.

His lips parted, flashing just an inch of fang. His own lips were wet at this point.

‘F-Fuck’ he grunted.

He could see it pulsing in and out. He could see the glistening slick coating his abdominal fur, thick and sticky and hanging in strings. He could see the way your cunt stretched to swallow every inch of Mig’s shaft. How could you let out those soft, needy moans when you were impaled like that?

‘Fffuuuccck’ he repeated in a low whine.

‘Mine.’

Mig hissed that word with dangerous intent, right in Miguel’s face. He continued to pant on him as he pumped, and Miguel continued to watch you get fucked. His hand was shaking at this point.

‘Sweet arañita, who do you belong to?’ Mig panted.

You felt his cock slipping right up against your velvety little cunt and abruptly clenched, involuntarily squirting slick all over his soft fur. It clung to his fur in pearly strings, and he gave an approving grunt as he felt it.

‘Arañita, mi amor, your body is too kind, but I need your words’ he whispered. He was unnervingly calm as he rocked inside you.

‘I-I’m yours’ you dumbly panted. You were rewarded with another toe-curling insertion, that perfectly timed grind which pushed his fat girth into your spot. A flood of aching pleasure forced you to squirt again.

‘MMF- Mmm, Mig!’

‘That’s it, good arañita. You’re all mine’ Mig praised a second time.

Miguel couldn’t stop watching. It was maddening.

Instinctively his hand began to creep downward, his fingers shaking as they drifted to your swollen clit. He wanted to feel how wet it was, how warm, but the moment he drifted over your lips he was forced back by Mig.

The larger spider hissed violently, his pale green venom pooling and dribbling from his mouth. A little bit hit Miguel’s cheek as he fell onto his backside.

‘Mine’ he repeated. ‘I’ll let you look, but you don’t touch.’

The embarrassment was unbearable. Miguel scowled, torn between a desire to leave and a desire to fight. Those urges he’d desperately tried to avoid were ruining his brain.

Seeing Miguel’s obvious distress, Mig decided to make it so much worse. He wasn’t done humiliating his other half, not yet.

‘Unless, they want you to’ he panted. Mig pulled back and gently tilted your body so you’d catch Miguel’s eye, all while maintaining his wet probing of your cunt.

‘Do you want him, arañita? Or do you want me?’

At this point you’d been fucked dumb, and you were barely coherent. You were drooling onto the silk, your thighs saturated in slick and sweat, your legs trembling from overstimulation as he continued to fill you like a toy.

‘You’ you whined with zero hesitation, ‘you, I want—you, please, Mig, more—’

You didn’t see the overt disappointment in Miguel’s face, the bruising of his ego. You didn’t see the jealousy in his face as Mig groaned.

‘You sure?’ Mig purred. His gratification was fuelling his over-confidence, as was the sweet release of feeling wanted after years of neglect. ‘You wouldn’t want some extra?’

‘Mm—want—you, p-please—f-fuck its so good, so—big— you’re amazing, Mig.’ Your words were slurring each time he pumped his cock, but he heard you loud and clear.

‘Even though I’m a- filthy, half-way spider?’ he coaxed. ‘Even though I’m- a monster?’

‘Yes- f-fuck, you’re my spider’ you whined.

His whining got louder, his moans turning to pathetic whimpers. He seemed more aroused by that than anything else.

‘Ah- you want me to mate with you?’ he pleaded.

‘Yes, yes—please.’

‘You want my babies, arañita? You want me to impregnate that pretty little body? Get you nice and full?’

‘Yes, yes, fuck—’

Those soft words tipped you over the edge as you orgasmed for the third time, your desperate moans echoed out into the wider forest. Mig savoured them with a look of pure ecstasy on his face. ‘F-fuck, you’re- so tight—good arañita, so good, well done’ he breathlessly praised.

Miguel wanted nothing more than to break his counterparts chiselled face. He could feel his claws extending, his heart pounding. He was itching for a fight. But, if he fought him, he’d have to stop watching. Those soft sounds were addictive as they floated through his mind, lulling him like a siren call.

Miguel took another look at your glassy eyes and wet lips, your body shimmering with sweat as you moaned. He felt himself throb. It was, in a way, easing his rut, by vicariously experiencing this primal breeding.

It was mortifying, but he stayed. He stayed back and watched as Mig continued to mate you.

‘Mm- fuck they’re so tight’ Mig moaned, now directly addressing Miguel. ‘So- soft, so- tight—so small. Can’t, wait to fill them—’

‘You’re disgusting’ Miguel spat.

Mig didn’t even seem to hear. His eyes were half closed, his lips parted as he felt your sweet cunt squeeze the life out of him.

‘Mm—mm—mi arañita—mine’ he repeated, over and over with each thrust. Miguel buried his face in his knees.

The clap of his fluffy abdomen on your bare ass filled the nest as he started to get rougher. He looked high, his eyes almost pink in the dim light. Every part of him was shaking.

‘Ah—I’m inside them—I’m inside them—’

You squeaked as Mig started to push your ankles back, curling your spine so he could get deeper. He’d involuntarily covered the floor in webbing from his sheer excitement. He was like a man in rapturous prayer.

‘I’m inside them-- they’re mine—’

Each wet thrust was now splashing slick as Mig began to verbally pant. He was spanking your body with each insertion, releasing the most obscenely lewd noises.

‘Okay, I’m close- I’m close, fuck—stay still for me arañita, that’s it—’

With a guttural groan Mig aggressively ejaculated inside you, his abdomen jerking and grinding to get each spurt as deep into your cunt as possible. You welcomed the thick warmth as it soothed your stretched out muscles.

Miguel had no choice. His pride wouldn’t let him leave, so he watched Mig cum inside you.

He fixated on your face as it happened, his sharp eyes watching the drool pooling from your open lips as your eyes rolled. He sneered, trying to disguise his jealousy with disgust. He could have done that easily, he told himself, he could have filled you just as well.

‘Ah…. Fuck, are you okay arañita?’

As Mig gently rocked to a halt he bent to check your face, tenderly nestling your cheek. You could only moan in response.

‘I’m- so, good—so, so good…’

Mig let out a soft sigh of relief. Somehow, the tenderness of his aftercare seemed to disgust Miguel more than anything else he’d seen. He was scowling openly as Mig gently slid himself out and admired his work.

‘Pretty little spider… Do you want to see?’

Miguel was taken aback as Mig addressed him directly. The larger man had his hand on your suspended hips, his eyes glowering in the candlelight.

The two narrowed their eyes almost in unison. Miguel knew he should leave, but he was too far gone at this point to stop. It was over. He was a beaten dog of a man, so why not indulge once more? He silently walked across the room to admire your quivering body.

