#i am h word tonight

[hollyhomburg]

😵‍💫 imagine if i'd been brave enough to make all the omegas- male or female have pussies in bily...jk and the m/c in heat grinding their slicksloppy cuts togeather and giggling that their pussies are kissing 🥰 clits a little hard and chubby so wet that the glide is all slick,

the alphas drooling over the visual of jk's muscled thighs nested with the m/c's soft legs, his hips working overtime because he's got more stamina and all she wants to do is sniffle and let go while her nestmate takes what he needs from her-

the alphas having a competition to see which omega they can make squirt harder, jin whose got the prettiest puffiest lips that get all pink when the alpha's mouth at them. jk and the m/c wearing matching clit jewelry cuz tae and her got matching earings and jk just had to one up her....ugh....jk with a pussy is just...god teir level. i wish i'd been brave enough 😳

[wroteclassicaly]

Deciding to masturbate with your best-friend Eddie.

You’re both on his mattress, trying to find the position to get in that would be the most comfortable. It started out as boredom and typical discussions of sex, but it turned into you throbbing between your legs and Eddie unable to hide the straining in his denim. It was a raised eyebrow from him and a shrug that you’d engaged in.

Fuck it.

“Shit, you okay?” You swear his voice is raspy, wind bitten. And the window isn’t even open.

Your heartbeat is thundering in your ears, blood hot in your veins, palms perspired and clenching his sheets in your vice. “Mhm. You?”

“Yeah. S’… I’m all g-good.” He’s just as nervous as you.

Were you going to look at him first, did he know it was okay that he looked between your thighs?

“I’m naked now. If you wanna…” He was shy, chest puffing in exertion, twirling a lock of his curl around his finger.

~*~

And god did you look. His cock was a girth you could beg to be choked on, throat raw, cunt demolished. He had a bush around the base, one that practically met that patch of hair cascading his navel. You knew you were in trouble.

The second that it was your turn to bare yourself for him, Eddie had to curb the urge to peel your flesh apart and lick his tongue inside. Your glistening pussy needed to be fucking devoured, and someone should do it. You weren’t shaved and that had his mouth watering. Your messy curls were matted back with your cream, your labia puffy and swollen apart, showing him you.

Finding a spot ended up settling you both across from the other, on your backs, toes touching, asses close. Eddie would occasionally lift to a propped palm, watching you pleasure yourself.

Eddie’s tongue clicked to the roof of his mouth, plush lips pursing, wetted seconds later with a thin layer of saliva.

~*~

It was supposed to stay at touching yourselves, drinking in glances, curiosities fed. But when Eddie’s ring clad knuckles tugged hard on his slippery shaft, and the result was him bumping into your sticky folds as you arched your hips into your rhythm — all became molten static. Eddie had pulled his hand away like your hot cunt didn’t just make his cock jump in his fist, noticing your stringy arousal stretching from the crease of your thigh to his rings. You whimpered, a soft, guttural sound that had you lifting your thighs, before they fell back apart.

“Did you just touch me, Eddie?”

You don’t look bothered when you raise, your pupils blown to hell. He’s sheepish, his dick throbbing against his fingertips. “I didn’t mean to.”

What’s gonna happen next?

[wordsinhaled]

Your gentle dom Hob content is so splendid and deep and emotional and I feel so much about it. "This is the day he will learn that Hob Gadling is cruel" and the idea that Dream might try to force himself to endure things he doesn't actually want just because he believes this is how things must be... big ouch. Maybe there was an instant where they started getting intimate when Hob was starting to undress Dream and Dream tensed because he has spent a century naked and helpless and humiliated but doesn't want to stop Hob. (Of course Hob notices and is great about it that they can still do things with Dream keeping his clothes if he wants.)

gentle dom hob is very close to my heart so i am glad you enjoy him!!!

also... i may or may not have started writing a fic this week that is kind of abstractly about this very scenario thanks to this ask because i got carried away answering you, anon 👀

[imaginedisish]

Need 2 (Logan Howlett x f!reader)

A/N: So...I'm back already lol. This sort of just came to me last night. I was rewatching the first and second X-Men movies and got a little inspired. This is also inspired by the song "Need 2" by Pinegrove. Didn't think I'd be posting another fic already, but here we are. Hopefully y'all enjoy!

Summary: You and Logan have always been plagued with nightmares, so avoiding sleep is just something you two have in common...until you find yourselves in each other's beds, helping one another through your nightmares.

Warnings: 18+! Smut! Minors DNI! PWP. Unprotected PIV (wrap it up), Fingering, AFAB!reader, fem!reader, Reader has some hair at the nape of her neck that can be played with (length, color and texture are not described!), mutant!reader, cursing, canon typical violence, angst, praise kink, feelings, nightmares, friends to lovers, probably some grammatical errors, I think that's all?

Word Count: 3,906

Some nights, it was easier not to sleep. It was easier to go down into the kitchen, the living room, or one of the many libraries in the mansion and stay awake. It was easier than forcing yourself to go to bed, just to wake up screaming thirty minutes later. 

So tonight, like far too many nights, you’ve found yourself in your favorite corner in your favorite library in the mansion. You’re reading Simone de Beauvoir’s letters to Sartre when a familiar figure enters the room. 

“What’re you doing awake?” Logan’s voice is gruff, his hands in the pockets of his jeans, his beater tight against his chest. “You should be asleep.”

“Can’t sleep,” You answer, placing a bookmark between the pages and shutting the book. You look up at the old grandfather clock on the other side of the room. 2:00 AM. “You should be sleeping too.” You smirk patting the free space next to you on the loveseat. 

He shakes his head. “Too stuffy in here.”

You roll your eyes, placing the book down on the couch. “Then what’s your plan, big guy?”

He holds up his beer and points down the hall. “Gonna sit in front of the T.V. You can too,” he pauses tentatively, “if you want.”

“S-sure,” you stutter. Why are you stuttering? You spend time with Logan constantly. This isn’t new. This is normal. You feel your heart rate pick up. This is ridiculous. This is a totally regular night. 

You stand and follow him down the hall and into another room, one with a lit fireplace and a television. You both sit down, leaving a generous amount of room between the two of you. Logan reaches for the remote and turns the T.V. on. He surfs through the channels before stopping on a movie you instantly recognize. 

“Casablanca?” You ask, turning towards him, letting yourself move just a bit closer as you do so. You feel like he’s moved closer in too. 

He nods, his eyes glued to the screen. “It’s a classic.”

You can’t help but smirk. “Never pinned you for the love story type.”

“You’d be surprised,” he says back as he turns towards you again. There’s a faint smile on his face. You swear his eyes flicker down to your lips for just a second before he turns to face the T.V. again. 

A few minutes go by like this, the two of you just inches away from one another. You can’t concentrate on the movie with him this close. It’s impossible. 

Despite the heat of the fire, you start to feel a chill. Goose bumps rise on your arms, and you pull your legs into your chest, your arms wrapping around your knees. 

Logan immediately notices, shifting to grab the throw blanket from behind him. “Cold?” He asks, taking the opportunity to move closer towards you as he tosses the blanket over the two of you. 

“Y-yeah, thanks,” you answer. But you’re still cold. You bring the blanket up so that it rests just under your chin. For such an old mansion, the A/C must work great. No wonder the fire was already lit when you and Logan got in here. 

Logan notices again. He rests his arm against the back of the couch. “You could…” He trails off, nodding his head to offer the space right next to him, in his arms. “Come over here?” You nod back, scooching closer until your side presses into his. 

He’s an absolute furnace. He pulls you into his chest, rubbing up and down your arm gently. He’s so warm. You instinctively curl into him, wanting nothing more than to be closer to him. For the first time in months, you feel comfortable enough—safe enough—to fall asleep. 

“Better?” He asks, his lips brushing against your forehead. 

You nod against his chest. “So much better.” You whisper. You can feel your eyelids growing heavy. You let them fall shut. Let yourself go. Give in. Finally. 

“Lo?” You quietly call out. You’re so close to sleep that you don’t even realize you’re speaking. 

You can feel his smile on the side of your head. “Yeah, sweetheart?”

“You feel so nice.” You’re mumbling, half asleep. It’s nonsense, but it’s true. “So safe.”

He presses a chaste kiss to your forehead. “You do too. Now get some sleep.”

You shake your head softly. “Only if you sleep, too.” 

You think you feel another kiss. One of his hands reaches up to play with the hair at the nape of your neck. “I will, I promise.”

You drift off to sleep, waking up just once about an hour and a half later to see Logan still on the couch beside you. He’s asleep, still holding you to his chest. You don’t wake him. You let yourself fall asleep again. 

You wake up a few hours later, this time in your own bed, the sun shining through your curtains. You notice a note next to your pillow. 

Glad you got some sleep. -Logan

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

You can hear him, his grunts, his screams. You jump out of bed and sprint down the hall. You don’t need a flashlight to find his room. You know the way by heart. You don’t even bother knocking. You burst in and shut the door behind you. 

You run over to the side of his bed and start to softly shake him. “It’s just a dream, Lo,” you call out to him. He doesn’t wake up. He’s still grunting, still tossing and turning. You feel helpless. “Logan, it’s okay.” You speak a bit louder this time, putting more of your weight on his shoulders as you shake him. Nothing. No change. 

“Logan, please wake up.” Louder again. And still nothing. “Fuck it.”

You climb onto the bed, maneuvering so that you can get on top of him. You’re straddling him now, which probably isn’t the world’s greatest idea. You shake his shoulders harder as he winces, his head thrashing against the mattress, his chest rapidly rising and falling. 

“Come on, Lo, wake up.”

And then, he’s sitting up, claws out, the tips just nudging the base of your throat. “It’s me!” You shout. “It’s just me!” You can hear the shing of his claws retracting. You look down to see that the collar of your shirt is sliced.

“Fuck, I’m so sorry. Are you alright?” He’s wrapping his arms around your back, pulling you into his chest, scanning your body frantically for any injury. He’s moving up and down your skin like a wildfire, checking every possible surface that he could have pierced or sliced. 

You try to stop him, but he refuses to listen. “You didn’t get me, Logan. I’m okay, really.” 

He pushes you down onto the mattress, carefully turning you over onto your stomach before you can protest. “I’m just checking your back, okay?”

“You couldn’t have touched my back. That’s physically impossible.” You try to turn back over, but he keeps you down, one hand pinned between your shoulder blades as the other pulls up your shirt to search your skin. You suddenly remember you aren’t wearing a bra. You’re not wearing any shorts, either. Just your oversized pajama shirt and panties.

His fingers gently trace your skin before reaching up to pull the shirt back down. He finally lets you turn over. You push yourself up so that you’re sitting on your knees, just a few inches away from Logan. It’s your turn to reach out to him now. You bring up a tentative hand to his shoulder; he trembles under your touch but doesn’t push you away. You move a bit closer, your knee slotting into the space between his thighs. Your hand slides up his shoulder to his neck, and he finally leans into your palm. 

“I’m so fucking sorry,” he whispers again. He moves closer, shifting his thighs further into your own. “I never, ever want to hurt you.” He brings his arms back around you, hesitantly pulling you into his chest. You let him, let him hold you. You know he needs to—needs to feel someone else. You wrap your arms around his body too. 

“I know, Lo. It’s okay. No more apologizing.” You hold him tighter. “Are you okay?”

He hums as his face burrows into the crook of your neck. “Just a nightmare.” A part of you is surprised he’s letting you hold him and holding you back. “I fucked up your shirt.”

You let your head rest against his shoulder. “I know.” 

“Almost fucking killed you.” He’s trembling again like he wants to push you away. 

You hold him tighter. “You didn’t though,” You mumble against his bare skin. “Please don’t run away. Let me hold you, please.” 

He relaxes again, pulling you in tighter in response. “Why do you care about me?”

You shake your head in disbelief. “Why do you care about me?” You ask back. 

He scoffs. “Because I…” He trails off. You can tell he’s not giving you the whole truth. “I just do. You’re you. That’s all there is to it.”

“Exactly. And you’re you.” You can feel his lips ghost against your neck—not quite a kiss, but not quite nothing either. “So, I care about you too.”

“I don’t deserve it, the way you care about me.” His lips don’t move from that half-kiss position along your neck as he speaks. “I don’t deserve you.”

“Don’t talk like that.” Your voice is suddenly stern, assertive. “You deserve so much, Logan. So much.” Before you can even think about what you’re doing, you press a kiss against his bare shoulder. And then another. And another. 

“You should go back to bed.” His voice is low and hoarse. He finally presses a true kiss into your neck, too. 

You shake your head. “No,” you whisper. “Let me stay with you.”

“But what if I—” 

You cut him off. “Please.”

He doesn’t protest this time. He just guides you down to the pillows, keeping one arm tightly around your waist as the other brings the covers up and over the two of you. 

You stay intertwined, your legs tangled up with his, your chests pressed tightly together. You bring your hands up to the nape of his neck, gently raking your nails through his hair. His lips find your neck again, kissing that spot just underneath your ear. It’s chaste, but there’s something else there. You know there is. 

You can feel him relaxing, drifting off into sleep, and so you let yourself do the same. There’s nowhere you feel safer than with Logan. 

When you wake up, you’re still in Logan’s bed, but his side is empty. Again, there’s a note on the pillow next to you. 

Thank you. Hope this makes up for what I did. -Logan.

Underneath the note is his favorite Rolling Stones shirt.

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

You’re somewhere dark, sitting on a cold metal chair, your hands shackled in more cold metal. The air tastes like metal, too. And then it dawns on you: Magneto. 

His figure appears in front of you, his hand extended out towards something...perhaps someone. Towards no one? No. There he is, floating in front of you. Logan. “NO!” You yell. You can feel your throat burn as you shout.

“Let him go!” You scream. But Magneto doesn’t budge. He holds Logan in the air, bending the metal in his body. He stretches Logan’s claws out. You remember when Logan told you it hurts every time he unleashes them. You can’t imagine the pain he’s in now.  

“Logan!” You cry out. Your abilities don’t seem to work, no matter how hard you try. You’re powerless, helpless, useless. You echo his name repeatedly to no avail. 

You’re forced to sit and watch as his claws bend backward. Tears run down your face as Logan screams in agony. There’s nothing you can do. You thrash in place. 

“Let him fucking go!” You sob, tears rolling down your cheeks. “Logan! I’m so sorry. Oh fuck. I’m so sorry.” A familiar name calls for you in the distance, but you ignore it. “I’m so sorry,” you cry. “So fucking sorry.”

The voice shouts your name again. And again. Tears stain your cheeks. 

“I’m so sorry,” you mumble.

“It’s just a dream, come on, wake up for me sweetheart.” You know that voice. “I’m right here, just wake up.” 

Your eyes finally flutter open. There he is, in front of you, his solid frame heavy on top of you. “Lo?” You push yourself up to meet him. 

“It’s me, darlin’, It’s me.”

You throw your arms around him, sobbing into his bare chest. “Fuck,” you mumble against him. 

He wraps his arms tightly around your body, carefully bringing you back down to the bed. “It’s okay. It’s over now. I’m here.”

“How’d you know I was…” You trail off, swallowing harshly, not wanting to think about what you just dreamed of. 

“You called my name. I came the second I heard you.” His voice is soft but shaky. It dawns on you that you scared him. 

“I’m so sorry. I’m so fucking sorry.” Tears stream down your cheeks, your voice a trembling mess. 

He presses a soft kiss against your shoulder, and then that usual spot in the crook of your neck. He somehow manages to pull you tighter into his chest. “Don’t be sorry darlin’, please. Nothing to be sorry for.” 

“But I woke you,” you protest. “I scared you.”

“That’s fine, sweetheart.” His breath tickles the skin of your neck. “I’m just glad you’re okay.” He’s kissing you more fervently than normal. There’s something panicked about his movements, like he’s still worried that you might not be fine. 

You take a deep breath. “Lo?” 

“Yeah, sweetheart?”

“Can you stay with me?” You feel like a child, but you don’t care. You want to feel him. You need to be close to him. You can’t lose him. Not now. Not ever. 

His legs tangle with yours. “I’m not going anywhere.” His voice is a whisper now. 

You nod, pushing yourself further into him. “Need to feel you,” you say, running your hands along his back, his chest, his waist. You need him, every inch, every curve. All of him. 

“Darlin’,” he mutters. “What do you mean?”

You break away from him for just a second. His brows are furrowed. “Need you, Lo.”

You watch his throat bob as he swallows. “You have me.”

“No Logan I-I—” You stutter. “I want you. Need you. I need you closer. Please.” 

His eyes search yours, his hands finding their way under your shirt. His fingers climb higher, stopping just below your chest, where the hem of your bra would be. 

You inhale deeply and press harder into him. “Please, Lo. Please.”

“Sweetheart, is this really what you want?” You can feel his breath against your lips. He’s so close, but not close enough. “That dream…” He pauses. “If this is only because of the dream…”

You shut your eyes, remembering what you saw. You feel a tear slide down your still-wet cheek. You breathe deeply. “Wanted you before the dream,” you murmur nervously. 

“Darlin’, you gotta be careful saying things like that.” He presses his forehead against yours and closes his eyes. Your noses touch gently. He slots his legs higher between yours and pulls you closer. 

“Why?” You ask.

“Because I’ve never wanted someone the way I want you.” His hands become less hesitant, his fingers tracing the underside of your chest, slowly charting a course to your nipples. 

He opens his eyes, searching your face for consent, and you immediately nod. “I’m yours. Been yours the whole time.”

That’s all the permission he needs to bring his lips to yours, to hungrily swallow everything you’re willing to give him. His fingers gently pinch your nipples before drawing lazy circles around them. Your breath catches in your throat as his tongue slips across your lower lip. You open up and let him inside, savoring the taste of him. 

You’re still side by side, tangled up with one another, but it’s not close enough. You need more. 

“Logan,” you call, leaving one hand on his bare back as you let the other trail down his chest, to the hem of his sweats. But before you can get any further, he grabs your hand, freezing you in place. 

He shakes his head against yours. “Wanna take care of you.”

“But I wanna take care of you, too,” you whine. 