‘Is that okay, arañita?’ Mig whispered to you. You nodded, and with a grunt Mig lifted your hips for Miguel to see.

You were utterly soiled at this point. Mig put his huge hand on your rear and tilted you gently, showing off the thick white seed oozing down your thighs. He made a point to push some back inside you with his finger, only for even more to squish out. You were stuffed.

Miguel shamefully relished the sight. It was strangely soothing, like he was tricking his brain into thinking he’d finished himself and could therefore ease the rut he was in.

‘This is mine’ Mig purred, his claw squeezing your right cheek until it left a red imprint. ‘This beautiful little creature, is mine. Understood?’

As Mig quietly addressed Miguel again he made a point of sealing your entrance shut with his web, excreting a thick and sticky plug right over your cunt. You oomphed as he did.

‘Yes’ Miguel hissed through gritted teeth.

‘And you won’t stop me enjoying them’ Mig added coldly. ‘I… I, deserve this. I’m not a threat. I’m not like, you.’

Mig felt you proudly shuffle your hips into his palm.

‘I’m not a threat’ he repeated. ‘And you can hound us all you want. I’m done with you now. I have… I have them.’

As you rolled and moaned on the floor Miguel felt his nose involuntarily wrinkling. He was still a mess of anger, resentment, and arousal, all of which were fighting each other in a gut-churning mess. All he knew is, he couldn’t stay here another minute.

‘You’re both animals. You deserve each other’ he grunted.

Miguel stormed towards the nest’s entrance as Mig began to cut you free. ‘I’ll finish my watch outside’ he called over his shoulder, and when Mig’s only response was to chuckle he snarled.

Miguel pushed open the door and jumped to the ground, his feet thumping as he hit the cold forest floor.

As he moved into position to watch he could hear you giggling above him in the nest. He couldn’t make out what you were saying but you sounded happy. Mig sounded happy too, with his soft words and his gleeful chuckles.

Miguel breathed out, hard, his breath turning to vapor in the air. The forest was a sea of black and white, with no illumination spare the pale, draining light of the moon.

He stood, rigid, as he listened to you and Mig laughing upstairs.

And then he palmed his crotch. He rubbed himself hard, his calloused fingers feeling each inch of his own fat girth.

His breath came a little faster. His blood was pumping in the cold air, his body steaming. With a desperately muffled moan he phased his suit away at the groin and began to stroke his cock.

‘Fuck…. Fuck, fuck—’

He was dripping pre-cum in mere seconds as he strained in his own fist. In his mind, he indulged. It made him sick to his stomach but he indulged regardless. He thought about your pleading, your doe eyes as you blinked away those overstimulated tears. The sounds of pleasure. The sounds of being wanted.

It was easy to blank out Mig’s lower body. It was easy to see that as him, to put himself there like a mirror, and to pretend he was receiving your praise, that he was inside you. It was him, after all. His face, his eyes.

No one-night stands. No desperate, animal fucking to placate his brain. He could pretend for one moment he was experiencing something real. Those soft words, that need for more. I’m yours, you’d said. He replayed it in his mind.

So wet. So tight. Squirming on his cock, begging for more. Begging for him. Pulsing, filling, breeding. Being so wanted that you’d let him get you pregnant.

Oh god. Being wanted.

He vicariously put himself in his counterpart’s place, and with his free hand over his mouth he orgasmed onto the ground below. It was hard enough to make his body shudder and his knees weak. He coated the grass in his seed, the strings glistening slightly in the pale moonlight, before slowly phasing his suit back on.

The post-orgasm clarity hit him like a bus. Now satiated all he had was rage. Rage at himself that he couldn’t accept, and so just as he’d vicariously lived through his variant, he shifted all the blame to Mig.

He was going to ruin his counterpart’s life, whether it killed him or not.

But, first, he’d live through him. Link to next part

#miguel o'hara #miguel o'hara x reader #miguel o'hara fanfiction #miguel x reader #drider #miguel o'hara x you #smut #arachnophilia #smut with plot #miguel o'hara smut #drider miguel o'hara #monster human relationship #monster fucker #miguel o'hara au

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murfpersonalblog · 4 months

Text

IWTV S2 Ep4 Musings - BUFFOON! 🤡 (Spoilers)

Uhhh.... WHY are they all hanging out in a restaurant? Isn't this in violation of SOMETHING?

YAAAS, R-26 is where Josephine Baker hung out! Jacob said he really wanted a scene there. WE WERE ROBBED! They saw Louis' photos!? And he's SHOWING OFF, loud as all getout at the table, jfc the snobbery. 😭 INDOOR VOICE, ffs! He's rubbing in their faces that there's WAY more to life than covens, and clearly it STINGS.

THE DEVIL IS A LIE.

Lou IS a "waterfall of pretension" though, NGL, Celeste has a point there. Yelling about genius and modernity and blahblah--I'd feel dumb AF next to Louis, OOF.

Thus, the pettiness begins.

SAME, Celeste, I CACKLED. Shut this bougie queen up, Santiago! For us plebs! (I'm going straight to hell for siding with Santiago.)

Just a bit, love. You can't help it, it's the plantation owner in you.

DE POINTE du Lac, a-hole.

Dang. 👀

DANG! 🤦

Fight back, Louis! Fight back!

😱 MAYDAY! MAYDAY! 😱

AND I HOLLERED! 🙌

HE SAID IT TWICE, OML!!! 👏

Don't be using the F-word in this nice establishment, Armand.

This was PERFECT!!! ^0^ I love how they switched up Santiago's Mimic Gift so he could use it to clock Louis & Claudia's lies--ain't no way in the world that Southern drawl is anywhere near Chicago. 😅

And I love how Armand had tried so hard to get Louis to join in on coven activities, only to have Louis piss all over it by calling them uncultured swine, acting all highfalutin cuz Lou knows he's got so much more he COULD be living for than just goofy vamp nonsense--curfews & rules, GTFOH. Louis' been his own boss his whole life, and not even Lestat's crazy arse could get him to do things Louis didn't wanna do. Louis said take your whole coven & shove it. 😤

#louis de pointe du lac #louis de pointe du black #interview with the vampire #iwtv season 2 spoilers #iwtv tvc metas #the hype is real #must see tv

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nolita-fairytale · 1 year

Note

hi gen! hope this finds you well!!!! and hope i’m not late to the party… but i’ve been thinking about luca having a long distance relationship. and since most of the time chefs have cooking as an act of care, could you think of hc for luca in this situation?