He just smiles. “You always do, sweetheart. Let me make you feel good.” He drops your hand, and one of his own trails down your body, down to the ridden-up hem of your shirt—his shirt, actually—the one he left on the pillow. “Looks better on you than it ever did on me.” He pulls it up, revealing your stomach and tits. One of his hands continues to massage your breasts, playing with your nipples, while the other travels back down to the hem of your panties. His fingers slip inside, sliding down through your folds and back up to your clit. You shudder under his touch. 

He starts to draw slow, lazy circles there. You can’t help but grind into his hand, needy for more. You whisper his name as his touch becomes harder, faster. 

“So fucking wet for me. Soaking already.” The whimper rising in your throat at his words is swallowed by another deep, desperate kiss. 

You hang onto him, your arms around his back as he pulls you closer to the edge. He can tell you need the contact, the closeness, and so he pulls away from your tits, his now-free hand slipping underneath you and snaking around your waist, holding you closer than before. Your chest is flush with his as his fingers rub harder at your clit. 

You can feel yourself coming undone, your hips rocking against him uncontrollably. “I’m so close,” you pant. 

“I know pretty girl,” he murmurs. He breaks away from your face, finding that spot in the crook of your neck that he loves so much. You throw your head back as his lips find purchase in the same area as always. “Doing so good for me. Wanna feel you come on my fingers.”

His whispers in your ear, his little bites and kisses against that spot on your neck, his fingers on your clit, it’s all too much. “Lo,” you whine, shutting your eyes and pressing your face into his shoulder. 

“That’s it, darlin’, let go.” 

That’s all it takes to have you seeing stars. You grind down onto his fingers, your hips still canting back and forth as you come undone. You can feel Logan smile against your neck as he slows down his pace. After a moment or two, his hand slips out of your panties and comes up to rest on your hip. 

You bring your forehead back to his. “You alright, sweetheart?” His low, husky whisper fills the air. 

“Mhm,” you hum. “Still want you, Lo.” 

“Are you sure?” He asks, his thumb brushing gently across your hip. 

You nod. “Need you closer.”

“Fuck,” he groans. His thumb hooks under the hem of your panties and he pulls them down your legs. You slip them off the rest of the way as Logan turns you on your back. You watch him above you, thumbs hooked inside his sweats. He pulls them down quickly, his cock springing up to his stomach in the process. Your eyes widen as you take in just how big he is. 

He pushes his sweats down the rest of the way, and he slots himself in between your legs. You can feel the length of him on the inside of your thigh. “Wanted you for so long, pretty girl,” he grunts. His forearm rests next to your head, caging you in and keeping him steady, while his other hand guides his cock through your folds, teasing your entrance. 

“Logan,” you whine, your hands reaching up to his neck, pulling his face down to meet you. “I’m yours.” 

You gasp as he fills you up, his hand immediately reaching between your bodies to find your still-sensitive clit. His pace is slow at first, letting you adjust to his length, rocking into you gently. His thumb flicks your clit before drawing those same lazy circles from before. You’re already close, still drunk off the first orgasm he pulled from you. 

“So fucking tight,” he moans. “Doing so good for me.” You can feel him building speed, pumping in and out of you. He feels so good, rubbing against your walls, stretching you out. He’s so close, so real, so safe.

“Needed you so bad,” you whimper, spreading your legs wider, inviting him in. 

You can feel him throb inside you at your words. “Needed you too.” The sound of his voice pushes you closer to the edge, your walls fluttering around his cock. His circles on your clit are no longer gentle or slow. He thrusts faster, rutting into you hit after hit. 

“L-Lo,” you stutter, shaking underneath him. “I-I’m so clo…” But you can’t finish your sentence. Your eyes flutter open and shut. 

“I’m here,” he whispers. “I’ve got you. Never gonna let you go.”

You take in a sharp breath. “’M’yours,” is all you can manage to say. 

“Mine,” he breathes, his hips rocking into you again and again. “Can feel you squeezing me, beautiful.”

“S-so close,” you choke in between thrusts. His fingers work harder on your clit, his lips moving against yours like they belong there, always. 

“Then let go, darlin’,” he says against your lips. He pushes deeper into you than before, your walls clamping down onto him. You feel heat rise to your chest as you shatter around him. You echo his name over and over again as you ride out your orgasm. You know he’s close behind, his thrusts faltering, growing sloppier with each pump. 

“W-where do you want—”

“Inside.”

“F-fuck,” he’s a choking, moaning mess as he comes undone inside you. You can feel him paint your walls, filling you up. He pumps in and out of you a few more times before he starts to slip out. 

“W-wait,” you stutter, grabbing him, holding him in place. 

He freezes. “You okay?” Concern is painted across his face, his brows furrowed, trying to discern what’s wrong. 

“J-just don’t want you to go,” you murmur. 

He smiles as he slides out of you. He pulls you tightly into his chest. “I’m not going anywhere.”

You shut your eyes as his hands settle on your lower back. “Don’t leave, okay?”

“I promise,” he says, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “Relax. I’ve got you. I’m here.”

You can’t fight your exhaustion anymore, so you do as he says. You fall asleep to the sound of his steady breathing, to his kisses on your forehead, to the tracing of letters and shapes along your back. 

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

The next morning, as pale light trickles through the curtains of your room, you see there’s no letter. No empty space next to you in the bed. 

There’s just Logan, his arms still wrapped around you, holding you tight against his chest. Your eyes flutter open. His are still closed. But he can tell you’re awake. 

“’M’not going anywhere,” he mumbles, still half asleep. “Too early. Go back to bed.”

He’s right. So, you do. 

tags: @seamlessepiphany

[bandgie]

Would you maybe be interested in this?

https://www.tumblr.com/thefantasydenthoughts/745174509121929216/sending-one-more-i-hope-im-not-annoying-i-feel?source=share

a/n: (link) I am yes BUT you know I have to add my own twist

Synopsis: You never expected to run into three terrifyingly handsome men the night you ran away on your wedding, but you didn't expect them to be so inviting either.

warnings: MDNI 18+, fem!reader, 4some, jerking off, multiple orgasms (f!), light pussy play, PIV, cumming inside, no protection, lots of boob play, overstim (f!), GUN INVOLVEMENT (not nsfw), kidnapping?? (kinda), prolly missed more lmao

4.3k words

"Don't scream," you hear a deep voice whisper in your ear before your mouth is covered. "Unless you want metal in your head."

Your small whimpers muffle in his hand, but you nod. The man with chubby cheeks gives you a sympathetic look and frowns at the one holding a gun to your head. "Do you have to say that? You're gonna make her cry."

"Jisung," a cat-like man says his name sternly. "We don't have time for this, let's go."

Jisung grumbles while they lead you to an alleyway away from the main street. The tall man behind you keeps the gun to your head, guiding you to follow them. There are hardly any lights this deep into an alley, but the moon provides enough to help you spot a parked car.

They're taking you back. The thought of your arranged marriage makes you cry, weeping in the hands of your kidnappers. Tears seep through the man's fingers and you taste the saltiness on your lips. Your chest heaves as you try to catch your breath, but the hand on your mouth prevents you from properly inhaling.

You shake your head back and forth, trying to escape from his grip. "No," you sob. "I don't wanna go back. Don't send me back. Please."

The man with the cat eyes unlocks the car and opens the backseat door. "Damn Hyunjin. What'd you tell her?"

"I didn't say shit!" Hyunjin has to bump you toward the car as you try to escape. "She just started crying. Are you sure we have the right girl?"

It takes Hyunjin and Jisung to put you in the car. To ensure your captivity, each of them sits beside you, thigh to thigh. The other one sits in the front, roaring the car engine to life. "All I was told was that she had white heels. That's it."

You're still crying, hiccuping as Hyunjin keeps the gun pointed steadily at you. Jisung takes a comforting approach, opting to hold your shaky hands and smooth over your skin. "Nothing is gonna happen, okay?" He smiles wearily at you. "Just a few questions. That's all."

No way that's all. If your fiancé sent them, they'll do more than just ask questions. "D-don't lie to me," you say through your tears. "You're gonna send me back to h-him and make me m-marry him and you'll kill me if I don't." You expect them to keep feeding you lies in an attempt to calm you, but Jisung's expression is utterly confused.

"Marry? Marry who?" It's the driver who asks. He hasn't put the car into gear yet as he turns to look at you. His face is more terrifying when he's pissed. "Who are you?"

Shouldn't you be asking them that?

But you tell them. You tell them how you were set up for an arranged marriage with a man whose name you don't even know. You tell them that tonight is the night you ran away from your wedding. You're sure he's sent people to find you, and since Hyunjin had that god-forsaken gun, you thought they were the ones.

"Holy shit," Jisung swears when you finish your story. "Chan is gonna kill us."

You're not sure who Chan is, but you're not eager to find out. "Don't tell him! I promise I won't say anything. I swear. I'll pretend like nothing happened and...and I'll give you anything you want! I have money! I don't care how much you ask for, just don't hurt me." Your bottom lip trembles.

Han shares a look with Hyunjin who looks at the man in the front for directions.

"Listen," the driver speaks softly. "We aren't gonna hurt you. We weren't even thinking of it. We were supposed to question a different girl but someone got it wrong." He shoots a look at Jisung. "But I promise, pretty, nothing's gonna happen to you, okay?"

He sounds sincere, and whether he means it or not, it makes you feel just a little better. You nod and wipe the tears sliding down your face, trying to control your breathing. Hyunjin seems to have long abandoned the gun and Jisung’s hand moved to your knee. Suddenly, it’s not too scary having them pushed against you.

"See?" Jisung gives you a sweet smile. "You're gonna be okay. Minho looks all mean, but he's not too bad."

Minho grunts.

"Okay, maybe he is a little bad, but he's not all bad." Jisung gives a reassuring squeeze.

You nod, trying to smile but the need for air is more important. You're still in your wedding dress with a huge coat over it. With the two men sitting hip-to-hip with you, it's starting to feel hot and uncomfortable. You try fanning yourself with your hand, but it's not enough. Deciding it’s better to remove your coat, you slowly shrug the material off. It slides down your shoulders to reveal the dress you tried so hard to conceal. 

It's beautiful, much to your dismay. A corset wrapped tightly at your waist so your breasts overfill at the top. It's loose on the bottom, with a slit starting at your upper thigh to expose your leg. It makes you look accentuated, yes, but it's a reminder that you were a pawn. You wish you could remove it entirely.

"Oh wow," Jisung can't help his shock. His eyes lock at your chest before traveling up to your neck. "You look...you look...I mean you were getting married, I know, but-"

"You look beautiful," Hyunjin saves Jisung from embarrassment. You discard the coat on the floor of the car before looking at Hyunjin. Maybe it's because he's no longer threatening you, but he looks charming under the car lights. His eyes remind you of how the crescent moon looks high in the sky. Though his lips seem to demand your attention from his smile, you can’t help but be drawn to the shining metal on his eyebrow. 

"I uhh...thanks," you aren't sure which enchanting features to look at. “You look…good too.”

"Thank you," he giggles. "So is this what you were gonna wear for a man you've never even met?" Hyunjin gestures at your dress. Your smile falters and you nod. "What a waste," he places his large hand on your face, thumb stroking your cheek. "Such a pretty thing like you deserves so much more. Don't you think, Ji?"

"So much more," Jisung scoots closer to you. His hand goes to your knee while leaning into your neck. "So pretty." His breath is warm on your skin. His body heat feels like an inviting blanket you want to wrap yourself in. Though you haven’t spoken to Jisung much, he seems to be the ‘nicest’. He was the only one who made an effort to calm you down, even if it didn’t help much at the time. 

You can tell Jisung wants to touch you more. He's practically vibrating with need, but he holds back. The only sign he gives you is the hand on your leg. It never travels up, but his fingers make small circles on your skin. His hesitation only works you up more. Feeling his hand on your knee is only a hint at what you might endure tonight. You're surprised to see how much you want to feel all of them touching you.

Still, you have the mind to remember how scared you were moments ago. “I don't- I don't think-" You're cut off by Hyunjin tracing his thumb on your mouth. He taps your bottom lip, pulling it down to reveal your lower teeth.

"Don't think, angel," he sounds like a dream. "You're safe with us, that's all that matters."

Safe? That you aren't too sure of, but you don't try to stop Hyunjin when he leans in. His hand is steady on your cheek while his lips meet yours. The kiss is soft, a gentle mingling to let you know he wouldn't do anything you're not ready for. You tilt your head up to get more of his taste. A specific flavor of coolness meets your mouth, he must wear chapstick.

Mint, you think.

The kiss deepens and his tongue swipes against your lip. You debate on it, unsure if you're really wanting to fuck the same guys who scared the shit out of you minutes ago. But everything just feels so good. Hyunjin's mouth and Han's inching hand. You're already on the run from your finance, what's the harm in fucking up more?

You part your lips, inviting Hyunjin's tongue. He inhales and grunts at the wetness of yours. They slide together and mix, twisting into an open-mouthed kiss crudely.

Hyunjin properly reattaches his mouth to suck on your bottom lip, pulling the skin in a way that makes you whine. Jisung takes the opportunity to slide his hand up the slit, finding home at your inner thigh. You feel his mouth attach to the exposed part of your neck. His tongue is hot on your skin, licking and sucking until your throat turns a bright shade of pink.

"Are you guys seriously gonna fuck in my car?"

Oh. Right, there's another person here. Hyunjin slowly pulls away from you. The lack of kissing has you chasing his lips, blindly following the sensation.

Han whines in the crook of your neck, sparing a look at Minho who looks both irritated and aroused.

"But Minhooo..." Jisung pouts. "She's so pretty."

"So pretty," Hyunjin parrots.

"And we weren't very nice to her at first. This is us making it up! This is the least we owe her, don't you think?" Jisung must have Minho under some type of spell because his features soften. There's a brief moment of silence that's nearly deafening. The attention shifts from Minho to you, and you can hardly stand the tension.

"I...I want to."

"Oh, you do?" Minho doesn't sound too friendly. "Alright then. Go ahead." He twists his body so it's fully facing you and the other men. You hear Hyunjin groan and Jisung giggle. They waste no time in getting back to their original position, though Jisung seems eager to spread your legs wide this time.

The feeling of two hot mouths lands on both sides of your neck. You gasp, fists gripping their pants.

You lock eyes with Minho to see a smirk on his lips. "You're...you're just gonna watch?"

Minho's smile widens, "Why? Is two not enough for you?"

Hyunjin laughs against your skin while you blush. "That's not what I meant," you whimper when Jisung bites down on your flesh. "I just...I don't want you to-"

"He's a big boy, angel," Hyunjin picks up his head from your neck. "If he wants to watch, he can watch you cum on my dick, okay?" You turn redder, hand coming up to cover your bashful expression.

It's a good thing you've got something covering your mouth because Jisung has managed to infiltrate your underwear amidst the conversation. He massages your cunt through the material in slow circles. You hum and widen your legs while Hyunjin helps to hike the dress up to your waist.

"No, she’s gonna cum on me first!” Jisung pouts. “I wanna be the first one.” To drive his point home, Jisung moves your underwear to the side. He spreads your lips to show the arousal collecting somewhat proudly. “I did this! It’s not fair that Hyunjin calls the shots when I’m the one who got her wet! And I was the only one nice to her!”

Ah, that’s true. Even if Han’s throwing a bit of a tantrum, you can’t help but find it somewhat cute. The points he makes are valid, and if he wasn’t as welcoming as he was in the beginning, you would probably be doing something very different than what you are now. 

Though Han’s directing his whining at the others, you nod. “I…I don’t mind if Jisung goes first.” Your words quiet the car before Jisung looks at you with an endearing smile. “Really?!” He claps when you nod. 

“See!” He looks at Hyunjin. “You don’t get to get everything just ‘cause you’re handsome.”

You giggle as Jisung grabs you by the waist to hover you a few inches off the seat. He slides underneath your ass and wiggles his pants down, using a hand to free his cock. Hyunjin still keeps the dress at your waist so you’re able to see Jisung spring-free when you look down. 

It’s a lot thicker than you thought. It flushes a deep color while the head of his cock is even darker. A few small veins trail along his length, but one along the sides has you already lowering yourself down in anticipation. 

“Whatever. You’re just opening her up for me,” Hyunjin grumbles. 

His words are lost to you and Jisung as he taps his tip on the front of your pussy. Jisung swivels his hips so he’s able to smear his pre-cum over your cunt. You match his movements, grinding back and forth so your clit can catch his flared tip. It’s hard to steady yourself while wearing heels, so you find leverage by hanging onto the headrests of the front seats where Minho sits. 

“Can’t forget about these,” Minho hums to himself as he reaches for your corset. He loosens the top part of your dress before spilling your breasts out, cupping and groping them. He flicks your nipples in an attempt to get them to harden. With his thumb and forefinger, he pinches the buds until you squeal. 

Hyunjin can’t contain himself anymore. He watches as Jisung gets to rub his dick all over your pretty cunt and as Minho plays with your tits. Finding a solution, Hyunjin bunches the material of your dress in one hand behind your back so a newly free hand can finally touch you somewhere. And that somewhere is your cunt. 

“Don’t you want Jisung in your pussy already? Hm?” You feel Hyunjin slide his long fingers to Han’s cock so he can push it up. The tip slightly breaches your entrance, but there’s not enough force for it to go in all the way. Still, you can feel the warmth of it, of all of them. Minho’s soft yet ruthless hands twisting your nipples until they blossom with pink; Han’s hot dick sliding across your pussy; and Hyunjin’s warm fingers guiding the cock where it should go.

You nod, though you aren’t sure if he can tell. 

Hyunjin grabs the base of Han’s cock and angles it to your cunt. “So wet already, it should slide in real good.” He tugs the back of your dress as a sign to lower yourself. Hyunjin is careful to make sure Han’s cock stays perfectly aligned with your hole despite how much he’s moving. Your lower lips spread as the head of his cock breaches your entrance, a whine leaving you. Inch by inch, you take Han’s length inside of you, thighs burning as you slowly make your descent.

Minho’s hands travel from your chest to your shoulders, helping you fully settle on Han’s cock. “Shit, look at that,” he laughs breathlessly. “Pussy opens so good for him.” You whine at Minho’s praise, finding the motivation to finally sink fully into his cock with a moan.