@translatemunson thanks for sending this one in.

dating chef luca long distance: a headcanon

dating chef luca long distance would look like:

while luca works early most mornings, the two of you make sure to keep in touch. texts, voice memos, phone calls and facetimes when you can because he wants to connect with you as often as possible.

luca is always sending you tiktoks/instagram reels once he's off work -- things he thinks you might enjoy. you love to send pics back and forth: things you're doing, a great meal you had, a selfie when you have something funny to tell him or just when you miss him.

luca does not have read receipts and neither do you because truly, read receipts are unhinged and just make everyone involved anxious. (not me coming for read receipts, oops)

you try to physically see each other every 1 - 3 months, depending on where you're located, at least until your make it to your long distance end date. hear me out: i think that luca is going to move to you. "there will always be work for me as a chef, babe. and i want to be with you."

the week before a scheduled trip, it feels like time can't move any faster. you normally don't have too much trouble with distance, aside from missing him, but that week leading up to always feels agonous.

speaking of, leading up to a trip, luca busies himself with planning out menus, things he wants to make you, places he wants to take you, knowing that food is such a strong love language for the both of you.

the moment you reunite is always so sweet. in some ways, you don't mind the distance because it always feels so exciting when you see him for the first time after a few weeks to months apart. and can we talk about the reunion sex?! it is hot, hot, hot and it's the first thing the both of you want to do when you're reunited. (fully projecting here because i once had a long distance relationship and that ways always the first thing we did).

when you're not together... i don't think you and luca are big sexters... per say... but the man will indulge in phone sex when the mood strikes. just picture it. that deep voice over the phone telling you to touch yourself?! asking you how it feels? moaning with the phone on speaker while you tell him how much you need him?! how you can't wait to be together, jfc.

every day with him feels special, whether it be luca making you breakfast in bed or the two of you just doing nothing together, watching movies, cooking something together. he makes the most mundane of things feel like magic because the man has your heart.

somedays are harder than others, and you feel like you're missing out -- when his hair is longer, when he finds a new cafe that's become routine for him but is something you're only just finding out about -- and it makes your heart ache for the day that you get to live in the same city together.

long distance is hard, but you and luca make it as easy as possible by being kickass communicators and by meeting each other halfway. on the days it feels harder than others, you hold space for each other, recognizing that, while normally you feel good about it... you really fucking miss each other.

i know i wrote this in burn your life down but i stand by it: luca is a letter writer. perhaps after a particular tough day where you're missing the hell out of him, luca decides to surprise you by sending you some snail mail. you receive it a few days to a week later (depending on where you are in the world) and the care and love he poured into this surprise reminds you that it's all worth it.

this song and these lyrics make me think of dating luca long distance, so i will leave us on this note:

"so, can we strip down to our vitals? i'm obsessed with your design and I've missed your soul forever" -- superbloodmoon, holly humberstone & d4vid

#chef luca #will poulter #luca the bear #the bear season 2 #the bear headcanon #luca x reader #the bear hulu #the bear fx #the bear fanfiction #chef luca x reader #pastry chef luca #nolita fairytale's follower celebration #nolita fairytale’s follower celebration

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wrathofrats · 1 month

Note

If you’re still accepting kiss/ship prompts 👉👈 ivy and pebble #17 to distract, pretty please 🖤

This has been so long and I don’t know why because I love them

I tried to wait for better inspo to give them more justice but jfc I could so I am sorry for the 400 word banter this is haha. Or it’s pebble ivy /zephrit date night

————

Ivy shoved his face further into pebbles shoulder as the girl on the screen gave a sickening wail.

“Not having fun honeysuckle?” Pebble smiled, rubbing ivys back as he shook his head still hiding from the tv. Ifrit gave a small laugh as more fake blood pooled around and splashed onto the camera. The effects were cheap, obvious dummies and latex that had zephyr and ifrit more than amused.

“You know it’s not real, right Ivy?” Zephyr leaned over ifrit to cock their eyebrow at the other pair on the opposite end of the couch. Ivy only peeked over pebble to give a sad look. Like he did understand realistically it was fake, but he couldn’t help but be scared anyways.

Ivy flinched as the sound of a chainsaw roared through the living room.

“We can go to bed if you’re not enjoying it” pebble whispered in ivys ear so ifrit and zephyr couldn’t hear, “I’ll tell them I have a headache and can’t sleep without my houseplant” there was a light hearted tone in pebbles voice, the feeling of his smile against ivys scalp making him instantly melt again from his tense state.

“I’ll be fine, I want to hang out with the others as well”

“So you like them more than me?”

“Shut up”

Pebble let out a loud cackle as ivys form tensed up again from the gore. Ifrit threw a piece of popcorn at pebbles head to get his attention before quickly reaching to grab it as it got stuck.

“We can watch something else, I think I saw grease or something while finding this movie, Ivy loves musicals”

“And so you’re picking zephyrs favorite musical?” Pebble asked

Ifrit gave a small giggle before pulling zephyr closer, “Compromise!”

Pebble grabbed at Ivy to move him into his lap so he could full wrap his arms around him. He gave him a tight squeeze before leaning his head on top of his.

“Don’t worry I’ll protect you” pebble gave a dramatic kiss to the side of his cheek, complete with a wet smacking sound for full effect while Ivy gave a small laugh.

As the killers music started again on screen pebble turned ivys chin towards his, planting a small kiss on his lips. Ivy grabbed at his collar pulling him closer when he tried to back away. They stayed like that for a minute, ivys grip slowly loosening on pebbles sweatshirt as he realized he wasn’t going to turn away again.

“You guys are disgusting” zephyr groaned

#the band ghost #ghost #nameless ghouls #ghost bc #wrath writes #pebble ghoul #ivy ghoul #zephyr ghoul #ifrit ghoul

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nyarlathotep-thecrawlingchaos · 1 year

Text

Oh look more headcanons

Who'd have guessed

Not me for sure

Okay sorry I'll shut up.

I'm highly music-driven and have been for many many years of my life.

And I'm presently unreasonably obsessed with The Fratellis after suddenly remembering they exist after like fifteen years of not hearing a single one of their songs. Don't ask me, it just happened a couple months ago and I decided not to question it.

So this is really stupidly niche of me, but these are their songs/lyrics that I associate with the Best Boys™, in a Character X Reader sense. The songs that are typically playing halfway on repeat when I'm writing any of them lately.

The song-links go to Spotify. It's not necessary to listen to them, the lyrics here are the main catalyst, but if you want to listen I'm not going to complain.

no but please I hope you like the music that I like I have no one to talk to about it and as a half-assed musician it's literally killing me and

Anywho.

Zoro

Living in the Dark

I was nothing less than torn, crying out to be reborn

Come back, baby, you could make me happy,

Maybe you could prove me wrong

You're the only one who could ever save me,

Maybe you could prove me wrong

I've been living in the dark down here too long

The song itself is far more upbeat than I'd generally associate with Zoro, but the lyrics speak to me on his behalf. The upbeat tempo is the equivalent of what you do to his heart when you're near him; it's strange and unfamiliar, but it's nice. He's iffy about being close with anyone, and he won't admit it out loud but he wants to be.

He's been alone for years, for damned near all of his life, and you're like the light at the end of that tunnel. He might try to push you away or be aloof and impersonal at first because the thought of being vulnerable frightens him a little, but he wants to be proven wrong. He wants to let you in, and he's willing to try.

Sanji

Sugartown

I get the strangest sense we were lovers past-tense

Like a dog in heat I just can't be indiscreet

And when I see you there, I whisper my prayer, so sweet

I'm getting shakey on my feet, I'm incomplete

And if you just can't do me right

Then, honey, please, do me wrong

I'll be your one man band, I'll be at your command

Just say the word and I'll be your Renaissance man

This entire damned song is the anthem of Sanji. It's like a 1950's bop, the type of song that you can't help but smile at. It's sweet and cute and pining, just like our favorite chef. He's just utterly obsessed and hoplessly devoted to you and every single thing you do. He can't keep his eyes or his mind off of you at any given time.

Just the sight of you entering the room takes his breath away, puts stars in his eyes. He would do or give absolutely anything to have you and to keep you forever, and he's going to make sure you know it.

Shanks

Babydoll

Babydoll, do you believe they'll catch you when you fall?

And when morning comes, the sun is gonna shine

Don't forget, your minor keys your half-lit cigarette

'Cause when morning comes, I know that you'll be mine

So let me in

I'm ready to beg and to sing for my sins

Not leave it to chance and sweet coincidence

I don't know. The soft yet slightly playful tone of the song in general just screams Shanks to me for no reason I can completely put in words. This particular portion of the lyrics is what I associate most with him.

He knows he wants you, and he wants to make sure you know it. Not to beat around the bush about it, but not pressure you either. Just make sure you know how much he cares about you and be as gentle and sweet as possible to prove it...and he knows it's going to work, and that you're already his whether you know it or not. But jfc also imagine that goddamned voice of his calling you babydoll please excuse me I need to go touch grass now

Mihawk

Medusa In Chains

I'm not your miracle man, I'm not your spirit guide

Before this whole thing began I had some sense of pride

Just one more night with your lips, your company is hard to eclipse

Weak-kneed, yes indeed, guardanteed, make my heart bleed

Give me a reason to breathe, don't let my sun go down

I'll make you stand and recieve, I'll be your sacred ground

Be my Medusa in chains, petrified

Only your beauty remains

The entire song. The ENTIRE SONG screams Mihawk to me. Slow-burn and seductive from start to finish. I get the same exact chills from this song that I get when he delivers that "Magnificent" line.

Lyrically relevant too. Falling for you in spite of his pride (and he has a LOT of pride to get past). You're like nothing he has ever experienced and he's utterly and hopelessly addicted to you. As much as he wants to fight it, he can't. In the same breath that he's trying to push you away and retain some grip on himself he's also pulling you back for more. He hardly even knows who he is anymore when you're near.

#opla #one piece fanfiction #mihawk one piece #mihawk opla #one piece headcanons #fluff #mihawk x reader #shanks opla #dracule mihawk #sanji opla #sanji x reader #zoro opla #zoro x reader #zoro one piece #sanji one piece #shanks one piece #shanks x reader

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hippolotamus · 4 months

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Listen, yesterday my angsty wife @bidisasterevankinard said ‘what would Buck get from Eddie? Just the will?’ and jfc here we are. Mostly under the cut for length and mentioned past suicidal thoughts. I apologize in advance. (Please let me know if I’m missing any important tags)

“Jeez, Eds, you really gotta clean out your junk drawer,” Buck calls from the kitchen.

Eddie huffs a little laugh to himself because he knows if he lets said drawer go long enough Buck will inevitably clean it himself. He always does, always has. The messiness of Eddie’s junk drawer always gets to him eventually.

“Aha!” Buck exclaims.

“Find it?” Eddie calls back. Buck is searching for a notepad to keep score. Chris is coming home in a few weeks, for the start of school, and Buck wants to brush up on Scattergories before he does.

“No, but I did find the missing Yahtzee pencil.”

Eddie shakes his head fondly, listening as Buck continues sifting through the contents, like a woodland creature making a nest.

“Finally! I didn’t think it would be so hard finding a note…pad.”

Buck’s voice trails off into silence. No sounds of the gentle giant bounding through the house. Nothing until the shaky ‘E-eds?’ so quiet Eddie almost doesn’t hear it.

He hurries to the other room, curious what could have made Buck sound so upset. But as soon as he sees his friend he knows. He recognizes the lined notebook, hurriedly hidden there months ago. Shoved in the darkness and now in Buck’s trembling hands, open to a page that was never meant to be discovered.

“Eddie,” Buck says, lifting his gaze to reveal red-rimmed eyes that dull the beautiful endless blue Eddie’s used to. “What- Is this-”

Eddie swallows, steeling himself for this conversation he wants to have even less than telling Chris he was letting him go. He manages to calmly cross the room, gently taking the pad from Buck. He stays in Buck’s space, one hand hovering over his shoulder, unsure if he has the right to offer anything soothing right now. Eventually Eddie withdraws, keeping to himself.

“It is,” Eddie confirms. “It’s exactly what you think it is.”

“But- why?!” Buck’s words are so broken and Eddie doesn’t know that any reasoning will be good enough. “Why would you- Eddie you were planning to kill yourself! And this- this is addressed to me. Was I meant to find you?! What about the rest of the team? Our family!”

Eddie can see the hurt building to rage. And he gets it. He does. He’s been on the other side of this, too. He offers the only explanation he can, even if he knows it’s piss poor and inadequate.

“Buck, the only reason you’ve never seen this before is because you did find me. It was right after Chris left and Gerrard took Bobby’s place. Everything was messy as hell. I just didn’t see the point anymore. And I thought- I thought even if Chris did come back, I wasn’t fit to parent him.”

“Eddie-”

“But you showed up. Just barged through my door like always. Because I swear you must have some kind of sixth sense. So I shoved the note away. We had beer and pizza, and you told me we could talk about Chris or anything else if I wanted to not think about it. And Tommy FaceTimed from Harbor while he was on shift, and I saw you being all gooey and gross together.” Eddie laughs, remembering how lovestruck Buck was even then. “You stayed over, slept on the sofa and something changed. Made me start to realize there might be something left for me after all. First thing the next morning I called and made an appointment with Frank.”

“O-okay,” Buck start, hesitantly. “That still does explain why this is written to me. Why not a generic note or something for Chris?”