“Gotta fuck you,” Jisung whimpers from behind. His hands find the curve of your hips before he thrusts upwards. You squeal at his intrusion, thighs shaking. “J-Jisung! Can’t- I can’t- Just wait let me-” But he doesn’t wait and a bigger part of you is glad. You can feel his thighs slapping against the bottom of yours, how he’s whining just behind your ear with soft apologies. 

“So, so good. Pussy so good to me, baby. I- fuck- ‘m sorry. I’ll be slower next time, mkay? I promise.” Jisung opts to wrap his arms around your middle torso to properly fuck up into you. Your tits bounce at his harsh thrusts and Minho doesn’t hesitate to get back to work on them. He takes hold of your nipples and pulls, watching your back arch forward. The whimper that leaves your mouth is heavenly, and Hyunjin can’t help but grow restless. 

The taller man moves his hand to rub on your clit, moving the flesh in wide circles. Your jaw drops and you tilt your head to look at Hyunjin, eyes glazed with tears and arousal from the overstimulation. He gives you a dazzling smile, “You should see how you look, angel. Gettin’ all worked up over one dick. It’s so cute.”

Your styled hair must be a mess from the way Jisung keeps pounding into you. Your dress is wrinkled and damn near disheveled at the top because of Minho’s persistent groping. And you’re sure the expensive makeup can only last so long. So to hear Hyunin call you cute seems like it should be impossible, but the look on his face screams authenticity. You mean to thank him, to say anything that could describe how grateful you are for all of them making your night, but the moment you open your mouth, it’s moans and cries that sound instead. 

“Fuck! Her pussy,” Jisung groans. “Gonna make me cum. I can cum in you, right? Can I?” The desperation in his voice makes you want to agree, but it’s Minho who answers him. “You get to fuck her first and cum in her? That hardly sounds fair.” Even though you can see the smirk on Minho’s lips, Jisung cries out as if he’s been wounded. His embrace around you tightens and his thrusts grow sloppy. Despite that, your cunt hugs his cock eagerly, begging for his cum. The walls of your pussy feel stretched and used, but you can feel your womb aching to be filled.

“Want it…” you moan. “All of it. I want all of it.” 

It’s as if you’re Jisung’s savior. He can’t help but laugh, looking at his hyungs with triumph. “Heard that? You heard that, right?” He kisses the exposed part of your neck tenderly. “Thank you, baby, thank you. Imma fill you up nice and full. Gonna be leaking with my cum for weeks.”

“Gross,” you hear Hyunjin grimace. There’s not a chance to glance at him before Jisung bucks up into you with fervor. You gasp, leaning forward towards Minho so Jisung can have full access to your pussy. It’s wet, it’s lewd, and Hyunjin only makes the sounds louder as his fingers flick back and forth against your nub. 

You’re reminded of how tired your legs are in this position, but that thought is distracted by a warm mouth enveloping your breast. You look down to see Minho peering up at you through his lashes, your nipple between his teeth. He gently bites before sucking it back into his mouth, letting his tongue graze the bud repeatedly. He hallows his mouth to make a powerful suction and leans his head back, taking your tit with him.

It’s no shock when you cum, but it is sudden. You’re not sure which action made you finally tip over, but Jisung can feel the gushing of your cunt and the squeezing of your walls on his cock. Hyunjin can feel how much wetter your clit has gotten, how it twitches in his hold. Minho only giggles when your entire body vibrates, tits jiggling in his mouth. 

Han whines, “Is she cumming? I can feel her pussy creaming all over my cock. Shit, feels so good baby. Gonna make me cum.”

“Mhm,” Hyunjin looks at your wrecked state that barely manages to keep you upright. “She’s cumming all right. Don’t think she can take much more, Ji. Hurry up or she’ll pass out on my turn.”

The thought of having Hyunjin fuck you makes you clench on Jisung’s cock. It seems like he appreciates this, moaning before spilling hot cum into your pussy. It floods your cunt in streaks, finding a place deep in your womb. Your knuckles turn white from the grip you have on the headrests, teeth digging into your lower lip just to keep yourself from being too loud. Jisung groans and rests his forehead on your back, giving you tired thrusts to ride out his high. 

“God- fuck! You put a spell on this pussy or something? Squeezing me so tight like it doesn’t wanna let me go.” Jisung struggles to pull himself out of you. He adjusts his hands back to your hips so he can lift you, slowly dragging his cock against your walls. You moan at the feeling of him sliding out. It’s cautious and slow, a good alternative from how roughly he was fucking you. The two of you let out a loud whine when he’s fully out.

“About time,” Hyunjin pushes Jisung out of the way. Jisung frowns, “Hey! That’s not very nice.”

Hyunjin laughs, shaking his head as he adjusts himself to how Jisung was. “Shut up. Just hold her dress up.” With grumbles, the younger man listens and bunches your wedding dress in his fists. Hyunjin slides the tip of the cock on your pussy, sending overstimulating shocks throughout your body. 

“Make it fast,” Minho directs his attention to Hyunjin. “We’ve overstayed.” Hyunjin nods, but not without a few mumbles under his breath before sinking himself inside of you.

You’re not sure what you were expecting, but it wasn’t this. Han’s cock wasn’t the longest, but it hardly lacked the thickness to stretch you out. With Han, it felt like you were being lolled around, but with Hyunjin, you can’t help but still. His cock goes deep, a never-ending feeling of being probed. You throw your head back, uncaring for how loud your moan is. Hyunjin shivers under you, hands shaky as he quickly finds a pace to fuck into you.

Minho has a front-seat view. It’s an understatement to say he’s amazed at how well you’re taking Hyunjin. Your cunt flutters open perfectly for him, clit swollen from being rubbed. Minho watches the inches upon inches being slammed into you before being pulled out. You can’t blame him when you see him sneak a hand to undo his jeans before pulling his cock out. 

“Shit! Can’t believe you got to fuck this pussy first,” Hyunjn moans out to Jisung. “Still so tight.”

Jisung is wiggling in his seat despite already cumming, Like Minho, he’s slowly stroking his soft cock at the sight. “Mhm. Tight little pussy. He’s fucking you real good, huh?” He doesn’t expect you to answer, you’re too busy trying not to scream at the bruising pace Hyunjin’s set. If you thought Jisung was rough, then Hyunjin is brutal.

“T-too much!” You yelp when Hyunjin finds a certain spot in your cunt. He feels your walls clench so violently that Jisung’s cum leaks onto his cock. “N-not there,” you whimper. “Can’t take it.”

“But it feels so good there,” Hyunjin retaliates. For once, his hips slow to purposely drag his cock across that spot. You squirm and hiccup in his hold, squealing at how overwhelmingly blissful it feels. Jisung wipes the corner of your mouth, collecting the drool that’s begun to seep through your lips before popping it in his mouth to suck.

Hyunjin drives his cock deep inside, “You feel that?” He pulls a few inches out and grinds in again. “That’s where I’mma put all my cum. Right in here.” You shiver at his words, nodding mindlessly. He smiles at your pliant state though you can’t see. “Good girl.”

“And you called me gross,” Jisung rolls his eyes, thumb still in his mouth as he watches Hyunjin desperately get himself to cum inside you. His words are hardly noticed though amongst the sound of skin and moans. All you can focus on is how close Hyunjin can bring you in such a short amount of time. He’s focused on fucking you right and you can feel how hot his body is. He brings you back down on his cock with such vigor that your entire body jiggles at the force. Minho’s eyes switch between your cunt swallowing Hyunjin’s cock to your breasts. You wish you could reach over and replace his hand with your own, but Hyunjin has a strong hold on your body for his own use.

His cock twitches in your pussy and he groans. Hyunjin’s hips have started to falter, but you’re hardly upset about it. Your cunt feels beyond abused, leaking with Jisung’s cum every time Hyunjin fucks into you. The familiar feeling of euphoria builds in your stomach and you feel it grow with every powerful thrust. You’re so caught up in the sensation of your approaching orgasm that you almost miss Hyunjin announcing his own high.

“Oh, angel. I’mma cum in you. You want my cum, yeah? Say it. Fuck. Say how much you want it.”

Hyunjin expecting you to talk despite pounding himself into you is comical, but you manage to squeak out small words. “So bad. I need it, Hyunnie. I- I wanna feel it inside me, please.” Your babbling is more than enough for Hyunjin to unload. He shivers and stills his hips flush against your ass, letting his cock pump you full of cum. 

You can feel his tip pressing against your cervix. His cock is rubbing against your gummy spot so perfectly that you cum seconds after him. Hyunjun moans at the feel of your walls clamping down on him. 

When he slips out of you, your thighs fold until you collapse on his lap wetly. Your legs tremble both from exertion and the pleasure coursing through your body. You rest your head on the middle console, wrapping your arms around your torso in an attempt to stop yourself from shaking. Hyunjin soothingly runs his hands up and down your back, cooing at how well you did with Jisung chiming in with compliments.

It takes you a moment to recognize the wet sound of Minho stroking himself. You tiredly pick your head up just in time with his orgasm. Minho’s cum shoots so far that a few strings of cum land on your face. You blink and flinch at the warm substance, automatically using your tongue to swipe off the gooey liquid. 

“Oops,” you can see Minho trying his best not to laugh. “Uhh…let’s take you to Chan’s now.”

[lovemebutleavemewild]

Wasn't actually going to do a part 2 to this mafia!Price x pregnant reader drabble but a few people requested it so ...

I don't think this will be a long fic or a series or anything but if anyone has by particular requests for scenes, let me know!

You take the table's orders quickly and almost trip getting away from them.

John follows you immediately, of course, but if you can just get to the kitchen, he won't be able to follow you.

Or so you think.

The doors don't have time to swing shut behind you before they burst open again and you feel a hand on your waist, spinning you around to face him.

"You're taking your break," he tells you.

"I can't yet, I have tables. And-"

You see your manager approaching and brace yourself for the tirade.

"Sir, you can't be in h-"

He stops when he gets a proper look at John.

"Oh. Um, is there a problem, sir? Or some way I can-"

"She's taking her break," John tells him, jerking his thumb at you. Your manager just nods mutely and John takes your hand, leading you out the back entrance.

"Beat it," he tells the line cook, smoking by the bins. The man slinks back inside without a word.

As soon as you're alone, John shepherds you against the wall, arm on either side of you so you're walled in.

"It's mine?" he asks and you try not to be offended. It's a fair question, you suppose. You just nod, looking at your shoes. He tilts your chin up so you're looking at him. You can't read the look on his face.

"Finish your shift. I'll wait."

+++++++

He takes you home, makes the others take a cab wherever they're going, and just gives you a look when you suggest you can take the bus.

He also insists on walking you inside. Your face warms at the way he's analysing your apartment building. When you hold the door to your place open for him, he rubs his hand along the doorframe, studying the lock, heads straight for the windows to do the same once he's inside.

"We'll need to get you moved out of here," he says when he finally turns around. You raise  your eyebrows.

"Is that right?" you ask. If he notices the sarcasm, he doesn't comment.

"Mmmhmm. Could get the lads to pack up your stuff for you, handle the movin'. We could have it done tonight"

"And where do you suggest I go?"

John smiles and sidles towards you.

"I could think of a few places," he says, raising his eyebrows. You huff a laugh.

"Hmm. But there's nothing wrong with my apartment."

John just hums.

"Not a good area," he tells you.

You start to feel your temper rise a little.

"Think whatever you want of the area; You don't get to walk in here and tell me-"

"Well I am telling you darlin'. I know these parts and 'round here isn't a good place for a girl like you."

"A girl like me?" you ask flatly, crossing your arms. You force yourself not to move away from him as he gets in your space. You can smell him from here, the scent of his cologne, and doesn't that bring back memories.

He leans down so he's looking into your eyes properly.

"A good girl," he says.

You snort and turn away.

"Does that line usually work for you?"

In a second, you feel his hands on your waist, pulling you back against a hard chest.

"Worked before, didn't it?" His voice is raspy in your ear.

"You didn't mind being my good girl the last time we spoke, did ya, sweetheart? Or can you only be good when you're stuffed full?"

He presses harder against your back and you can feel the length of him now.

"'Cause I can help you with that, love, just you say the word."

You pull away, turn to look at him, with your chest heaving.

"Place like this could be dangerous for a girl like you," John says and it sounds like a warning.

"Aren't men like you what makes places like this dangerous?" you whisper.

He steps towards you again, slower this time, puts a hand on your hip. You don't pull away.

"Sometimes," he admits. "Not always. Need to make sure you're taken care of, from all the bad things out there. Goes for both of you."

"I don't need taken care of," you tell him. It would sound more convincing to your own ears if you could find it in yourself to pull your hand off his chest.

"No?" His hand suddenly dips between your legs and you jolt forwards into him.

"You been taking care of yourself here, hmm?" He starts to rub, over your work leggings, leans down so his head is nearly on your shoulder.

"Been taking care of this pretty pussy like it needs?" he asks, voice rough. "It was so needy that night we met, I was sure we'd go a few rounds. Why'd you run instead, sweetheart? I didn't even get a chance to taste it."

You can't answer, can't think, especially not when he shoves his same hand under your pants, sliding your underwear to one side for better access. Your head falls back when he touches your clit.

"Need me to take of you here, darlin'?"

You can't help your moan.

"Not good enough," he grunts. "Need you to say it, love. Say you need me to take care of this pussy."

And you've been so stressed for so long and, really, at this point, what harm could it possibly do?

"Please, please, John, I need you. I need-need-"

He quietens you with a kiss, leaning down to lift you by your thighs. The bump makes it a bit awkward but he doesn't falter as he makes his way to your room.

"All you needed to say, mama."

[pathologicalreid]

hiii I love ur fics <3 I am OBSESSED with the prompt “can you come get me?” bc h/c makes me 💥💥💥 so I was thinking:

reader has been kidnapped by the latest unsub and the team is trying their hardest to find her but all the leads keep coming up empty until one day Spencer gets a call from her and the first thing she says is “can you come get me?” she sounds extremely upset and afraid so Spencer and Hotch leave to go find her. when they get there, she looks like she’s been through hell so they rush her to the hospital to be checked out, all the while they can’t seem to get any info out of her about what happened.

Spencer & reader could be platonic or romantic, whichever you like. (also I was thinking maybe hotchner!reader ? if that wouldn’t be too many things to ask for lol)

I love how you do angst and h/c, so keep up the good work and have a wonderful day <3

can you come get me? | S.R.

who? spencer reid x fem!reader category: angst content warnings: kidnapping, hospitals, stitches, blood draws, catatonia, disassociation, brief mention of sa, ohio mentioned, general cm violence (let me know if i missed any) word count: 4.56k a/n: i have no idea how this got so long but i love the plot of it so much that i couldn't cut any of it! i'm such a slut for the "you came"/"you called" trope that i couldn't help myself! i wrote this with the idea that it would be in place of the m*eve storyline (which means our lord and savior blake is here)!! anyways anon i hope you enjoy this - i love you!

Any external sound was completely ignored as Spencer flipped through the same file for the eighteenth time that day. In his periphery, he saw JJ and Rossi nod at each other before Rossi split away, walking up the ramp to where Hotch’s office was.

It took him a moment to realize JJ had made herself comfortable by sitting on the edge of his desk. She had her jacket neatly folded in her arms as she eyed the file he had, grief filling her eyes as she registered what he was looking at. “What are you doing tonight?” She asked, trying to keep her voice as light as possible.

The question was entirely pointless, she knew exactly what he was doing tonight, but in an attempt to get her to leave him alone, Spencer humored her, “I’m working late tonight,” he answered simply.

JJ’s smile faltered ever so slightly before she shook her head, “You’ve been working late all week, what if you come over tonight? Will’s making dinner. Garcia’s coming after she finishes her system update,” the attempt to get him out of the office didn’t go over his head, but it wasn’t going to work. “Henry would love to see you – maybe you could teach him a new magic trick.”

Peeling his eyes off of the paperwork, he looked up at the blonde, “You know I can’t.” He felt so close to an answer, he couldn’t possibly leave.

“Look, Reid, I get it, but you’ve been working crazy hours for the past month. Maybe taking a night off would be good. You can start fresh in the morning,” she tried to coax him into leaving the case be.

It hadn’t been a full month; it had been twenty-seven days. Almost four full weeks since you were taken. It had been one week since Section Chief Cruz had told Hotch that the BAU needed to start taking new cases, as the trail to you had run cold.

Considering you were Hotch’s daughter, that discussion had gone rather poorly. Cruz had been able to give the team leeway. Both Spencer and Hotch had fully intended on taking advantage of that leeway, and the rest of the team helped when they had the capacity.

Turning back to your file, Spencer shook his head, “I’ll go if Hotch goes.” He knew there was no way Hotch would be leaving the office tonight, the only reason Hotch went home anymore was for Jack, and he was at a sleepover tonight.

JJ’s shoulders slumped in abject disappointment as her eyes followed Dave as he exited Hotch’s office, the slamming of the door enough to make the lingering BAU agents flinch. “I’ll see you tomorrow,” she said, defeated.

Rossi wagged a finger at Spencer, “Go home at some point tonight, kid,” he instructed.

Waving a quick goodbye, Spencer resumed making notes in the margins of the papers that were making a permanent home on his desk. He looked up when Hotch exited his office, eyes following him as he brewed a pot of coffee in the kitchenette. The two of them acknowledged each other with a nod before continuing on with the hunt.

Both of them knew the odds, that you had been gone this long and there was a good chance that they’d never see you again. Despite that, Spencer would head up to Hotch’s office in about an hour, and the two of them would confer.

Eventually, the sun set, and a thunderstorm rolled in, the flashes of light coming in through the windows as he began to consider going for another cup of coffee.

Wiping a hand down his face, he inwardly groaned as his phone started to ring. Half expecting it to be JJ, he was surprised to find that it was an unknown caller. Clicking the answer button, he lifted the phone to his ear, “Hello, this is Dr. Reid.”

There was an eerie silence on the other end of the call, if he strained his ears, he could hear the pattering of rain. He tried to greet the other person again, but when there was no answer, he started to lower the phone to hang up.