“There was one for him, too. But when Shannon died, she left a note for Christopher. Something to explain why she was gone in case she never came back.” Eddie’s throat becomes clogged with emotion and hurt, demons he’s still fighting. “She left one for him. But nothing for me. Nothing to explain why I had to go on and live life without her. And I couldn’t do that to you. As the only other person that close to my son, I couldn’t let you wonder. I couldn’t let you waste years of your life questioning. Yes, you’re in my will, but I couldn’t leave you with only that. Like you were some arbitrary footnote meant to take care of Chris if something happened to me. I needed you to have the closure I never got. That I was never given a chance to hear.”

Between one breath and the next, Buck tackles Eddie in a tight embrace, holding on for dear life. He clutches and sobs into the crook of Eddie’s neck while Eddie clings right back, wondering how he let the darkness of everything convince him he could die without leaving a trail of hurt in his wake.

They cry together, a conversation of a million unsaid things in every wretched, anguished moment.

“Eds, please. You can’t-“ Buck’s muffled voice comes from where he’s trying to burrow further into Eddie. “You just can’t.”

“I know. I’m so sorry,” he whispers, carding his fingers through Buck’s hair. “So sorry, Evan. I won’t. Ever. I promise.”

#hippo writes #evan buckley #eddie diaz #tw suicide #tw previous suicidal thoughts #tw talks about suicidal thoughts #platonic buddie #please blame my wife for all of this #love you mostest babe 🥺👉👈#I’d say I’m sorry but I think we all know I’m not

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underthecitysky · 9 months

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I’m back from the Rio livestream to say JFC Brazil turned UP 🔥🔥 Brazil knows how to LIVE.

His voice started a little shaky but just got stronger and stronger, it was wild!

It was blowing my mind how largely young that audience was.. it’s overwhelming to me just how much this music is transcending generations. I mean it was mostly *not* first gen fans singing full throated to almost everything. But first gens were there too ❤️

There was just so much love. Everytime they cut to an audience member crying, I was crying too, lol. Seriously that was just so joyful and emotional and beautiful.

The stadium kept breaking into chants of “te amo Paul” (which even I know what that means) and he wasn’t really reacting when that would happen. & then it happened like a third time and he said “I wish I knew what you are saying .. but I don’t” and then they started chanting “I love you Paul” and he was like “oh!..I love you BACK!” and I was all 💥❤️💥 😭

Seriously that was lovely. Great job Paul! Happy end of tour. Great job Brazil showing the love.

#Brazil #paul mccartney #rio #2023

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kingdaddydaichi · 2 years

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⛓ title: the authoritarian (spinoff of the disciplinarian - make sure your mature comm label is set to show)

⛓ pairing: cop!savage Dom!daichi sawamura x f!bratty sub!reader

⛓ wc: 4.9k

⛓ warnings: nsfw, mdni, cop!daichi, safe/sane CNC (con noncon), color system, ravishment roleplay, savage Dom/bratty sub dynamic, lots of degrading/patronizing pet names, brat taming, punishment, degradation, praise, impact play: spanking/belting, bondage/restraint (handcuffs), oral (m/f receiving), spitting, throat fucking/face fucking, corruption, Domspace, hair pulling (f receiving), partner ownership/possession, clothed sex, multiple orgasms, overstim, (light) subdrop, daichi's impeccable aftercare

⛓ notes: one of the perks of your boyfriend being a cop is that he's really good at roleplaying as one. i needed a stick to bite down on while writing this jfc.

[ 4:17 PM ]

You set your phone down on the vanity, exchanging it for your moisturizer to begin your post-shower ritual. On evenings after he worked the day shift, you and your long-time boyfriend would often take your time making dinner together. You would pour cocktails and listen to music, talk about your days, and laugh at each other’s antics as you worked side-by-side in the kitchen. He was due home in about an hour, but you were already smiling to yourself, anxious to spend some quality time with him tonight.

You slipped on your most comfortable tank top and a dangerous pair of booty shorts that were too indecent to wear anywhere else. Just as you reached for the blow dryer, you nearly jumped out of your skin when a thunderous knock came at the front door. Everyone who mattered to you knew better than to show up unannounced, more as a safety measure than anything else.

You waited, not wanting to turn the blow dryer on until you were sure the knock wouldn’t come again, but it did. Louder. You grabbed your phone and held your thumb over Daichi’s number as you quietly hurried just outside your bedroom, heart booming in your chest. The third time wasn’t a knock - it was a bang followed by an all too familiar voice.

“POLICE! OPEN UP!”

Oh. Uh-oh.

You collected yourself and called back. “Coming!”

You reached the door, unlocking and opening it to find a classically handsome law enforcement officer standing just outside the threshold, the short sleeves of his shirt straining against his tan biceps.

“Are you Ms. (L/n)?”

“Y-yes.”

“I have a warrant to search the premises, ma’am. I’m gonna have to ask you to step aside.” His tone was confident and stern.

“A warrant? For what?” you asked incredulously.

“Unregistered weapons,” he muttered, looking you up and down, undressing you with his eyes.

“What’s your name and badge number?” you said with a suspicious squint.

“Sawamura. 123194. Now, are you going to step aside or do I need to use force?”

You propped your hand on your hip, defiantly staring up at him for a moment before moving aside. “Fine, go ahead. I’ve got nothing to hide.”

The policeman turned to walk through your foyer and into the dining room. Closing the front door, you followed him to your kitchen and watched as he opened a few of the cabinets.

“Go lock the door, sweetheart.” He looked over his shoulder at you with a dark smirk. “You don’t want just anyone walking into your home, now do you?”

“Oh, you mean like you just did?” you smarted off.

He turned and walked towards you before crowding your space. “Trust me, honey. I’m not nearly as dangerous as those tight little shorts you’re wearing.” He reached behind you to turn the deadbolt, his face so close to your neck when he leaned in you could feel the heat of his breath against your skin. “You can never be too careful,” he muttered.

Just when you thought he was going to try something inappropriate, he stood up and did an about face before walking through your living room, ignoring several spaces perfect for hiding things: drawers, shelves. Very suspicious behavior.

“So, is there anything in particular you’re looking for, Officer?”

His soft cock twitched against his thigh at the use of his title. “Why don’t you let me ask the questions and you just do the answering.” It was far more a firm assertion than a harmless suggestion.

You stayed several feet back as he walked into your bedroom and started opening your dresser drawers. When he looked inside the one where you kept your panties and bras, he picked up a pair of lacy underwear and hung its string waistband from his index finger.

“This looks suspicious. I’ll be taking these as evidence,” he said, pushing them into his pants pocket.

He looked around a little in your bathroom before making his way back out and towards the front of the house again.

“Are you satisfied now?” you said, crossing your arms under your braless chest and pouting up at him. You watched as his gaze traveled from your lips down to where your erect nipples were pressing against the soft cotton of your tank top.