“Can you come get me?” Your quiet voice came through the receiver, effectively knocking the wind out of Spencer’s lungs.

Fiddling with his belongings, Spencer gripped your file, “Where are you?” He asked urgently.

You sniffled, “I don’t know. A payphone off of twenty-eight.” If he strained his ears, he could listen to the rain. Spencer wondered if he could calculate how far away you were by the sound of the thunder where you were compared to where he was.

His chest ached at the exhaustion in your tone, imagining you had gotten approximately as much sleep as he had recently. That is to say, little to none. Pulling the phone slightly away from his face, he called out for Hotch, getting his attention and waving him over. “Y/N, can you see any mile markers or exit signs anywhere?” Spencer asked, bringing the phone back up to his ear.

“I can’t see much of anything,” you admitted. That made sense, your glasses had been recovered at your abduction scene. Spencer kept them in his bag with the rest of your belongings that had been released from evidence. “I feel lucky enough that I was able to find a pay phone,” you said, and for the first time, he noticed that you were whispering.

Glancing at the inside of his wrist, Spencer checked the time. JJ had mentioned something about Garcia staying in her office for a system update – what were the odds the tech analyst was still there? Stalking out of the bullpen, he made his way to her office, Hotch hot on his heels.

After knocking on the door, her voice rang out, “Enter, mere mortal.” Once she had recognized who it was, she greeted Spencer directly, “Ah, Dr. Reid, did you need a ride to JJ’s?”

“Can you locate a payphone based on the phone number?” He asked hurriedly, the longer you stood out there in the rain, the more danger you might be in.

A confused look was plastered on her face, but she turned back to her screens and started click-clacking away. “Most def, boy genius. Run me the digits,” she responded, pulling up some sort of database that Spencer didn’t recognize – probably for the best.

She typed the phone number just as quickly as he recited it, turning around and telling him that the pay phone in question was approximately thirty minutes away. You had only been thirty minutes away this entire time. “Send the coordinates to Hotch’s phone,” Spencer instructed, stepping toward the door. “Tell the rest of the team to come in,” he continued, “it’s Y/N.”

Each stage of grief flashed across Penelope’s face as she nodded assuredly, scrambling for her phone as she took care of notifications.

Impatiently, Hotch held the elevator door open as Spencer entered, keeping the phone up to his ear, “Stay on the phone,” he told you.

A desperate whimper came from your end of the call, “I don’t have any change. I found a few quarters on the ground, but I don’t have anything on me.”

“Stay on as long as you can, angel,” Spencer amended. “We’re on our way.”

The rain was worse than he had initially thought, but Mother Nature was no match for Aaron Hotchner. They were only about five minutes from the coordinates that Garcia had shared, and the phone call had dropped off before they were even on the main highway. The dropped call certainly didn’t help the rising tension in the SUV.

“Did she sound scared?” Hotch had asked for the nth time.

Not taking his eyes off of the map, Spencer nodded, “She sounded like she was stranded in the middle of the woods in Virginia, in a thunderstorm, and was using a pay phone as a lifeline.” His entire body was thrumming with nervous energy as they sped down the road, “but she’s alive.”

He didn’t miss the way Hotch’s knuckles turned white as he gripped the steering wheel. You being alive would have to be enough of a comfort to the both of them for now, but Spencer knew what your life meant to your father.

“There it is,” Spencer said, interrupting his thoughts with the recognition of a phone booth on the side of the road, in front of a seemingly abandoned gas station. In a moment of uncharacteristic recklessness, Spencer clambered out of the vehicle before it came to a full stop, an umbrella and jacket in tow.

Hesitantly, he approached the crumpled heap of limbs underneath the pay phone. It wasn’t a full booth, it had just enough coverage to prevent the payphone from short-circuiting. You had jammed yourself underneath it, trying to keep yourself as dry as possible.

Kneeling in front of you, he swept his sopping-wet hair from his face, “Y/N.” His voice was no more than a breath, he didn’t dare reach out to touch you — lest you not want to be touched. A strike of lightning lit your surroundings enough for him to note the bruise that had bloomed on your cheek.

As his eyes adjusted to the darkness, he watched as your lips parted in recognition, “You came,” you whispered.

He nodded, “You called.” His heart soared as you shuffled yourself closer to him, allowing him to wrap the FBI-issued jacket around your rain-soaked frame. “Let’s get you out of this rain, alright?”

Standing up on shaky legs, Spencer helped you walk to the SUV where your dad was waiting, shining a flashlight to help guide you to the vehicle. Based on how heavily you were leaning on him, he could tell that your left leg was injured. Despite your injury, you stepped away from Spencer to hug your father.

For a moment, Spencer felt like he was intruding on a family moment, but he recalled all of the times he had been invited to join in Hotchner festivities these last few years and allowed his eyes to meet Hotch’s.

The two of them shared an understanding look as Hotch pulled away, “We should get you to a hospital,” he said, cupping your face with parental gentleness.

Spencer helped you into the SUV, unable to put any pressure on your leg, you depended on the handles to pull yourself up. As you maneuvered yourself, he tried to determine what your injuries were. His eyes scanned your body until he made his way back to your face, “Angel, keep your eyes open.” He felt as if he was asking a lot of you, but he didn’t know if you had taken a hit to the head. Falling asleep could do more damage. “Hey, Y/N?” He said, watching as your eyes fell shut and your head slumped forward. “Hotch,” Reid said urgently from the backseat.

Understanding perfectly, Hotch hit the lights on the SUV and turned on the siren. Flashes of red and blue signaled to other drivers that there was an emergency.

You were silent.

As soon as they had gotten you to the emergency room, your entire demeanor had changed. Spencer guessed that you had been in fight or flight when they had picked you up from the phone booth, and now that you were getting the help that you needed, all of the fight had vacated your being.

In the white fluorescence of the hospital, he could see how drained you looked. Once the doctors got their hands on you, you refused to let him or your dad near you.

Hotch was in the hallway, talking on the phone with your Aunt Jessica while he tried to arrange childcare for Jack so he could stay with you - the leader of your care team estimated you’d be in the hospital for at least a few days.

While you had been mobile when they came to get you, your energy had left along with your adrenaline, and eventually, the best course of action was to just let you sleep. That was how Spencer ended up sitting cross-legged in a stiff hospital chair, watching over you as you slept.

Respectful of your wishes, he kept a fair distance from you, but you’d be hard-pressed to convince him to let you out of his sight. There were tubes and wires going every which way from your body, oxygen, an IV, and electrodes monitored your life. Boiling you down to a collection of numbers that showed Spencer just how alive you were.

The doctors suspected you had bacterial pneumonia, but they were still waiting on the results of your chest X-ray to make a formal diagnosis. Your presumed leg injury had turned out to be a bruised hip bone – part of a sickening pattern that reflected that of someone who had been thrown down a flight of stairs.

A knock on the window to your hospital room caught his attention, causing him to turn his head and come face to face with Rossi and Blake. Opening the blinds so that he’d be able to keep an eye on you from the hallway, Spencer stood up and joined his colleagues in the corridor.

“What’s the report?” Rossi asked, nodding in the direction of your room, and placing his hands on his hips.

Spencer rubbed the back of his neck before responding, “The doctor said that all things considered, she’s in good shape, but…” Shaking his head to wake himself up, he crossed his arms in front of his chest, “She’s sick and was beaten. Right now, she’s sleeping. We have no idea she was running in the woods, so it’s not surprising that she’s exhausted.”

He continued on to list other maladies that the doctors had provided, dehydration, malnutrition, one cut on your arm that needed to be stitched, and that was just scratching the surface. Dave nodded understandingly, “but the sooner we get to ask her questions, the better.”

Shrugging, Spencer looked over at your father, and then back to you, “When she wakes up on her own,” he murmured, watching as a nurse checked on your IV. He didn’t want to risk waking you up or asking too much too soon of you. “Can I ask you a quick question?” He lifted a finger inquisitively to the nurse who was walking out of your room, scribbling something on your chart.

The nurse hummed in response, raising her eyebrows as she waited for him to ask.

“Do you think the infection has anything to do with her silence? She might be hurting so she isn’t talking?” He asked, it wasn’t unheard of, when people were in a lot of pain, sometimes they coped with silence.

While the nurse might have an excellent bedside manner, the three profilers took note of the concern in her eyes. “The silence might have more to do with her psychological well-being than her physical well-being,” she responded, it was a healthcare way of trying to appease them. Really, they didn’t know much better than the members of the BAU did.

Blake’s eyebrows shot up in curiosity, “Could it be catatonia?”

“In order to diagnose catatonia, she’d need to display three of twelve symptoms. Those are stupor, catalepsy, waxy flexibility, mutism, negativism, posturing, mannerism, stereotypy, agitation, grimacing, echolalia, and echopraxia. So far, she really only meets one of twelve,” Spencer answered.

Shrugging, the nurse pointed at Spencer with her pen, “What he said.” She looked down at the chart before continuing, “Her care team leader called for a psych consult, but we won’t really know one way or the other until she wakes up.”

Nodding, Rossi nodded in acknowledgment, “What else could it be?”

Pursing her lips, the nurse tilted her head to the side, “Peritraumatic disassociation is another possibility, but again, we won’t know until she wakes up.”

The waiting game began. As luck would have it, an FBI agent being abducted created a lot of paperwork, so Hotch was holed up in a conference room while Rossi and Blake worked on the profile. JJ and Morgan stayed back at Quantico with Garcia to look back at what information Hotch and Spencer had been gathering over the past twenty-seven – now twenty-eight – days.

Spencer stayed with you, tucking your blanket around you when he watched goosebumps sprout along your arms. He paid close attention to everything that the doctors and nurses said about your condition, relaying everything to Hotch via text message. They ran a kit on you, and the only solace was that there was a chance that they could DNA match whoever did this to you.

He left that last part out of his message to your father.

As soon as you started waking up, Spencer had to leave the room, watching from the hallway as medical personnel flurried around your bed. At first, he had assumed your aversion to himself and your dad was an overall aversion to men, but you didn’t flinch when it came to the male doctor who was checking your vitals manually.

A nurse peeked out from the door, “Are you Dave?”

Furrowing his eyebrows, Spencer cocked his head back in confusion, “No? I’m not – why?” He asked, gaze flickering back into your room as you scrawled something on the piece of paper that a nurse had handed you.

“She said she’d talk to Dave,” the inquiring nurse shrugged, turning back into your room, and adjusting your pillow beneath your head.

Still confused, Spencer slipped his phone out of his pocket, nimbly typing a message to Rossi before returning the phone to its home in his slacks. Trying to respect your peace, Spencer remained in the hallway, leaning back against the wall as he heard the familiar sound of Italian leather boots turning the corner. “Are you sure she didn’t mean Aaron?”

Spencer shook his head, mirroring the older man’s confusion, “She physically wrote your name out. She’ll only speak to you,” he answered, trying to hide his own pain for the sake of ridding you of yours. If you wouldn’t talk to your father or himself, it made the most sense that you’d talk to Rossi. You’ve known him the entire time your father worked in the BAU.

Shrugging, Rossi walked into your room and approached you with the care of a man approaching a deer. He remained this way until he made it to your bed, and Spencer watched as he smoothed your hair away from your face affectionately.

You leaned into his touch, and Spencer didn’t miss the cue. When was the last time anyone had touched you with love in their heart?

He had kissed you goodbye before you went on your run, just thirty minutes before your location turned off and your usual Thursday route turned into a hunting ground. With what you did for work, you switched paths frequently, but someone had been watching you, or at least, that was the conclusion the team had drawn.

Watching as Rossi spoke with you, Spencer noticed one anomaly – you weren’t speaking to him. Instead, all of his questions were answered with blinks or scribbling on paper.

The two of you went until a nurse came in, telling the both of you that they needed to run a few more tests. Taking his leave, Rossi told you something that Reid couldn’t quite make out and rejoined him in the hallway.

“What did you say to her? Just now?” Spencer asked, his need for any sort of contact with you becoming so desperate that he’d now accept it secondhand.

Frowning, Rossi placed both of his hands on his hips, “I called her piccolina, I used to call her that all the time when she was just a little thing running around the old BAU bunker.” Taking a moment, Rossi pulled out his little notebook and read through it. “White male, late twenties to early thirties, sometimes gone for days on end citing ‘work,’ but she never figured out what he did for work.”

Spencer’s eyes burned at the realization that you had been working your own case while being victimized, he peered in through the window as a nurse drew your blood.

“She said he drove a dark American sedan, making it either blue or black,” Rossi continued to list off, eyes following Blake as she approached the two of you. “Y/N said the car was filthy like he had been living out of it when he couldn’t get to her in the woods. The car had an Ohio party plate on it with expired tags.”

Blake arched a brow at the new information, “Party plate?” She said quizzically, looking at Spencer for clarification.

Nodding, Spencer looked over at his friend, “That’s the colloquial name for restricted license places. They’re given to people who are convicted of DUIs, which is actually called an OVI in Ohio. In Ohio, they’re yellow with red print, and the only state to have something similar is Minnesota where they call them whiskey plates because they all start with the letter W.”

“Well, he’s confident. Maybe too confident, driving around with expired tags and a license plate that already puts a spotlight on him,” Blake said thoughtfully, adding to the profile in her mind. “We should get this information to Garcia, maybe look for people who recently relocated from Ohio with those plates,” she suggested to Rossi.

Rossi nodded, skillfully flipping the cover back over his notepad and gesturing for Blake to follow him to the conference room, effectively leading Spencer to his own devices. When the nurse left to bring the vials of blood to the lab, he returned to your room, taking his seat on the edge of the room – as far away as he could get while keeping his eyes on you.

He looked up to your bed, catching you staring at him. As soon as you knew you had been caught, you turned your head to the other side, averting your gaze toward the window.

Every thirty minutes or so, Spencer moved the chair approximately five inches closer to you, by four in the morning, he had closed half of the space between you. He kept his eyes on you, watching as you stared thoughtfully at the ceiling. You had that crease between your eyebrows that told him you were thinking too hard, and he had to sit on his hands to stop himself from reaching out and touching it as if he could soothe all of your bad thoughts.

In the doorway, Rossi had appeared, garnering your attention as you propped yourself up on the flat hospital pillows. “We got him,” Rossi announced to the room, a reserved smile on his face.

Spencer watched as you visibly relaxed on the bed, your face softened as your eyebrows relaxed. Rossi explained some next steps, but he was only half listening, he could only focus on you.

Once Dave was gone, Spencer took a leap of faith and shuffled the chair to your bedside, “How are you feeling, angel?” He asked, taking up a muted tone.

You stared at him, blinking at him until, eventually, your face crumpled, and you leaned toward him.

Not missing a beat, Spencer stood up from his chair so that he could sit on the edge of your bed, meeting you in the middle, he gently wrapped his arms around you, rubbing small, soothing circles along your back with the flat of his hand.

In the past twenty-eight days, Spencer thought that being reunited with you could fix all of the hurt in his chest, but this, right here, was a different kind of pain. Tears sept through the fabric of his shirt just as soon as they fell from your eyes, and all of the hurt that he had felt before just morphed into a different kind of suffering.

His heart ached at the sight of you in this much pain, so much emotional turmoil that you had silenced yourself. What was he supposed to say in order to comfort you? ‘You’re okay,’ was wholly false, and ‘it’s alright’ felt like a cruel joke. You very clearly weren’t okay, and none of this was alright.

“I’m here,” he reassured you, his voice no more than a croak as he tried to swallow his own emotions. “I’m right here,” he repeated, continuing his ministrations on your back until you had cried yourself to sleep.

With your body in its weakened state, Spencer carefully adjusted you onto the bed, making sure none of your tubes or wires were kinked before settling back down in his chair and taking your hand in his.

Around the time the sun came up, your care team came through for morning rounds and woke you up to thoroughly inspect your status. Once they left you to your own devices – with the promise of food in half an hour – Spencer focused all of his attention on trying to coax you into speaking to him.

Tenderly, he dragged a finger across your forehead before continuing down the bridge of your nose, “I’d really like to hear your voice, sweetheart.” His voice was gentle, maintaining a subdued tone in the early hours of the morning.

He watched as you sighed, deflating all of the air in your lungs as you tipped your head to the side, interrupting his movements. “I asked him to do it,” you murmured, voice raspy from lack of use.

“To do what?” Spencer asked, heart beating a little faster at the sound of your voice. He watched how you nervously gripped a fistful of sheets and looked at him. Only you weren’t looking at him, it was more like you were looking through him.

You took a deep, shuddering breath before you answered, “To kill me.”

The confession weighed heavy on his shoulders, but it wasn’t regarding anything against you. It was in the realization that you had been in so much physical and emotional turmoil while in captivity that you had asked for your own death. That even for a moment, you sat in front of a killer and asked for him to end your life as an act of mercy.

Noting Spencer’s lack of response, you continued speaking, “That’s why he let me go. I begged him to just end it and that took away any appeal for him.”

Last night. You had pleaded on behalf of your own demise last night. Carefully considering his next words, Spencer met your eyes and replied, “That must’ve taken a lot of courage.”

You faltered for a moment, evidently not having expected those words from him, “What are you talking about?”

It made sense to him now, why you wouldn’t talk to him or your dad. He felt like such a fool. You had been ashamed because you felt like your abductor had diminished your worth by breaking you down. Spencer knew better, “You stood your ground. You faced your own death, and you chose that over further suffering. Dying isn’t an undignified act, no matter how it comes upon you,” he reminded you, smoothing your hair away from your face as he watched your lip quiver.

“Thank you for staying,” you croaked as emotion closed your throat.

Spencer hummed thoughtfully, swiping a rogue tear from your cheek, “You’re not getting rid of me that easily.”

[nereidprinc3ss]

come on home

in which the only person who can comfort you after your breakup with spencer reid, is spencer reid

inspired by the song "summer's end" by the artist currently known as phoebe bridgers

wc 2857

warnings: gn!reader (correct me if im wrong), minor mommy issues, angst, happy ending

a/n: thank you to the person who requested this:) u r an angel and I listened to this song the whole time i wrote (if you haven't heard, listen!!) i sincerely hope you enjoy, i like this one a lot<3

She hung up on you. 