“No, ma’am, I’m definitely not satisfied yet. I’m gonna have to ask you to turn around and put your hands against the wall.”

“What? Why?”

“What did I say about asking questions? Hm? Now turn the fuck around and put your hands on the damn wall.”

You reluctantly did as he told you. A simple pat down wasn’t going to be any more intrusive than pocketing a pair of your panties, right?

He moved in closer, beginning his search at your wrists, his warm hands skimming your bare skin and giving the occasional squeeze as he worked his way over your shoulders and down your back. He put his hands around your waist and moved them up and down, his fingers grazing the sides of your breasts before sliding his hands under your shirt. His skin felt like fire against yours as he cupped your tits, fanning his rough fingertips back and forth over your hard, delicate nipples. His front was flush with your back now as he pushed his hips against you, pressing his semi-hard shape into the plush of your butt.

“Y-you don’t have to touch me there, asshole,” you said, pushing away from the wall, trying to face him before he forced your hands back where they were.

The loud cracking sound registered before the pain when he spanked your bottom. “That was very disrespectful, ma’am. When you speak to me, you address me as ‘Sir’ or ‘Officer’. And the next time your hands come off that wall without my permission, I’m putting you in handcuffs. Understood?” The juxtaposition of his calm exterior and the danger in his voice made your pussy wet.

“Y-yeah. Yes,” you said, your voice not much more than a whisper. Damn, he was good at his job. You didn’t want to admit defeat or submit so easily, but you reasoned that being too much of a brat could make things worse. Perhaps it was time to start picking your battles.

“Yes, what?”

“Yes, Sir,” you said begrudgingly through clenched teeth.

“Atta girl,” he praised. “Now, spread those pretty legs for me,” he ordered, kicking your feet apart.

He continued his search along your hips and outer thighs, all the way down to your ankles before making his way back up each of your legs, one at a time. It was definitely unnecessary for him to frisk your bare thighs as thoroughly as he did. He stroked and palmed your naked skin, his hands moving so far up between the apex of your legs that his fingers grazed the damp material of your shorts that just barely covered your pussy.

“Hmm…you hiding something in those shorts, sweetheart?”

“No!” You tried to turn and push past him, but he pinned you to the wall again, tsk’ing you as he reached for his handcuffs on the back of his duty belt. He pulled one of your wrists behind your back and you felt the cold steel close with a quick series of clicks. You tried to pry your other wrist from his grip, but he easily overpowered you with a humorless chuckle before tightening the other cuff around it.

“Owwwch! Fuck, that’s tight!”

“Color?”

“Green.”

“I tried to go easy on you, but you’re not being very cooperative. I did warn you so you have only yourself to blame for being in this position.”

He squatted so he could take a look inside the legs of your shorts and sure enough, he could see your plump pussy lips. “No panties, hm? Yep, you’re definitely hiding something from me,” he muttered, moving the material to the side to get a better look before brushing two fingertips along your naked slit.

You squirmed, legs feeling a little shaky. “That’s not necessary! You shouldn’t be touching me down there!” you whined.

“Oh honey, as wet as that little pussy of yours is, I’m about to do a lot more than just touch you down there.” He stood up and when he leaned in, you felt something hard press against your bottom. “I have probable cause to perform a cavity search, ma’am, so I’m gonna need you to be a good girl and cooperate.” He pushed his fingers inside the elastic waistband of your skimpy shorts and began circling his middle fingertip around your hard bud.

You tried to suppress your moan, but choked a little when he pushed his thick digit inside your hole. “N-no! Stop! Don’t put your finger inside me!” You tried to push him away with your back, but all you managed to do was grind harder against his dick as it strained against his uniform.

“Go ahead and struggle all you want, peach, but I’m getting what I want out of your wet little cunt!” He added a second finger and began pumping, cupping his palm against your clit as your pussy coated it with more of your need. His left hand slid beneath the thin material of your top and grabbed one of your tits, kneading it before rolling and tugging on your nipple between his thumb and finger.

You kept telling him to stop between muffled moans and heavy pants, but your body betrayed you. The pressure inside you was pushing you past the point of shame, edging you closer to bliss.

With his mouth pressed to your ear, he growled, “That’s it, pretty lady. I can tell you wanna give it to me.” He pumped harder, faster, palm slapping your wet clit as he rubbed feverishly on your sweet spot.

“Oh…no! Don’t! G-gonna make me-“ Your words gave way to an open-mouthed gasp, followed by a loud moan.

“Good girl. Come on my fingers, sweetheart,” he demanded and with two more hard thrusts, you did as you were told, crying out as your tight walls sucked on his big fingers. “Yeah, just like that.”

He slowly pulled his soaked digits out of your puckering hole and held them in front of your face. “You see the mess you made on my fingers? Lick ‘em clean.” You started to tell him to go to hell, but he bullied his fingers inside your mouth as soon as you opened it. “Suck,” he demanded. You swirled your tongue around his large fingers, lewdly sucking your essence from them. He dragged his hand away from your mouth, wiping your saliva down your neck and across your chest.

“Happy now, pervert?” you slurred, still coming down from your high.

“What the fuck did I say about the proper way to address me? Call me a disrespectful name again and there will be consequences! Now, turn around and get on your knees.”

You turned around to face him, but instead of getting on your knees, you watched wide-eyed as Officer Sawamura palmed and grabbed himself. The size and shape of his hard cock was evident by the impressive print in his pants, a small dark spot forming where his precum had been leaking out.

“What are you gonna do?” you asked, eyes flicking up from his enormous bulge to look at him.

“Again, I’m the one asking the questions. On. Your. Fucking. Knees. Now!”

His tone was dark and urgent; there was a hunger, a desire in his voice that could only be described as primal. You decided not to push your luck and did as you were told. You knelt down, a little wobbly without the aid of your arms to help balance you. You kept your eyes on him, watching for what he would do next.

“I need to see if you’re hiding anything inside that filthy mouth of yours,” he rasped, unbuckling his belt, “and, well…I’ve got something that’ll reach deeper than my fingers.”

You watched as he unzipped his pants before reaching in and wrestling his straining erection out through the hole, a tuft of black hair visible at its wide base. Thick and heavy with a dark tan complexion, his cock bounced mere inches from your face. The way the veins rolled under his grip as he pumped it in his fist made your clit twitch. Precum leaked from his slit, a long string of the clear liquid hanging from the tip as he brought it to your lips.

“Open up,” he said, voice gravelly with desire.

You leaned back, moving your head to the side. “Not gonna suck your dick.”

He grabbed your jaw and squeezed hard, forcing your mouth open. “I’m not asking you to suck it, sugar. I’m telling you.”