Forty-seven minutes of being insulted and berated after you’d called her looking for comfort, and you put up with every single cruel word—just for your mother to hang up on you. And it’s exactly the kind of thing she’d do, so you shouldn’t be surprised. An ache, you’d expect—but it shouldn’t sting like this. You thought you knew better. 

Now you’re in a ball on your couch, clutching your phone to your chest and crying. There’s no point hiding it. Your roommate is out with her girlfriend for the evening—which is too bad because even though you feel like being alone, you’re sure that’s the wrong call. Your other friends are out having fun tonight, too. They’d even invited you, but you turned them down. Look where that had gotten you. Obviously, your mother is not the person you’re about to run to for comfort, either. 

You try to pretend, while you’re thinking of all these people who have ever cared for you, that Spencer Reid isn’t on your mind at all. You try to pretend like you don’t care that the person who loved you until you believed you actually deserved it is a contact going stale deep in the bowels of your text cache. With bleary eyes you scroll down, looking for your conversation where it gathers dust—the end of your relationship was a mutual decision, and you’re friendly, but you haven’t texted in a few weeks. Probably because every time the conversation starts to feel a little too easy, or the phone call lasts a little too long, that aching void in your chest gets worse and worse. Like pain in a phantom limb, you become acutely aware of what you do not have and how much it hurts.  

So blame it on the tears, or the mind-muddling melodrama of your relationship with your mother, blame it on anything but the truth—when your thumb drops on that call button like the plunger on a syringe, you don’t regret it.  

What you’re not expecting is for him to answer after the first ring. 

“Hi,” you say with a snuffle before Spencer can get a word in. There’s a brief interlude, in which you pick at your nails, comfortable to just sit in silence if that’s what he wants. As long as he’s there. 

“Hi.” Hearing his voice instantly melts a bit of the weight you hadn’t realized you were carrying. Another pause, for which you remain silent, because you can feel him formulating a question—and you’d like to hear him speak again. “...am I allowed to ask if you’re okay?” 

Your lips purse and twist to the side, pained and comforted by how easily he can tell that you’re distraught. One word across a tinny connection, and he knows. 

“No. Yes. I mean... I guess that’s why I called you. But you don’t have to ask me about it.” You sniff again and take a deep breath. “How was your day? What state are you in?” 

“I’m in the district,” he answers after a moment, easing into a casualness that he likely doesn’t feel for your sake. Wind crunches through the speaker. He probably just got out of work. “My day was... it was good. I got to talk about my job to a bunch of elementary schoolers, which is always a confidence boost.” 

You chuckle, still laying on your side on the couch and watching storm clouds gathering outside. 

“Nice, nice. What else?” 

“Let’s see... I forgot lunch, so I had three oranges, and they were actually pretty good. I reread Game of Thrones—I don’t know why I did that. I’m never going to like that book.” 

“Masochist,” you smile. He laughs, and you hear the sound of a car door opening. 

“Oh! I talked to my mom. Believe it or not, she says hi.” 

A completely inadvertent snort constitutes your response. It’s not what you meant to do, and out of context it’s sort of mean, but you actually think it’s incredibly endearing that he still talks to his mother about you. He scrambles to explain himself. 

“I swear, we barely talked about you this time. Mostly we talked about her new boyfriend Leonard.” 

“No, no, that’s not... I’m sorry, I’m not laughing at you or your mom. That’s really sweet, actually. Tell her I say hi too.” 

When he next speaks, you can hear the smile in his voice. 

“I will.” Another long pause. You imagine him sitting in the parking lot at Quantico, keys vertical in the ignition of his old car and feeling the silence just as much as you are. He surprises you by not ending the conversation—instead he asks a question. It is concern, poorly disguised with nervous humor. Or maybe you just know him too well. “Do I get to find out what’s on your mind, or are you leaving me in suspense here?”  

You bite the inside of your cheek. 

“Um... well, actually, I just got off the phone with my mom, too. It didn’t go so well,” you laugh halfheartedly, “I know it was dumb to try and have an actual conversation with her, but... you know me. Always following blind optimism to the depths of hell.” 

“Why’d you call your mom?” he asks, so gently it brings a fresh round of tears to your eyes. Still, you attempt to put a cheerful affect on your strained voice. 

“Mm, you know. Just needed someone to talk to.” 

Spencer’s knowing sigh does little to make you feel better. 

“You know you can always talk to me, right? I know it’s... it’s different now, but... I care about you a lot. And, you know, I receive very few phone calls, so the line is pretty much always open.” 

Your laugh quickly devolves into a cry. 

“I appreciate that, but I can’t talk to you about everything.” 

“Why not?” he pleads immediately, voice thin and desperate like it’s his most burning question. A million lies dance over the tip of your tongue. A million things that feel safer to say than the truth. But in the end, it comes out anyway—choked, and so quiet, but aloud nonetheless. 

“Because I’m trying really hard to stop missing you so much.” 

Another long beat of silence. The back of your throat feels dry and hollow—a cage for your hummingbird heart. 

“If it hurts too much to talk to me, you don’t need to do that to yourself. But I also don’t want you to hurt yourself thinking you’re alone. You are... so important to me. I will always try to take care of you the best I can—whether that means staying away or being at your front door. If you ever need me, or even... vaguely want me, I will be there.” 

Each word caves your resolve. Each syllable is a slap in the face to progress you’d been pretending to make. You can be strong—you've proven that over the past ten weeks. You can be stone-faced and slash at your heart until the scar tissue is thick and jagged, and eventually it won’t hurt anymore. But maybe, by letting someone tend to the wounds, they’ll heal a little nicer. A little kinder. Even if you can’t undo the damage, maybe one day you’ll be soft again. 

“What if I vaguely want you right now?” you sniffle. 

Finally, you hear the silver jingle of keys turning. The sputter and rumble of an old engine coming to life. 

“Then I’m on my way.” 

Twenty four minutes later, there’s a soft knock at your door.  

After the call had ended, you’d wondered if you made it all up. Surely your ex-boyfriend wasn’t actually about to show up at your apartment. Someone you’ve grieved for can’t just come back—there are countless horror novels and movies based upon that very tenet. Does it matter if they ever actually died? How long is ten weeks, really? It feels like a lifetime. 

You shuffle across the room, wiping under your eyes with your already damp sleeves, and undoing all the locks Spencer had conditioned you to start using. When the door cracks open, and you see Spencer standing there, windswept and concerned, for the first time in months, it hits you like a tidal wave. You are, beyond a shadow of a doubt, still just as in love with him as you ever were. The relief that floods your veins as he looks down at you with so much care in his eyes is like sinking into warm water. It’s a dead giveaway, and maybe it makes this whole thing a terrible idea, but you can’t seem to care very much. You open the door wider, and he enters, and he stands in your kitchen with his hands in his coat pocket as you shut the door and he’s perfect. It dawns on you that for the first time since the breakup, you feel safe. Like you don’t have to be a stone pillar anymore. This, of course, translates into even more tears, which you try to hide as you face away, re-locking the door.  

“Sweetheart...” he sighs, because you can’t hide anything from him. Hearing the resonance of his voice so close to you once more is overwhelming. In an instant you’re rushing into his arms, and he accepts you without hesitation. You bury your teary face in the vetiver safety of his button-up and slip your arms under his coat, as if you could absorb his warmth and forever hide from the world that way. He pulls you even closer. It’s terrible and cruel how much he is exactly what you needed. “What’s wrong? What did she say?” 

You shake your head and gasp a small sob. 

Truthfully, you’re not really crying about the petty insults from your mother anymore. You’re back to square one, the reason you’d called your mother to begin with—you miss the man whose arms are currently wound around your shoulders. 

His hand smooths over the back of your hair. 

“Okay. That’s okay. We don’t have to talk about it.” 

You stay like that—content even as you cry because being with him feels so much safer than being alone. It feels right—or perhaps it’s just familiar. You don’t know which is worse.  

Spencer is rubbing soothing lines up and down your back as you cling to him, soaking him up in all his ephemeral, comforting glory. He surprises you by chuckling—it vibrates through his chest, buzzing against your ear. 

“Nice Magritte print. I bet the person who bought that has fantastic taste.” 

“Are you gonna ask for it back?” you mumble into the fabric of his suit jacket. He is, of course, referring to the painting you’d more or less stolen from his apartment seven months ago. You really don’t want him to take it home. It’s the most overt Spencer memorabilia you’d allowed yourself to keep in plain sight. 

“No, baby. You can keep it.” The words are low, and kind, and they settle you some, but you can’t seem to get him close enough. “What can I do?” he whispers after a moment, helpless as you take a shuddering breath. “Can I make you tea? Have you eaten?” 

“Will you just... stay for a little bit? I’ll—I promise I’ll stop crying.” 

There is an unexpected lull where you thought you’d receive pretty immediate agreement, but before you can pull back and ask what’s wrong, he murmurs, “yeah. I can stay for a while. But you have to kick me out before it gets too late.” 

You wonder if you’re imagining the double-entendre that seems to underline his words in bold red ink. Spencer is too smart to have not noticed a thing like that. You don’t mention it—it all boils down to the same unspoken idea. 

Don’t let me stay, because I might not leave. 

“I will,” you sniff, finally stepping back and wiping your own tears. It hurts to lose his touch, but at least you know he’s not going anywhere for the next few hours. This, as opposed to everything else lately, can be a beginning instead of an end.  

At least, until he goes home. 

Three and a half hours later, after tea, an impromptu dinner comprised mostly of cheese and crackers, and several vinyl changes on your record player (which served only as background noise for your long, ambling conversations), things are seeming to wind down to a natural stopping point. Which you hate. The whole time you’d had a dull ache in your chest because talking to him was easier than breathing and you knew it wouldn’t last. There had been one or two false bottoms already—the first when you’d yawned around nine, and the second when you’d gotten up to do your skincare and brush your teeth half an hour later. Even then he’d just leaned against the doorframe, watching your reflection above the sink as you talked for fifteen more minutes. Now you stand across from each other in the kitchen, plates restacked and everything in order. Of course he’d insisted on helping you clean up. 

“I should go,” he says, with a soft sort of finality in his voice.  

“Is your carriage turning into a pumpkin?” you tease gently, to hide how much you don’t want him to leave. He smiles—a small, weary thing—but genuinely and endlessly charmed by you. 

“That among other things.” 

“Would you—would you walk me to my room first?” 

The hesitance is clear in his eyes and the way his lips part as if to say, ‘I don’t think that’s a good idea’, but you're sure he’s really going to leave in a moment and you’re also sure he won’t deny you this one small thing before he does. 

“Okay.” 

It’s a short, silent walk through the living room and down the hall to your bedroom door, but you can feel him trailing behind you the whole way. You stop in front of your open door, turning face to face with him.  

“Thanks,” you murmur.  

His lips pull into a melancholy smile. 

“Anytime.” 

There’s nothing left to do but wrap your arms around each other once more, tuck yourself into the you-sized space between his head and shoulder and hold on for as long as he’ll let you. The hug lingers for longer than is wise. Spencer adjusts his arms looped around your waist, pulling you closer, and you nuzzle against his neck, grateful that at least he seems as reluctant to let this end as you are.  

But eventually, it relaxes. Your hold on each other loosens. His face is just inches from yours, and you get to study every plane and valley and line like you’d thought you never would again. It seems he’s doing the same—losing himself in the luxury of seeing you up close. 

“Will you kiss me goodnight?” you whisper, unable to muster any self-consciousness though you know it’s a fool’s errand. Spencer strokes your waist. 

“I can’t do that, honey.” 

“Why not?” 

His voice is just as quiet as yours. It falters slightly as he speaks, so gently, so patiently. 

“Because we’re not together anymore.” 

“Why not?” 

Your feeble, desperate supplication sounds pitiable even to you. You’re not proud, but you can’t find it in yourself to be ashamed, either. All you want is an answer. But it’s like a child asking why the sky is blue, or the earth is round. There is a definitive explanation, but mostly, the adult will shrug, and say, that’s just how it is. 

Spencer’s eyes squeeze shut. His head tilts down. 

“We can’t do this again, sweetheart. You know why we’re not together.” 

In theory—yes. You’d had so many conversations when you’d broken up. It had been a long, painful process, spanning multiple all-nighters at his kitchen table, nursing coffee and trying to convince each other and yourselves that it was the right choice. But it just feels like a horrible, horrible mistake. You feel desperate to explain this to him before he slips away again—the words come out flustered, inelegant as you cling to him.

“But I don’t think I’m getting better without you. I tried, I tried so hard to be good on my own, but everything is worse and harder and—and we weren’t sure about it then, and I don’t think it was the right choice, because I still really need you. Like, all the time. I’m—it’s not getting better without you. Nothing got better.” 

He swallows, eyes darting between yours for an infinite second. You’re breathless and your heart is pounding after your confession—you can feel your eyes stinging with the few tears that managed to escape as you spoke. 

“Everything is worse,” he agrees shakily. “Everything. I’m—I’m getting disciplinary infractions from Hotch like I’m a child because I can’t focus on anything. Game of Thrones is the most complex literature I can comprehend right now. I had to use a calculator the other day.” 

You want to laugh, but nothing is funny until he’s yours again. 

“Then come back. Please come back, Spencer.” 

Finally, he leans closer, until your heads are pressed together, and his nose bumps yours, feather light. You're dizzy. You exhale. He inhales. 

“I don’t think I knew how to leave in the first place.” 

When he kisses you, it feels like home. 

[forgive-the-sea]

hello friends

[moonxknightx]

♡˗ˏ✎*ೃ˚ : IMAGINE OLDMAN!LOGAN COMFORTING YOU AFTER YOU TELL HIM YOU ARE NOT READY TO HAVE SEX YET : :;

You had both been slowly building up to this, sharing more intimate moments together, and tonight was supposed to be the night. The night where the closeness you shared with Logan was going to go further, physically, emotionally. You wanted it. You wanted him. But now, here you were, frozen, too overwhelmed by nerves to move forward.

You could feel Logan’s eyes on you, his gaze filled with concern as you pulled the covers over yourself, avoiding his gaze. Things had started with gentle touches, a few lingering kisses, and you had been eager at first—until that all-too-familiar anxiety had crept in. The further it went, the more your body tensed, and Logan, always in tune with your emotions, had stopped.

“Hey,” his voice was low, steady, like he was trying to coax you out of a shell. “You alright?”

You swallowed hard, your breath shaky as you fiddled with the hem of your shirt. The shame of not being able to follow through hit you full force, making it hard to meet his eyes. “I—I don’t know,” you whispered. “I’m sorry. I thought I was ready, but…”

Before you could finish, Logan’s hand gently cupped your cheek, his rough thumb brushing over your skin with surprising tenderness. “Don’t apologize, darlin’,” he murmured, the deep rumble of his voice easing some of the tension in your chest. “You don’t need to be sorry for anything.”

“I just… I wanted this to be perfect,” you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper as your cheeks burned with embarrassment. “I thought I was ready, but I got scared. Now I feel like I’ve ruined everything.”

Logan’s brow furrowed, and he leaned in closer, his face softening as he spoke. “You didn’t ruin anything.” His hand stayed on your cheek, grounding you with that touch. “We don’t have to do this tonight.”

“I wanted to, though,” you confessed, your voice shaky. “I wanted to be with you like that. I just got in my own head, and then I panicked.” You glanced down at the space between you, feeling so small in the moment. “I didn’t want to disappoint you.”

Logan’s gaze softened even more, and with a sigh, he gently took your hand, giving it a reassuring squeeze. “You could never disappoint me,” he said firmly, yet his tone was so kind, so understanding. “I don’t care about how tonight was supposed to go. I care about how you feel.”

You blinked up at him, trying to process his words, but the anxiety still lingered, twisting in your chest. “But I stopped us,” you whispered. “I messed it up.”

He shook his head. “No, you didn’t. This ain’t something we gotta rush into, alright? We’re gonna take our time, and if it doesn’t happen tonight, that’s fine.” His thumb traced gentle circles on your hand. “I’m in this for you, not for some idea of how things ‘should’ go.”

Your chest ached with emotion at his words, and you felt your eyes sting with unshed tears. “I just wanted it to be special.”

Logan leaned forward, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead. “It is special,” he whispered against your skin. “Every moment with you is.”

Your heart swelled, and for the first time that night, you let yourself breathe deeply, the weight of your nervousness easing just a little. “You’re really okay with just… stopping?”

Logan pulled back just enough to look you in the eyes, his expression tender. “Of course, I am. I don’t need anything else from you tonight, other than you being comfortable. That’s all I ever want.” He shifted closer, wrapping his arm around your shoulders and pulling you into his chest. “We’ve got time, darlin’. There’s no rush.”

A small, shaky smile tugged at your lips, and you let yourself relax into his embrace. “I’m sorry for getting so worked up.”

Logan huffed softly, shaking his head as he pressed another kiss to your temple. “What did I say about apologizin’, huh?” His voice was light, teasing, but still full of that same warmth. “You don’t owe me an apology for anything. I’m just glad you’re here, with me.”

You closed your eyes, resting your head against his chest, feeling the steady rhythm of his heartbeat beneath your ear. The anxiety that had gripped you earlier seemed to fade, replaced by the simple comfort of being in Logan’s arms, safe and understood.

“I’m glad I’m here too,” you whispered softly.

Logan held you close, his hand stroking gently through your hair, and for a long while, the two of you sat in the quiet, just breathing together, just being together.

Maybe tonight hadn’t gone the way you planned, but Logan’s words stayed with you. It was special, because it was the two of you, and that was more than enough.

🏷️: @twinky-wink @fidgetingbee @astarions-girl-dinner @layladestiny8 @birdy-bat-writes @h0n3y-l3m0n05

If you want to be added to the Logan tag list, let me know! 🫶

[angelltheninth]

An Archon's Fated One

Pairing: Zhongli x Fem!Reader

Tags: nsfw, smut, failed arranged marriage, running away, love confession, loss of virginity, kissing, mating bite, protectiveness, creampie, tail shenanigans, Rex Lapis!Zhongli

Word count: 1.5k

Ao3

A/N: Come get your dragonfucking smut!