“N-no, ‘s too big! Not gonna fi-mmffphh…”

The mean cop forced his salty cockhead into your mouth and all you could do was take it. “That oughta shut you up. Try exercising your right to remain silent, sweet cheeks, and suck my fucking dick.” You were at his mercy, such as it was, as he began to move his tip in and out. He loved the way your lips stretched around his meaty girth as he lubed himself up with your spit.

“Mmnhnn…you’re gonna take me a little deeper now, sugar.” He held your head between his hands, guiding you in time with his slow, shallow thrusts that gradually came faster, deeper.

All you could do was keep your mouth open as wide as possible, tongue hanging out as far as it would go as he forced his tip into your throat. Tears began to leak from the corners of your eyes and when he felt you gag on him, he pulled out.

“Color?” he asked through the haze of his lust. “Green as fuck. Go, baby,” you said, saliva still connecting your bottom lip to his engorged cock.

“Did I tell you to close your slutty mouth? Open it,” he ordered, grabbing your jaw. You obeyed, but winced as he bent forward and spit in your open mouth. “Mmhh fuck, sweetheart,” he said, pushing between your lips again. “Gonna make you choke on this cop dick, yeah?”

You gurgled around his tip as he pushed into your throat. He held himself there, watching your eyes as they burned and watered for him. Putting one hand on the wall behind you, he leaned forward to force your head backwards, opening up your throat a little more as he pushed himself in as deep as he could. The rhythmic spasming started in your throat again and when he pulled out, his cock was followed by a gush of spit and pre.

With his eyes locked on yours, brow furrowed, you could feel the darkness swirling in his chocolate orbs as they bore into your soul. The look Daichi always got in his eyes when he slipped into Domspace was the most erotic thing you had ever witnessed. You lived for its intensity, the way he watched you like you were the only thing that ever existed. He was lost in that space, floating, your throat constricting around his raging hard-on as his heavy balls pressed against your dripping chin.

“Ffuu- listen to me, sweetheart. I’m gonna cum, but don’t you dare swallow,” he growled, still fucking your face. “Your mouth better be full of my cum when I’m done, got that?” Your broken whimper around his cock finally pushed him over the edge. “Ah fuck, yeah, here it comes!” Officer Sawamura’s thighs shook, his powerful cock visibly jerking to release big globs of his hot semen inside your waiting mouth.

“Shit,” he breathed as he slowly pulled his tip from your sealed lips. “Open up. Let me see the evidence.”

You opened your mouth, so full of his seed that it began to leak from the corners of your lips. A small spurt of cum dribbled from his slit when his cock twitched at the sight of you with a mouthful of his nut.

“Good girl,” he praised you, tapping his spent dick against your tear-streaked cheek. “Now, swallow. Then show me your tongue so I can make sure you got it all.”

You closed your mouth, eyes trained on him as you swallowed, gagging a little on the sheer volume of thick, bitter fluid as it went down. With traces of his semen still sticking to your cheek, you gulped hard before opening wide and sticking your tongue out as far as it would go.

“Goddamn, such a whore for cop dick,” he smirked, tucking himself back into his pants. “I’m impressed.”

“Fuck you and your dirty cop dick,” you spat, voice hoarse from the throat fucking you’d just taken.

He laughed, pulling you back up to your feet. “That can certainly be arranged.”

With his hand wrapped behind your neck, he began leading you towards your bedroom, but you weren’t going to let him have his way with you so easily. You wrenched yourself out of his grip and spun around, still unable to use your arms or hands. “You are not going to fuck me! You can fucking forget it, jackass!”

Daichi’s face twisted in anger as he grabbed you and pushed you belly-down on top of your dining room table.

“What the fuck did I say about calling me disrespectful names?” he yelled, crushing you with his weight as he leaned over you, pinning you between his beefy body and the hard surface beneath. “Didn’t I say there would be consequences?”

“You cops are all the same. Think you can just push people around and abuse your power. Corrupt bullies!”

“Shut the fuck up! All you’re doing is making things harder on yourself, darlin’. I’m trying to go easy on you, but you just keep digging your hole deeper and deeper.” He removed everything from his belt before yanking it through the loops, your eyes going wide at the realization of what was coming. You squirmed and whined as he yanked your shorts down to your knees. “This is gonna hurt you a lot more than it hurts me, babygirl.”

“No! Don’t you d-gaahhhh FUCK!” you cried out, the first loud crack of the leather smarting against your bare ass.

“Officer Sawamura! I wanna hear you say it!” The second lash came in quick succession, followed by a third.

“Fuck off,” you braved, your breath catching in your raw throat as the thick strap of leather slashed across your welting skin again. He slammed the belt against the table and leaned over you, grabbing a fistful of your hair and pulling your head back.

“Show me some fucking respect and say my fucking name!” He was hard again, his clothed erection rubbing your stinging butt, the negative pressure providing some soothing relief. Damn, he was good at this. At owning you. At punishing you. At maintaining this perfect balance of pleasure and pain.

But you refused, rubbing your thighs together for some friction. Your pussy dripping wet for him.

“Still refusing to cooperate, hm? Let’s go,” he said, your shorts falling to the floor around your feet when he pulled you up from the table.

“Wh-“ Before you could ask anything, you found yourself slung over the officer’s shoulder. “Wait! What are you gonna do to me?”

He carried you to your bedroom with a dark, crooked grin. “Whatever it takes to make you scream my name.”

With your wrists bound, you couldn’t even pound on his back with your fists. There was nothing you could do to break free.

The cop bent over, dropping you onto the bed. He rolled you over onto your belly and pulled the cuff keys out of his pocket. Oh, good. Now was your chance! But before he released one of the restraints, he straddled your legs, keeping you right where he wanted you.

“Don’t even think about it, princess.”

Standing up again, he flipped you back over and manhandled you, securing the short chain of the steel cuffs behind the bedpost before binding your writhing wrists again.

“Now,” he smiled, “your ass is mine.” He toed his shoes off and undid the first few buttons at the top of his shirt as he made his way closer to you on the bed. He pried your legs open and forced his thighs between yours.

“Damn, look at that pretty little pussy coated with all that slick,” he teased as he pushed your tank above your tits. “And these perfect tits of yours…they’re mine now,” he added, cupping and squishing them. He dipped down and took one of your tingling nipples into his hot mouth, swirling and sucking.

“Don’t touch me,” you gritted, fighting back your moan.

“Every part of this body belongs to me now, angel. It’s mine to do with as I please until you’re screaming my name.” He kept your legs open with his big, strong hands as he settled down between them.

“Please stop! You can’t-ohh god!”

It was too late. The cop’s mouth was already latched onto your pussy, sucking and licking, rapidly flicking your clit with his tongue. He pushed two thick fingers inside your sticky, pulsing walls, going right for that special spot as he closed his lips around your hard, pink bud and started sucking you off. You writhed and squirmed, whined and protested, but it wasn’t long before he had you spasming around his fingers as he licked your quivering pussy clean.

He sat back up between your legs, licking his lips. “You ready to start screaming my name yet?”

“Not gonna happen,” you insisted, breasts rising and falling as you tried to catch your breath.

“You can’t escape the long cock of the law, sweetheart. It’s not a matter of if, it’s a matter of when.” You watched as he unzipped his pants, the handcuffs rubbing against the wooden bedpost as you squirmed. “And the sooner that happens, the sooner I’ll let you go.” He pulled his thick cock out through the zipper hole and tapped his swollen mushroom tip against your twitching clit before rubbing it between your eager pussy lips.

“No! Don’t!” You began to struggle again, pulling your knees toward your chest in an effort to keep him from penetrating you. But your strength was no match for the police officer. He grabbed your legs, forcing them open and wedging himself between them again.

“Stop resisting! I’m gonna fuck your cunt until you acknowledge my authority over you!”

You could feel his cockhead pressing against your greedy entrance as he lined himself up, and with a single thrust he bullied his cock all the way inside you.

“Don’t do this to me! Stop! Please!” But the truth was you were so turned on, pussy already closing in on him as he fucked his cock into you, hard and deep.

“Nnhmmm damn, this pussy feels fucking amazing! You keep fighting but you’re so goddamn wet for me, aren’t you?” he said, caging you between his arms before leaning down and kissing you. The rough material of his pants surrounding the base of his dick rubbed your clit as he beat his cock into you so hard it took your breath away.

You were whining, begging him to stop when he demanded “Start screaming my name! I’m gonna make you cum on my thick cop dick as many times as it takes, ma’am.” You were unraveling under his weight, the force of his hips pounding into you as you felt your body building up for another release.

“Stop! Fuck…please…you’re gonna make me cum!”

“That’s it, honey, fucking cum on my dick!”

Your whole body went rigid as your orgasm took hold and it seemed to go on forever. The pangs of pleasure kept washing over you with every unrelenting plunge of the cop’s fat cock. He never slowed down or let up, just kept fucking orgasm after orgasm out of you until you were sobbing.

He sat up on his knees and pushed your knees back towards the bed, fucking you faster now. Looking down, he groaned when he saw your pearly cream staining his dark pants as he shoved his hips into you. It took all the effort and focus he had to hold back the imminent eruption of cum, his balls aching for release. Angling his hips to grind the fabric against your clit, he kept right on fucking you.

You were a mess, too weak to struggle, your entire body trembling with pleasure. Your pleas for him to stop were growing more and more desperate as the overstim took hold.

“Start screaming my name, sweetheart, and this will all be over,” he reminded you, heavy desire lacing every word. “Officer Sawamura! Say it!”

“Oh god, not again…y’gonna make me-”

His thrusts grew more violent, forcing your next orgasm out of you.

“Fuck…O-off-i-cer Sa-wa-mu-raaa!” He was fucking you so hard that every word came out in broken syllables in time with his powerful thrusts. “Pl-e-e-ease?!”

“Oh, fuck yes! That’s my girl! Give me one more! Come on, cum for me again!”

“N-no, shit! Ohhh- can’t hold it!” You lost all control, coming apart under Officer Sawamura’s powerful thrusts and squirting, soaking the lap of his government-issued pants.

It was too much for him - your cream on his angry cock, his pants dark with your spend, your rhythmic squeezing around his girth, the sweetest sound of his own name falling from your quivering lips. “Mmhhh I’m gonna cum! Fill you up with this cop seed, baby…fuck!” And with that, the police officer’s cock twitched and jerked, filling you to the brim with his masculine musk.

With a final grunt, Daichi lowered himself down to rest on his elbows, chest to chest with you. The same hands that spanked, groped, and forced you now gently cupped your face.

“Talk to me, baby. Tell me what you’re feeling,” he whispered between tender kisses to your cheeks and lips.

Your eyes fluttered open and your arms moved to grasp onto him, but couldn’t. “N-need to touch you.”

He reached into his pocket and pulled the keys out before unlocking the cuffs. As soon as he set you free, your arms clutched at him, pulling him closer before fumbling with the buttons on his shirt. “Need to feel more. I need to feel your skin.”

Daichi obliged, moving to sit up only to hear you whimper “Stay close! Please don’t pull out yet?”

He nodded, doing his best to unbutton and take his shirt off before engulfing you in his embrace. You threw your arms around his neck, squeezing him, pulling him impossibly closer, your fingertips denting his flesh.

“Don’t let go,” he murmured as his arms encircled your waist and pulled you to sit on top of him, still connected as lovers, holding one another dearly. “I love you, y/n…more than you’ll ever know. You’re safe, baby. I’ve got you.”

Your hands fisted against his broad back as you nuzzled deeper into his neck. You swore to yourself you wouldn’t cry this time, but the scene had been so rich, so intense and Daichi’s unmatched aftercare was so sweet, so empowering. Sometimes he was your hard, savage Dom, but he was always your loving, protective boyfriend. The juxtaposition of all the things he could make you feel at once was overwhelming and robust, leaving you impressionable, vulnerable. But no matter what you were doing or what role he was playing, with Daichi, you always knew you were unconditionally safe.

He cradled the back of your head as you rested it against his chest, listening to the sound of his calm, steady heartbeat as it grounded and comforted you.

When you were ready, he lowered you back onto the bed, his sticky cum coating your inner thighs as he slowly slipped out of you. He laid down next to you so you could nestle into your spot - your belly against his side, your leg wrapped around his, your head on his chest as he held you tightly in the security of his sturdy arms. Sweet nothings, delicate kisses, and ghosting fingers on warm skin - he made sure you knew you were home. And you made sure he knew that you trusted him with your life.

“Was it everything you hoped it would be?” Daichi asked, seeking feedback.

“Oh my god, yes! It was perfect. You’re such a natural Dominant, baby,” you assured him, running your fingers through his short, black hair. “But I swear to god, if you ever say ‘long cock of the law’ again, I’m using the safe word.”

Both of your bodies shook with laughter.

“Aww c’mon, baby, I know you love this long cock of the law…”

“Daichi! Stop!” you giggled, playfully slapping his chest.

“Mmm…the long cock of the law reaching deep inside you…”

“No! Make it stop!”

“I know you wanna ride a mile 6 inches at a time on my long cock of the law…”

“Six inches isn’t even that long…”

“Are you complaining?”

“Hell no. Girth is where it’s at and, baby, you’ve got more than a lady could ever beg for.”

“Do you love my cock, baby?” You both chuckled and you reached down to give his spent dick a couple of love tugs.

“I love everything about you,” you said, kissing him as he smiled contentedly.

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