You knew from the start that the arranged marriage wouldn't work out. Your so called husband was an abusive, entitled asshole, besides your heart already belonged to someone else. It has for a very long time. He was the only one you loved, the man you ran to for safety and comfort, Rex Lapis, Morax, or as you knew him, Zhongli.

The door to his home opened as soon as you approached, he senses you, moreover he sensed your distress. "Ah, I didn't mean to frighten you. When I felt you approach I... your... your wrists... your neck... what?" His eyes widened in horror as he took you in. You must have looked pretty pathetic to him, crying and cowering by his side as he ushered you inside, placing his hooded coat over you, unmindful of his own half-nakedness.

He didn't push you for answers, he ordered for a bath to be ready for you, and any change of clothes you wished. When you walked beside him you could feel his thick tail caressing your lower back and your legs. No hands. Not until you told him it was okay to do so.

Would he think you even weaker if he knew? You were human so you already paled in comparison to a god. You knew that even if he shared your feelings your relationship would never last. Zhongli opened the door for you to show you into the bedroom you normally stayed at when you spent the nights at his place. He never crossed the line of sleeping with you, he never even kissed you, the most you got out of him were late night cuddles and breakfast.

No wonder your husband was jealous. You spent more time with here then with him. Doesn't change the fact that you never wanted to marry him in the first place. Or what he did to you.

"Wait." You called out, hands touching Zhongli's tail, "Please don't go. I'm... scared of being alone tonight."

Zhongli turned to face you and let his hands hover over your shoulders, still waiting for your signal. After you gave him a nod you felt his warmth, his arms pull you into a hug, against his chest, felt exactly where his arm markings stopped, and when you hugged him back felt where his dragon trail began as your hands rested on the small of his back.

The bed was just as soft as always, like what you imagined sleeping on a cloud might feel like. The only sturdiness was Zhongli himself. "He did this, am I correct?" Your tremble of fear was confirmation enough. Zhongli snarled, his eyes flashing bring yellow for a moment before he took a deep breath of your scent to calm down. "I should have sensed it. I should have been there. I am so sorry darling."

You snuggled deeper into his arms, taking in his comforting words and petname, "I told him I wanted a divorce, that... there was someone else." His arms slackened slightly, but you kept going, "I told him I loved an Archon and he laughed at first. Then I told him... that it was you. He... accused me of cheating on him."

His silence invited you to keep talking, as did his tail, now coiling around you.

"Because I was here so often he thought we were sleeping together. Didn't believe me when I said we were only friends. He got angry, really angry." Your body shook remembering his hands around your neck, the names he called you, the insults.

"So you ran here. To me." Zhongli's voice sounded lower then usual. It sent a very different kind of chill down your body, one that finished between your legs. It was shameful. How something so simple had an effect on you. It wasn't anything new for you, when you were in here you always had your hand between your legs at least once a night, not daring to call his name out.

"Because I knew you'd keep me safe Zhongli. I trust you."

"You love me." He announced, shifting his body until he was on top of you, looking down at you, his face still stoic but his hands conveying his love as they cupped your face. "If you so wish, if you would allow me, I could make you my woman. My mate."

Your heart wanted it, your cunt did too, pulsing and empty, "I don't need you to pity me. I know I'm just a human. I have nothing to offer you."

"That is not true. For years now you've been coming here, keeping me company, talking to me, keeping me from going insane. Also," He bent down and nosed your neck, "don't think I don't know what you've been doing in here. This is my domain, I hear and see everything and everyone."

It was probably you who spread your legs for him, made it easy for his hips to push between them, for him to press his rock hard bulge against your core. There was so much heat between you two, but not enough friction. He could fix that, you could see he ached to fix that if only you said the words.

"Zhongli, please make me yours." Every other time you uttered those words it was in the thorns of passion and without him there to do so. Now he was here, on top of you, pealing off your clothes layer by layer until you lay naked beneath him. His pants followed, revealing that hard cock that's been the subject of your dreams for so many nights.

"Has he..." Zhongli trailed off, his body shaking as he aligned himself up with your entrance, gathered some wetness at the tip and waited.

You shook your head, "He wanted me to submit on my own, but how could I when I only wanted you." You reached back, undoing the tie in his hair with one hand and scratching at the base of his strong horn with the other, feeling the scales there. And with your heels you felt the beginning of his tail as you pulled him closer, "I want you to be the only one for me from now on."

"And I shall be." Zhongli handled you with gentleness, but also possessiveness, his hands running to your hips, his eyes following the bounce of your breasts when he entered you, the gulp you made that tapered off into a moan. It was very much to his liking. "My bite, I will hurt. However if you're to be my mate, my bride, it's necessary."

The pain of it scared you a little, but the pleasure you currently felt, his big, thick, throbbing cock rolling in and out of you with every movement of his hips was enough to distract you. You leaned up to kiss him first, "I do." You whispered against his lips, which made him tilt his head, "It's how humans seal a wedding."

"Ah. Then... I do." Zhongli's lips felt much hotter than your own, every part of him felt hotter. You wondered how his cum would feel. Your pussy clenched around him at the thought. His cock responded by twitching.

You leaned your head backwards, exposing your neck to him. His claws dug into the sheets and bedding beside your hips, clawing and tearing at them, he was trying to hold back from finishing. "I wanted you for so long. So long, my darling. The amount of seed I wasted when I should have been planting it inside your womb instead... it angers me."

Sharp teeth ticked your skin, feeling you gulp before they settled between your neck and your shoulder, "Please. I want to be yours Zhongli. In every sense of the word."

That firm tail now wrapped around your leg like a snake, pulling it to the side so that he could have even more room. You were right, the bite hurt, but the pain was pale when compared to the pleasure that flowed both in and out of you moments later. You were hot all over, hot as your body arched against his, hot on the inside as you would be impregnated by his seed tonight, the sheer amount spilling from you, making your thighs sticky.

Despite giving it your best shot you couldn't leave marks on his back, but you knew he felt that you tried, a pleasant rumble emanating from his lips as they pulled away from your neck. Zhongli rolled you both to the side, his tail trading being coiled around your leg to being coiled around your hips.

One of his hand pressed down against your stomach, his voice low, "I love you." It was almost too quiet to be a whisper. "I will keep you safe, I promise you. Nothing and no one will ever bring you harm again."

If you had enough strength you would have cried again at that very moment. There will be time for tears, both happy and sad in the future. For now you wanted to rest, to sleep your first night with him soundly. With him, Rex Lapis, Morax, Zhongli, your new husband.

[kyber-crystal]

i will follow you into the dark || bradley "rooster" bradshaw

summary: your first instinct has always been to push people away when they get too close, but for some reason, you have trouble letting one pilot go. but little did you know that he had settled into your heart from the start and has no intention of leaving. (in which you have Bradley Bradshaw wrapped around your finger, and you don’t even notice—5 occasions that solidify your love for him, and 1 time you realize it)

words: ~3.3k

warnings: angst (BUT A HAPPY ENDING, I PROMISE), near-death experiences, brief mentions of violence, also my writing LMAO

a/n: hi guys i haven't posted a full-length fic in a LONG time but here we go :) this fic won the vote so it's going up first! hope you enjoy :)

I. meet me in the middle

“Mav!”

You and Maverick turned around at the same time. “Which one?”

“The pretty one,” Rooster stated. 

“Be more specific.”

“I am being specific, Captain.”

“No, you aren’t.”

“Fine, I need your daughter.”

“You always need her for something.”

“Sorry, pops,” you grinned and clasped Maverick’s shoulder, and walked over to Bradley. “Come to kidnap me again, Bradshaw?”

“Actually, I’m hungry.”

“Then…go eat? I don’t see what any of that has to do with me.”

“I’m going to dinner, and I want you to come along,” he explained. “So, let’s go.”

“Is that why Cyclone was grumbling about someone spilling coffee all over him earlier? I knew it had to be you that put him in that mood.”

“Doesn’t matter. Come on.”

You looked back at your father, who simply laughed and motioned for you to go. The test flight would have to wait. 

It was 5:30 when you got there, but the usually-crowded cantina had only one other person inside. Rooster didn’t hesitate as he set down his car keys and slid into the booth right next to you.

“There’s a seat right there,” you pointed out. 

“And?”

“You can sit over there.”

“I don’t want to, though.”

“Alright, then.” 

You weren’t even done for the day and already, felt tired and worn out beyond belief. The one thing that had been keeping you going was Maverick’s promise to take you on a Mach 7 test flight. (With the Admiral’s permission, of course. But you wouldn’t be surprised if he had never asked.)

Rooster tells the waitress your order without blinking, and you give him a tired smile as a thank you. 

There’s no animated conversation, no loud comments or jokes or anything of the sort as the food comes out, but neither of you mind. Sometimes, all you needed to cool down from a long week was each other’s company and a steaming plate of fajitas. 

The little routine you’ve established falls into place so easily you don’t even have to think. Impromptu dinners, blasting 80’s music as the sun goes down, taking the offbeat path down to the coast with salt in your windswept hair.  Little to no words spoken, and somehow the silence speaks volumes.

But you don’t understand why he’d choose you to do this with, out of everyone. You’d expect him to drift towards someone less damaged. Someone who could keep up to his free and daring spirit and push him to his limits. Someone who had less baggage and didn’t flinch at every little touch. 

But despite all that he doesn’t leave. Even when everyone else around you seemed to, he was always there, assuring you he’d wait no matter what.

“Don’t worry about it.” He places a gentle hand over yours as he hands his card over to pay later that evening. “Let me treat you tonight.”

“Thanks…” 

He holds the door open for you as you walk out and keeps a ghost of a hand against your back the whole way to the car. You’re trying to burrow into yourself, but he doesn’t stop looking at you. The feeling of his eyes on you sends shivers running down your spine and you nervously shift in your seat. 

“You okay?” Rooster places his hand on the headrest as he reverses out of the parking lot. “You seem quiet tonight.”

“Yeah.”

“Okay.” He doesn’t press any further, assuming that you’re tired and that’s why you’re unwilling to say much. He knows. He understands. “If you ever need to talk, though, I’m one call and a 15 minute walk away. Or 7, if I sprint.”

This makes you laugh a bit. “If you say so.”

II. waiting on you

As soon as you hop out of your plane, he’s the first one there to greet you and pulls you in for a hug. You have no time to react to it because he’s so quick to sweep you up into his arms. You can smell a mix of sweat and coffee and a little bit of raspberries on him, and it helps bring you back down to reality. 

“You saw me a few hours ago, Roos…please let me go…” you mumbled into his shoulder. His grip on you only tightens further. “What’s with the excitement?”

“Nothing. I’m just happy to see you.”

Not knowing what else to do, your hands awkwardly reach up to pat him on the back. “It’s good to see you, too.”

Though you don’t say it out loud, you’re also just as happy to see him—it’s comforting to know he’ll be waiting whenever you return from something. And that, you think, is more than enough. 

Rooster carries your things for you without asking, and you’re grateful because your shoulders feel like they’re going to fall out of their sockets. Once again, he’s standing close by as you go to your quarters, ever the watchman. If he doesn’t have a hand on you, then his eyes will stay glued to you for as long as they can be. 

“Is that my shirt?” he asks as you step out of the bathroom wearing an oversized vintage T-shirt and a pair of jeans. 

“No.”

“It looks better on you, anyway.” He smirks; you fail to notice the way his gaze lingers on you a bit longer than normal. “You ready to go? They’re waiting for us at the Hard Deck. Hangman’s complaining about a rematch or somethin’.”

You lean into his side and smile, and he puts an arm across your shoulders. It feels so natural that you almost don’t notice. “Yeah. Let’s go.”

His eyes never leave you, even when he’s in the thick of the game. It’s impossible to ignore the heat pooling in your stomach every time his gaze flickers over to yours. 

Coyote notices your dazed look and nudges Payback in the side. “How is it that everyone knows that Bradshaw and Y/N love each other except Bradshaw and Y/N?”

“Because they’re stupid,” Payback whispered back.

“Ah. Makes sense.”

“So, we need to do something about it.”

“Hm…I’d say we wait it out. They’re going in the right direction.” A small smile graced Coyote’s face as Rooster pumped a fist up in victory before rushing over to embrace you. “A room full of people, yet all he sees is her.”

“You’re so right, man.”

III. rose-tinted glasses

“What are you looking for out there?” Rooster called out.

“Something pretty,” you replied as you stood by the ocean’s edge, the wind fanning your hair around your shoulders. He’s sure that he’s never seen a more mesmerizing sight. 

“I beat you to it, because I already found one,” he stated with confidence, eyes never leaving you.

“Where?”

“I’m looking right at her.”

“That’s not what I meant, silly. Do I look like a seashell to you?”

“No, you’re even better.”

You laugh once again and resume your search. Right then, a glowing scallop catches your eye, and sand dusts your clothes as you bend down to pick it up. It’s smooth and seems to glow in rose gold amidst the early evening light. 

“Would you look at that,” you breathed out, palm extended to show him what you’ve found. “It’s perfect.”

Rooster encloses his hand around yours, and you can feel the heat radiating from his skin. It’s cold out but you’re not freezing at all because he’s so close. He’s so close. Your heart skips a beat. 

“Wow…it sure is.”

He kneels down with you, and you spend the next few hours making it a competition to see who can find the most unique set of stones. A strange feeling washed over you as you watched his brows furrow in concentration. Never had you imagined to be spending Thursday night with Bradley Bradshaw by the seashore, and yet, it feels like you’ve done this thousands of times before. 

Everything seems to fall into place. 

IV. for you, i’d cross the line 

“Y/N, hey.”

“Are you drunk?”

“Doesn’t matter. Move over.”

You shifted on the bench to make room for him and he sat down next to you. This was probably his tenth time playing his rendition of ‘Great Balls of Fire’ but that didn’t matter; the man knew how to sing. You found yourself leaning into him and listening to his heartbeat, and the sensation lulled you into a peaceful trance. 

You took one good look at your best friend. Sweat lined his forehead and his face was bright red from both the alcohol and heat, but still, you were 100% sure that you’d never seen a more beautiful sight in your life. 

The way he seemed to gaze at you made your heartbeat pick up speed. It didn’t matter that he had too one too many drinks in the moments leading up to this, nor did it matter that he was always one to be rather affectionate with you. It didn’t make you love him any less—if anything, it made him all the more endearing. 

“You’re looking at me very…intensely,” you mumbled. “It’s making me nervous.”

“Sorry, sweetheart,” he murmured. “A man can’t help it when he’s in love.”

“Was that tipsy you or sober you?”

“Sober me is saying I love you.” He continues playing, unfazed, and the sound of the piano in your ears fades away into nothingness. 

It’s drunk Rooster telling you he means what he says, the confidence boost making him do things he normally wouldn’t. It’s drunk Rooster attempting to serenade you as his warm, alcohol-riddled breath falls against your neck. It’s drunk Rooster talking…but there’s a sober truth hidden behind his words that sends a shiver down your spine. 

You’re nose-to-nose as he starts to sing, and you lose yourself in a sea of gold and blue as his warm thumb grazes over your cheek. As if there’s an invisible string drawing you together, you move closer and closer towards each other. Drunk or not, he was utterly enchanting and you couldn’t turn away.

Once again…you ignore the stirring feeling in your chest at the feeling of his body being so close to yours. 

V. saving grace

You find yourself opening the door to Rooster, who has a bouquet of your favorite flowers and some large Tupperware in hand. Butterflies flutter in your stomach as you accept them and step aside to let him in. “What is this for…?”

“Thought you’d want something nice to add to the kitchen. You and Mav need to work on decorations,” he said. “Why? Do you not like them?”

“No…I’m…how’d you know these were my favorite, anyway?”

“I heard you talking on the phone to Phoenix about them six months ago,” Rooster explained, taking his jacket off and hanging it over the couch. “I pride myself on being observant like that. Also…I woke up early to cook you that pasta you always go nuts over when we drive to LA.”

“Oh.” Your heart twinged as you glanced over—that damn pasta was your favorite thing on the entire planet. You claimed that nobody could make it as well as the diner in Newport did, except Bradley himself. (He didn’t tell you how many times it took to get it just right, though. He didn’t want you freaking out over that. And besides, Maverick’s pots and pans that he borrowed had already paid the price.)

He paused for a moment after setting the container down on the counter. “I noticed you went home early today. Are you sure you’re alright?”

“I’m fine,” you lied as you put the flowers in a vase. But that was no use; he could see right through your monotone response. “Didn’t sleep enough last night.”

Bradley sees your hands tremble slightly. “Sweetheart.”

That’s all he needs to say before you step forward and lean your head against his chest. One arm finds its way around your waist to pull you close, while his free hand smoothes your hair out. A cracked sob escapes your lips and you squeeze your eyes shut in the hopes that if you kept them closed long enough and prayed hard enough, a guardian angel would swoop in and save you. 

“I’m here, it’s okay, you’ll be okay,” he murmurs. “You’ll be okay.”

“Please don’t go, Bradshaw,” you begged, voice hoarse. “Don’t leave me.”

“I’m right here, don’t worry,” he reminds you, his hand moving down to rub your back. “I’ll be here whenever you need me, I promise.” 

You reach your pinky out a bit, and the two of you link your fingers together. 

You’re never letting go, and neither is he. 

epilogue—soul ties 

“I’m trying to shake them off. They won’t let up—shit, I’m hit—”

His panicked voice cuts through the buzz of static and you can feel your whole body go numb. What if he doesn’t make it back… The thought alone is too much to bear. 

He curses under his breath and you hear something like that of a whispered prayer and several mentions of Please let me come home to her. Your heart clenches in your chest and you feel like you’re going to puke. Noticing your sudden uneasiness, Maverick grips your hand to keep you steady. 

“Bradshaw, what the hell is going on there?” Coyote nervously rubs at his forehead as he looks up at the screen. “If you die, we’re all going to kill you.”

“Left engine’s completely blown out. I have two bogeys on my tail.”

You bite the inside of your cheek until the tangy, metallic taste of blood fills your mouth. This couldn’t be happening. There already was a ghost amongst the skies, and Rooster could not afford to become the second…

“Shit. Shit, shit, shit, I’m going down, guys—” Rooster curses again, and the earsplitting sound of a large blast interrupts him before he can say much else. 

“Bradley!” you shrieked as you watched his radar signal slowly fade off the screen. “No—”

Silence punctures the air and you finally lose balance, succumbing to the black void of nothingness. 

—

10 hours later, you sit outside the hospital room in the cold hallway, a thin, tear-stained blanket wrapped around your shoulders. Hangman and Phoenix had long since given up on getting you to move, so they took turns sitting with you. 

“You should try eating. There’s In-N-Out nearby, I’ll get something for you if you want,” Jake offered. 

You shake your head. 

“Come on. It’s been all day.”

“No.”

“You’re really that worried about him, aren’t you.”

“No,” you muttered bitterly. 

“You claim to not care, yet you’ve been sitting here for the past ten hours.” 

“I don’t care. This is me looking out for him in the same way any colleague or teammate of his would. This is what I’m supposed to do. What we’re all supposed to do.” 

“Y/N.” Jake sounds a bit more serious this time, and this makes you stop trying to bury yourself within your thoughts. “Listen to me.”

“What,” you exhaled.

"The fact of the matter here is,” he cleared this throat, “Bradshaw cares about you…a lot. Not in a simple and innocent ‘friendly’ way. And if you keep pushing him away like you always do, all 'cause you're scared, you're gonna lose him for good. Losing a good man out of fear is never worth the cost."

Your heart stops.

Every hug, every word and cheesy pickup line, every lingering glance and touch and intertwined set of fingers—he'd fallen first long ago, and pulled you down with him. But you let him, and you'll walk to the ends of the earth if it means he'll hold your hand along the way. And that's when everything hits all at once—the realization comes crashing down like a waterfall. 

You were hopelessly in love with him, the man who brings you flowers every Friday night. In love with the man who holds the door open for you, gives you his favorite jackets, and stays up late or wakes up early to learn your favorite comfort meal (even if it means failing 17 times in the process and ruining Maverick's kitchen), the man who serenades you to classic rock ballads with the taste of rum on his lips. 

This was Rooster Bradshaw, and he was your soulmate.

“But I already lost him,” your voice falters as you struggle to find the right words to say, “I can’t.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. That man is going to stay waiting for you until the day his body is buried six feet underground. Deny it all you want, but he’ll keep waiting long after he takes his last breath.”

You let out a long sigh and stood up. “Okay.”

You’re hesitant as you step inside the small hospital room. He’s asleep, but he must’ve sensed your presence and his eyes flutter open. 

“Sweetheart…”

“Bradley.” He moves over a bit for you, and you sit down next to him. “You’re alive.”

“Sorry for not dying. That must’ve disappointed you,” he jokes. If he’s in any sort of pain, he manages to mask it behind a soft smile. “I’m really glad you’re here.”

“I waited ten hours.”

“You should’ve gone home and slept.”

Closing your eyes, you rest your head against his chest. “I wouldn’t be able to sleep knowing that you weren’t okay.”

He hums some tune against the crook of your neck; lips brushing over your skin. “But I came back, like I promised. I’m okay, because you are.”

Helovesmehelovesmehelovesme.

As if he could read your mind, he leans in just that bit closer. You look up at him and your heart somersaults in your chest. 

When your lips meet, everything clicks into place and it’s like you finally found the missing puzzle piece you’d been searching for. He was here all along; it made so much sense. Everything else fades away into the background as you get lost in the feeling of him and him alone. You knew from the moment he stuck out his hand and told you with a million-dollar smile “I’m Bradley ‘Rooster’ Bradshaw, and I can make a mean lasagna or anything else you want,” that choosing him would be the single best thing you ever could’ve done. 

And you were most certainly right about that now. 

“I kept it, you know.” he murmurs as you eventually break away, “I didn’t think it would last as long as it did, but here it is.”

“What…what are you talking about?”

He fingers dip below the scoop of his T-shirt and he brings out the glittering charm, laying it in his hand. “You gave it to me ages ago. It was a while ago but I still remember the exact time and place. August 5th, 2010, 2:26 a.m. We were both on the verge of falling asleep.”

Your heart grows warmer. “Roos…”

Rooster opens the locket, and inside is a picture of you beaming as you wrapped your arms around him from behind. So young and so in love, but not yet knowing how you felt about each other. 

“I think this is what kept me alive up there. I was in the air long enough to think about and reflect on the fact that I was dying, but I knew I had to come home to you. I was dying, Y/N, but you saved me. If you didn’t come into my life right when you did then I wouldn’t be here. I wouldn’t be telling you that I love you.”

He has you at a loss for words yet again. It didn’t matter that you’d known each other for years because he would always find a way to steal your breath. The once-tiny caterpillars crawling in your stomach had morphed into giant butterflies that never stopped fluttering when he came too close.

He leans in and he’s kissing you again; this time it’s like you’re his sole source of oxygen and he’s in desperate need of fresh air. Your grip on his hand tightens as he deepens the kiss, and you pray to God that your heart won’t explode into a million pieces like it did when you thought you wouldn’t see him again. 

I’ve died and come back to life twice now, Rooster tells himself. 

And both of those times, you’re the angel that magically appears to save him from a certain, unfortunate fate. 

tags, including people who may be interested (sorry if this list seems off, it hasn't been updated in a while hahah): @sarcastic-sourwolf @totomoshi @sebastianstangirl01 @purelyfiction @lunamoonbby @hazelgirl355 @multifandom-fangirl4 @paintballkid711 @buckysbeloved @lyn-lc @spawn0fsatan @milestomaverick @teacactusworld @cherry-waved @ellabellabus07 @vitanileon @lam-ila @criminalyetminimal @whatlovegattado @queenbbarnes @yeehawnana @t-stark35 @thesunsetphantoms @danirose-0420 @callalily2000 @the-untamed-soul @shizzybarnaclee @bananaa @luvfurdogs @shalaniela @unordinare @and-claudia @lgg5989 @katiemcrae @elenavampire21 @joyfullyswimmingface @nyx2021 @cosm1cfae @ellabellabus07 @vane28282 @bittergomez @littlebadariell @tallrock35 @whotfatemywaffles @hoedameronsworld @aerangi @julia-marshal @uwiuwi

(also if you filled out the general taglist form/top gun taglist form and you're not on here, that means i couldn't tag you for some reason)

[snoowpee]

fuck & make up - p.js

Pairing ⇾ brat tamer!jay x brat!reader

Genre ⇾ smut, a little bit of angst

Warnings ⇾ unprotected sex (use protection!), arguing, making out, marking, fingering, car sex, taking pics. mentions of eunseok (riize), winter (aespa), jaehyun (nct). I might’ve missed something but that’s the gist of it, enjoy!

Summary ⇾ after seeing your boyfriend with another girl, you make him jealous.

Word count ⇾ 1.5k words

Playlist ⇾ Kehlani - F&MU.

The car ride was silent as the two of you tried to ignore each other, Jay was driving above the speed limit while you looked out the window, watching as the raindrops on the window traveled down.

“Do you want to go to prison?” you said with sarcasm when you realized what Jay was doing. “Stop the fucking car, I’m walking home,” You harshly took off your seatbelt. Jay scoffed and signaled to the right, he then turned to an empty parking lot, and parked the car. He turned off the engine and looked at you for the first time after you went home from Eunseok’s party. “You’re seriously gonna let me walk home?” You looked at Jay, “Are you fucking insane? Have you lo—”

Jay took off his seatbelt and leaned in to capture your lips in a harsh kiss, you kissed him back, latching your fingers on the back of his head. Jay’s hands reached for your thighs as he manhandled you onto his lap without breaking the kiss.

You slowly moved your hips to straddle Jay’s strong thighs. When you rolled your hips in the process, you received a throaty groan from Jay that was muffled by your lips.

Jay pulled away, breaking the kiss, he pecked your lips, then moved his lips on the side of your neck, leaving open mouthed kisses, “Do you know how crazy I am over you?” Jay asked while his lips rested on top of the skin of your neck. His fingers gripped the sides of your waist, pressing you down on the growing bulge underneath his pants, you let out a whine as you felt him. “You drive me insane, princess. Do you know that?” Jay rested his right hand on your cheek. “Answer me,” Jay whispered as he traced your lips with his thumb. You let out a noise that sounded like a mix of a huff and sigh.

“Yes,” your gaze darted straight into Jay, who was wearing a smug expression, and it irked you.

“Then tell me why you were being a brat tonight? Did you really think I was dense? That I didn’t see you flirting around?” Jay’s tongue poked the insides of his cheeks, “You know damn well I don’t give a fuck if you talk to other guys, it’s normal,” Jay lightly shurgged. “But fuck, what went through that head of yours? Grinding on Jake on the dance floor? Are you fucking insane?” Jay spoke through gritted teeth, you let out a huff.

“You were flirting with a blonde girl!” You roughly pushed Jay’s hands away from you, crossing your arms and resting it on the top of your stomach. Jay lightly chuckled as he rubbed his face with his right hand.

“For the record that blonde girl was Winter,” your eyes widened, your eyebrows furrowing after. “Jaehyun was in the bathroom, she was really dizzy, trying so hard to balance herself so she could find her boyfriend. As my girlfriend's best friend, I offered to take her to him. I thought you’ll find it cute and shit, but fuck you got jealous instead.” Jay explained. “Did you know how hard it was to ignore the fact that you liked Jake before me? How hard it is to not think I’m just your second fucking option, and if you get tired of me you’ll go back to Jake, who does not even fucking reciprocate your fucking feelings?” Jay let out a breath. “You drive me crazy, princess. So fucking crazy.”

“I-I didn’t know it was Winter, you should’ve told me sooner,” you said, voice below whisper.

“Would that stop you from going to Jake?” Jay looked out the window to avoid your eyes. There was a long pause after Jay’s words, “Fuck. Say something, princess.”

You could only lean in and kiss Jay, you pulled away, “That was all for show, babe.” You took Jay’s hands in yours, tangling your fingers with his, you pecked his knuckles, a small smile forming on your lips. “Don’t ever doubt my love for you. You of all people should know how important you are to me.” You kissed Jay again, this time he wrapped his arms around you. “I’m sorry,” you said in between kisses.

“You’re lucky I love you,” Jay sighed, he continued kissing you, “Can’t resist you,” Jay said in between kisses, his hands traveling up under your skin tight dress. “Babe, backseat.”

Without thinking twice, you crawled off of Jay’s lap, receiving a smack in the ass from him in the process, while crawling into the backseat, where you waited for the fun idea your boyfriend had in mind.

Jay got out of the car to join you in the backseat, he wasted no time kissing you, manhandling you back into his lap. “Take this off, will you?” Jay impatiently said, tugging on your dress, getting rid of your clothes, leaving you wearing your underwear only. Jay proudly smiled. This beautiful girl in front of him was all his. He checked you out, rubbing your sides whilst doing so. “My baby is so sexy,” Jay remarks before kissing your neck, his butterfly kisses turned to open mouthed kisses, eventually leading to him marking up your neck with love bites.

You tugged on Jay’s shirt, prompting him to take it off, which he proceeded to do. You traced the lines on Jay’s abdomen, nibbling at his neck right after. He captured your lips once again, pinning you down the car seat. You wrapped your arms around his neck to deepen the kiss.

In the midst of your hungry kisses, Jay yanked off your lacy blue bra simultaneously pushing your lacy blue panties to the side, you mewled when he ran his fingers through your folds.

Without a warning, Jay inserted two fingers inside you, his thumb rubbing circles on your clit. His fingers were moving torturously slow for your liking. “Baby, please,” you whimpered.

“Want me to go faster?” Jay asked, his tone comparable to an adult explaining something to a child, you nodded, causing your boyfriend to look smug. “I don’t know princess, do brats deserve to cum?”

“Fuck you,” you huffed.

“Oh darling, you will later just wait.” Jay chirped, provoking you.

“Maybe if I was with Jake I wouldn’t have to wait at all,” you blurted, riling up Jay.

His face dropped, pulling out his fingers, displeasing you. Jay began unbuttoning his jeans, his cock leaking with precum, he took a hold of his cock lining it up with your cunt.

“I might just have to breed that pussy of yours to show fucking Jake who you belong to,” Jay uttered through gritted teeth. At the same time your phone buzzes, Jake’s name flashing on the screen, Jay laughed humorlessly as your eyes widened. “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.”

He shoved his cock in, delivering a harsh thrust right after. You wailed, scratching Jay’s back, causing him to hiss in pain.

The temperature inside the car rose, the windows fogging up. The car simultaneously moved with the movement of Jay’s hips.

“Look at me,” Jay grabbed your chin, forcing you to look at him. “Who’s making you feel good?”

“You.”

“Who?” Jay questioned, pretending not to hear you.

“Y-You. Fuck. You, Jay.” You stammered.

“Yeah, that’s right. Do you think Jake can do this?”

“N-No,” you shrieked, when Jay hit a particular spot.

“Found it,” Jay chortled.

He continued to ram into you, the car full of skin slapping and your loud moans. You tried keeping up with his pace, grounding yourself by reaching for his back to scratch, Jay biting your neck in return.

“Such a fucking brat. Don’t I fuck you enough? You just had to piss me off like that, didn’t you?”

“I-I’m sorry,” you moaned out, eyes rolling at the back of your head as you felt your high approaching.

Jay felt you tightened around him, groaning as he snaked his hand down to rub your clit.

“Cum for me, you little brat.”

You both held each other’s gazes as you both came. Catching your breaths as Jay slowed the movement of his hips.

For a while Jay laid on top of you, squishing you with his weight. You wrapped your arms around his body, until he was pulling out of you to sit up.

The car was silent for a while, heavy breathing only audible, when your breathing was even, you straddled Jay again, kissing him on the cheek.

“I’m sorry. I genuinely am,” you whispered, Jay didn’t respond, instead he grazed your skin with his large hands, quickly enveloping your waist to pull you close to him. You pouted, drawing a heart on the fogged up window.

You were surprised at the flash of light that suddenly appeared. You looked at Jay, seeing his hand gripping your phone, noticing that he took a photo of you. You looked at him questioningly.

“Send it to Jake and tell him, Park Jongseong is your fucking boyfriend.”

© snoowpee | DO NOT COPY OR REPOST.

[bucks-babe]

More Virgin Bucky

Pairing: Virgin!Bucky 

Summary: Bucky jerks off to the memory of your movie night

Word Count: ~900

Warnings: male masturbation, mention of past blowjob, Bucky is a horny boy, reader is not in this one but he thinks about them

A/N: The part two that a lot of yall wanted. Am I a tease? Yes. Bucky does not lose his v-card in this one. BUT I will write a part three I promise. I want to corrupt this man so bad. Also, I wrote this in like an hour sooo. Part of the Virgin!Bucky series but can be read alone

One week. Actually eight days and five hours, but Bucky is the only one counting. That’s how long it's been since you sucked the sense out of your boyfriend. It has taken every ounce of control Bucky has to not ask you to do it again. It’s all he thinks about ever since that night.

He would be embarrassed if you knew, but in all fairness, you did this to him. You effectively made him malfunction. Bucky has been fucking his fist practally every night, replaying the best moment of his life. How your mouth wrapped around him perfectly, the slight gagging sounds, and don’t even get him started on how you looked up at him. 

And when you told him to cum in your mouth? Fuck! His cock pulses at the memory. Bucky is a greedy man - he wants more. He wants you to suck his cock again, maybe you’ll suck on his ball this time, get them all wet and slobbery, make him cum without even touching his cock. 

For the past few days of his incessant horniness, he’s been thinking about something else, too. It always starts out with you, his throbbing cock in your mouth, but there is a shift, you on the bed with his head between your legs. He never gets very far into this fantasy before he cums all over his hand and chest. Something about eating you out has him cumming in seconds.

But Bucky can’t bring himself to ask for what he wants. He’s too embarrassed; no one in the 40’s ever talked about eating their girl’s pussy. He wasn’t completely ignorant to the fact that women’s pleasure wasn’t important to men back then, but Bucky didn’t know if what he wanted was normal, and he sure as hell wasn’t going to ask.

As he lies in bed, once again Bucky feels his cock harden in his pants. Luckily for his pride, he’s alone in bed, and nothing is stopping his flesh hand from inching toward his crotch. His balls are so heavy and full even though he jerked himself off twice the night before, cumming so much he had to change the sheets. 

Grabbing his erection, Bucky hissed in pleasure. No matter how many times he’s touched himself this past week, he is still a sensitive baby when it comes to his cock. “Fuck, doll, touch my cock, just like that.” Bucky lets his mind wander to his go to fantasy. He imagines you between his legs, that the hand rubbing his dick is your soft palms and not his callused one.

His hips jerk off the bed, chasing friction of his hand through his boxers. “Go ahead, doll, take it out.” When you aren’t there, Bucky is in charge, making himself feel good, directing you in his fantasy. But can’t help himself but let you take charge when he’s with you. He just gets so nervous, not wanting to let you down and never experiencing pleasure so intense. 

He’s trying to take this slow, drawing his pleasure out, but, hell, you make him so damn horny that he just can’t help but push his boxers down to his thighs, past his heavy balls, and ignores the wet spot on his underwear from his weeping head.

Using his precum, Bucky wraps his hand around his head and slowly pulls his hand down to his base. “Oh, God! Just like that!” He has to squeeze his base to stop himself from cumming at the first stroke of this hand.

Scrambling, he pushes his boxers down to his ankles and spreads his legs, “doll, touch my balls, get them nice and wet.” His metal hand cups his ever growing sack, “shit, yeah that feels fucking great! You feel how heavy they are? All that cum is going down your throat tonight. You hear me, doll?” 

With his metal hand still on his balls, he uses his flesh hand on his cock, imagining your lips instead, you slobbering over his cock, not his precum lubing it. “So good with your mouth, you know that? You’re such a fucking slut.” His thumb traces over the thick vein right under the head of this cock and has Bucky calling you a slut, something he didn’t even know he’d be into, but once that image was in his head he had to take his hand off his cock; he didn’t want to cum just yet. Not when he just started.

Taking deep breaths, Bucky tries to calm himself down, but imaginary you climbs up his body and Bucky knows this is the end. “Sit on my face, doll, and let me eat your pussy.” He closes his eyes for this part, because Bucky has never seen your pussy before, he wonders if you are sporting a bush like the women in his old porn mags did, or if you shave, or wax, Bucky doesn’t give a shit. 

He’s never tasted a cunt before, and has nothing to base it on, but the thought of your entire weight on his face, smothering him with your pussy, makes the most pornographic moan leave his mouth and cum shoots out of his tip without him touching it.

He cums for what feels like minutes before he finally stops and he lays back against his pillow, not having the energy to clean himself off before he falls asleep. He needs to taste your pussy and soon. 

[written-in-flowers]

His Student: Demon!Yeosang x Fem!Reader

Pairing: Incubus!Yeosang x Fem!Human!Reader | side pairing: demonline x reader

Word Count: 11k

Genre: smut (lots), angst MINORS DNI

Summary: YN's animosity with Yeosang reaches a head after a cruel prank. Will the teacher be taught new things by his insolent student?

Tags: enemies to FWB, master/salve dynamic, enslavement, mentions of domestic abuse, sex fighting, sex wrestling, degradation, name calling, nipple play, breast play, breast slapping, spanking, humiliation, light cock and ball pain, anal fingering, vaginal fingering, oral sex, rough oral sex, anal sex, unprotected sex, slight blood play, tickling, tickling feet, self-lubrication, tit fucking, thigh fucking, exhibitionism, voyeurism, multiple positions, multiple orgasms, gangbang, cream pie (massive), belly bulging (slight), hate fucking, fight fucking,

@pirateeznet

Previously on Pretty Pet | > Next

***

Sunrises. Chittering birds. The warmth of a lover. The smell of a hot breakfast or dark coffee. There were many things you’d rather wake up to aside from the pallid, stern face of your handler, Yeosang. Blinking your eyes open, you let out a soft groan seeing him on the side of the bed. You wondered how long the weirdo had been watching you, since he said nothing to you. It unnerved you. You rolled on your side to turn your back on him. Could he not see you're recovering from San?

Two months of living with your new masters was exhausting, if nothing else. Being San’s housewife proved more difficult than expected. Lots of travels into the city, buying ingredients for dinners you don't make, having clothes he tore apart mended, and pretending to tidy up a house that is already clean was a lot. Hongjoong remained undecided about his “schedule”, so it changed regularly: you’d either be enduring sex training by him or one of the servants, sitting in a cage with kitten ears waiting for him, or whatever he felt like assigning for the day. Interchange that with lessons with Yeosang, who was not the most understanding or gentle of teachers. He was critical, bossy, and demanding. If you missed a note, he made you play the piece again. If your voice cracked on a high pitch, he rolled his eyes and told you to sing again. According to him, musical talents should come easily to someone, and you kept proving him wrong. 

“You’ve been in bed long enough,” you heard him say. “Time to get up. You’re going to miss your lessons.”

You’d never, ever, ever tell anyone how much you’d enjoyed taunting him that first day. Seeing the strict, austere demon crumble in your hand gave you a sense of triumph. It felt good getting back at him in the best way. 

“Boo-hoo,” you grumbled into your pillow. The toll the previous night took on your body showed in your sore muscles. Thankfully, the creams helped with the tender areas. “I’m sick.”

“You’re not sick.”

“Yes I am,” you gave several coughs, “See?”

“You can’t get sick in Hell, idiot,” he scolded. “You’re already dead. You only get sick if someone curses you with pestilence, which you’re tempting me with if you don’t get up right now.”

“Do it, Demon Boy,” you challenged. “Then you can tell Master Seonghwa why he can’t have sex with me tonight.”

Brown eyes rimmed with crimson glared at you. For a second, you saw him considering it before his loyalty to Seonghwa won over. 

“You were permitted to miss breakfast with Master Seonghwa, but you aren’t missing your lessons. The Masters are at work, Jongho is on his way to start your morning routine, and I have to prepare us for the day. Get up.”

“What if I don’t?” you shot at him. 

“I’ll have Mingi throw cold water on you and drag you out of that bed,” he threatened. “Then, you can walk around cold, naked and wet.”

“Bet you’d love that, huh?”

He didn’t answer you, but instead turned on his heel and left. Rolling onto your back again, you soaked yourself in San’s bed. The youngest brother worked you particularly hard the previous night. He’d gotten worked up from his day at the arena, so in usual fashion, he came home half naked and harder than a rock. It started in the living room, where he tore at your dress and panties before taking you in the hallway towards the bedroom. Heated passion drove the both of you last night. You simply couldn't get enough of one another. You knew you'd have a similar night with Seonghwa, if he wished.  

“Morning, sunshine!” Jongho poofed into existence as you slipped off the bed, holding the thin chemise he always put over you. “How’re you feeling? I heard Master San was pretty wild last night.”

“It was nothing unexpected,” you answered, sliding on the chemise. “That cream you made helped with the bruises.”

“Master San can get a bit rough when he’s in the heat of things,” he said, “So I knew you’d need it. I’ll bring you some tea while you’re bathing.”

“Thanks, Jongho.”

He let you walk into the bathroom alone while he disappeared to the kitchen. It took several minutes of convincing and reassuring your handlers that you can bathe yourself. You told them you weren’t a baby. Not that you hadn’t minded the extra-close attention, but the bathtub seemed the only place nobody disturbed you. Sliding into the water, you added a few drops of bath bubbles and watched them form in your hands. The calming scents wafted up from the surface, which you inhaled deeply. Bath time was always the best time. Wiping the cloth over your skin, you let yourself soak in the relaxing warmth. 

You’d grown to enjoy your life in the Black Keep. It was extremely more preferable than the House of Kisses. During San’s days, walking through the streets in your casual dresses and heels, you’d pass the brothel district to see the other slaves. You pitied their situation, even if Mingi insisted they deserved and chose this fate. He didn’t understand the reality of the circles. It’d been one of the realizations you made about the high-borns: they don’t visit the circles. Those places are for the damned to endure, not the demons. The farthest they’d gone, you’ve assumed, was to their different workplaces. You’d explained to Mingi that a life of servitude was more appealing than suffering a brutal punishment. Yes, they lived in poverty, subjected to vile sexual acts every night, and abused by their “owners”, but better than the circles. Much better. You in particular were especially lucky. 

“Fucking pet…” 

She’d been a skinny, unwashed thing. You’d walked back through the district from the merchants’ street when you came across her. Her body wrapped in a sheet of muslin fabric, the young woman stood outside a brothel peddling herself to passersby. You knew from experience that being put out was a form of punishment. They’d work, eat and sleep outside the brothel rather than in the comfort of the inside. She’d seen your fancy dress and lace collar, and glared at you. You couldn’t help glaring back. It’s not as if you asked to become their pet. It was fate. You don’t even know if they bought you legally. San only slit Rufus’s throat and they took you as theirs. 

“Are you planning on marinating in there like a chicken or are you going to get out? We’re on a schedule that you’re already late for.”

Where you’d expected Jongho, you received Yeosang instead. You huffed in annoyance, “Aren’t you supposed to be, like, preparing for the lesson? You know, tuning the piano or the cello or finding the right books to put my nose into?” 

“I already did,” he said stone-faced. He walked over to the shelf of toiletries and towels, grabbing one of them for you. “Sorry that I don’t dawdle. Unlike you, I understand schedules and adhere to them.”

“It’s not the end of the world if I don’t show up on time.” 

He came to the tub, extending the towel to embrace you. “Out. Now.”

You grumbled, standing from the comforting water into the cold air. He wrapped you in the towel, and began drying your body. “I can dry myself, you know.”

“I do,” he said, starting at your feet and working to your knees, then your hips. “But I have a job to do and I do it.”

As he dried you, you noticed he caressed certain spots. At first, you thought he was being careful with the areas San spanked in his heated moment. Yet, you couldn’t help seeing the heavy lidded eyes and longing stares. You rolled your eyes. He lingered over marks San left on parts of your body. Absent-mindedly, he traced the light bruising he found with delicate fingers regardless of location. His cold digits left goosebumps on your skin. 

“I thought we were on a tight schedule, Yeosang,” you interrupted his admiration. 

He coughed awkwardly, “Yes, we are.”

He hurriedly dried the rest of you, put you in your chemise again, then took you to your dressing room. Wooyoung stood there waiting with a Seonghwa-approved dress: a wrap-around pale pink dress with flowers painted onto the hems. Your hair done into a braid, he tied a matching ribbon to the end of it. In the mirror, you saw the angelic, innocent virgin Seonghwa wanted. You also spotted Yeosang looking at you in the mirror. The same lust-filled stare gazed over your body, no doubt undressing you piece-by-piece again. You ignored him, and walked out of the room first. 

“Morning, Mingi,” you said to your bodyguard who stood outside your doors. 

“Morning, YN,” he replied, nodding as you passed by him. “Have fun last night?”

“Loads,” you grinned. “Have fun listening to it?”

“You know I did.” You sensed him watching the ends of your dress swishing in each stride, and stifled a laugh. “You’re a demon’s weakness, you know that?”

“It’s becoming more obvious by the day.” 

Yeosang came into step with you, then walked ahead. You shook your head at him. Seeing his straight strides, his proper posture and head tilt, Yeosang showed his superiority even while walking. Even with his status as a “servant”, he thought himself above everyone around him. Mingi claimed they are cousins, sons of Satan, the Prince of Wrath. It explained Yeosang’s quickness of anger, even if subdued by his sophisticated manner. If he is so important, why was he content with servitude and not having his own lands?

“You’re a son of Satan, right?” you asked him from behind. 

“A grandson.”

“Then how come you don’t have your own lands like The Masters?”

“I’m not part of the direct bloodline,” he said stiffly. “I am a son-of-son. Only those with direct relation get the finer things.” 

“That still makes you his blood though. You’re his grandson.”

“And not directly from him. Direct bloodline implies it is someone right after him like Master Seonghwa, Asmodeus’s son from the 18th generation.”

“18th?”

“Those demons born between 1701 to 1800 obviously,” he said over his shoulder. “We won’t be covering the 18th generation for a while. We're still covering the 12th generation.”

“The medieval period, I know.”

“The High Middle Ages, YN.”

“Well, what generation are you, Mr. Know-It-All?”

“20th,” he said. “I was born in 1904. My mother was a demon of wrath and my father, Satan, took a liking to her. She was his mistress for many years. Same for Mingi’s mother. The Princes don’t take ‘wives’, if you couldn’t tell on your own.”

“What generations are Masters Hongjoong and San?”

“Master Seonghwa is from the 18th generation as well; he was born in 1754, while Master Hongjoong was born in 1755,” he said. “Master San is the youngest, being born in 1910.” 

“I guess I’d be a 20th generation, if I was a demon?”

“Yes.”

“Which would make you older than me?”

“Psh, I’m much, much older than you, but that doesn’t seem to matter to you. You’re generally disagreeable and insolent to anyone regardless of age.”

“No, Yeosang, I’m only disagreeable to you.”

He opened the doors to Seonghwa’s apartment without retort. You liked shutting him up even if briefly. Mingi stayed by the doors while you followed Yeosang into the music room. You’d missed the cello lesson according to the clock on the wall, so he took you over to the piano next. Sitting beside him on the bench, you watched him open the music book on the stand for you to read. 

“Let’s start with Chopin today,” he said, turning the page to one of the compositions. “He truly is one of the greats. Small children are able to play this, so let’s see just how much better a seven-year-old would be compared to your mediocrity.”

You wanted to kick him under the bench. It made you want to prove him wrong. You paid close attention to each note he played and repeated them back. He kept a distasteful expression every time you matched his notes. You remembered bits and pieces from those piano lessons your mother’s friend gave you. Mama hoped you’d become a famous musician one day; she said you had the talent if you practiced hard enough. Eight-year-old YN wanted to make her happy, and playing the piano and singing did that. That is, until He broke the small electric piano she’d saved up for your birthday. 

‘Nobody wants to listen to that shit!’ he’d shout, kicking it aside before sitting down. 

You never played again. 

“Well, I suppose you aren’t entirely useless after all,” Yeosang said when the lesson ended. You’d played the song perfectly, and you knew it bothered him. “Master Seonghwa will be pleased when he hears you after dinner. Try to remember it between now and then.” 

He stood up from the bench, and you stayed behind. You heard him gathering books in the next room, but you let your fingers trace the black keys. A melody came to you in particular. ‘Johnny Angel, Johnny Angel, Johnny Angel…You’re an angel to me.’ She always sang while she cleaned, even if under her breath. Her voice became your welcoming jingle. It was how you knew she was home. You'd learned how to play it by listening to the tune enough and working on it secretly in your room. Her face had lit up when you played it for her on her birthday. 

You missed her smile. 

“What song is that?” Yeosang’s voice cut through your memory. It irritated you. Are you not allowed even a few minutes to yourself? “I’ve never heard of it.”

“It’s a song from home,” you answered. “You wouldn’t care.”

‘You’ve got natural born talent, baby girl.’

“Ugh, you humans are so sentimental. It’s-”

“-Fuck you, demon-boy,” you snapped over your shoulder, fingers slamming down the keys in emphasis. “Not everyone had parents who didn’t give a shit about them.” 

“I’d rather have no parents than one who smacked me around,” he remarked. “Come on, Master Seonghwa will be here soon and he’ll be cross if he sees you all weepy like that.”

You heard him leave, and anger boiled in your veins. It angered you because he was right. You would’ve rather not had a father than the one you lived with. 

“YN!” 

Leaving the bench, you walked through the apartment to the dining room. They’d already put down the fine china and utensils for lunch. You pushed your father from your head as you sat down. Putting the cloth napkin on your lap, you wondered what you’d be having for lunch. Mama used to make peanut butter and jelly, with fruit and juice on the side. She’d put a cookie and a note inside for you. She loved you, and you treated her so terribly. You remembered purposefully leaving the bag in your locker so your friends didn’t ridicule you. Having loving parents amongst your friends was embarrassing, even though now you wished you hadn’t cared. 

“YN? Yeosang?”

Yunho appeared in a puff of smoke, in his usual servant attire. “Morning, Yunho,” you said politely. 

“Sir,” Yeosang bowed. “What can I help you with?”

“I’ve come to inform YN that Master Seonghwa won’t be coming home for lunch,” he said. “He has a lunch meeting with his superiors, so he can’t stop by. You’ll be dining alone today. He sends his deepest apologies and hopes you enjoy lunch.” 

“That’s fine,” you said. “I understand. Thank you, Yunho.”

He nodded, disappearing once again. You sighed softly to yourself. Finally, a moment of peace. When the servant brought the first course, you thought you might scream. 

‘Sorry, Kitten. I hope you enjoy your day. I’ll see you tonight.’

The pink post-it note was attached to the tray cover. Inside, you found apple slices and a cup of caramel sauce. Mama added caramel because she knew how much you liked it with the apples. It was cruel. It was a sick joke. Seonghwa must have read your mind or learned or guessed and thought it’d be funny to taunt you. To spite your master, you ate them. He likely expected you to storm out and not eat for the day. You'd prove him wrong. You'd show him. You can be strong. You've been strong and tough your whole life. 

Main course hurt equally: a peanut butter and jelly sandwich with barbecue chips. Your favorite brand specifically. Tears blurred your vision, but you held them back. You could feel Yeosang a few feet away; you wouldn't give him the satisfaction of seeing you cry. You ate the sandwich with a dry mouth. 

“You must be thirsty,” said Yeosang. “Here.”

A juice box. The cartoon apple beamed at you delightfully, the brand name over their head and another apple in their hands. Yeosang stuck the tiny plastic straw in the box for you and put it where your wine glass usually sat. It became apparent whose idea this had been.

“You’re a dick, you know that?”

He only laughed, walking away and back to his corner. You drank it anyway. It reminded you of the time fourteen-year-old YN brought lunch on her first day of high school. The kids, dressed in the popular fashion of the time, laughed when they saw the ham and cheese sandwich and loving note. You’d never felt more embarrassed than that moment. Was that when you stopped loving her? Or was it when she called you ‘sugar bear’ in front of your friends? Or when she wore a t-shirt with your face on it for your birthday? Your throat clogged up with sadness, and you stopped eating. She loved you and you were embarrassed by her. 

Dessert? Chocolate chip cookies. Her chocolate chip cookies. You knew by the texture and misshapen outlines. In a fit of rage, you grabbed the plate and tossed it across the table. The expensive plate bounced off the edge and shattered on the wooden floors. You glared at Yeosang, who’d gotten a kick out of your reaction. 

“What’s the matter, YN? You don’t like cookies?” 

The juice box in hand, you hurled it at him. The distance was quite impressive, and the stain it’d leave pleased you. Yeosang gave you a shocked expression that turned sour quickly. You threw your napkin onto the ground and stormed towards the doors. They slammed closed the second you reached the threshold. They might have hit you if you’d taken another step. 

“Where do you think you’re going, slut?” Yeosang growled, fire in his voice. 

Anger normally burns like hot coals in one's belly. It scorches everything in its path through the blinding red rage. Yet, that rarely happened to you. Your rage stung. A real, hateful, borderline murderous rage pinched your nerves, and flowed through your chest like a bad heartburn. A biting pain started in your chest and rushed to your hands and your feet. This wrath never daunted your anger. It seemed to add it. 

“Away from you!”

The doors suddenly burst back open again, wood cracking the edges and a door knob flying off. You breathed deeply, fighting back the caustic acid in your throat.  You charged through to the front doors, pushing them open with force. The sudden burst startled a quiet Mingi, who sprung into action right away. 

“YN, what’s going on?” 

You didn’t answer him. Immediately, the Black Keep felt suffocating. The elegant white walls and carpeted floors smothered any air in your body. The sun glowing through the tall windows felt hotter on your skin. For the first time since you arrived, you resented this stupid house. This pretentious, obnoxiously wealthy home for horny demons. It sickened you. Mingi’s deep voice called after you, echoing in the high ceilings, but you kept moving. You never explored the mansion yourself because you’re so confined to your “schedules”. Fuck schedules. Fuck rules. Fuck everything. Fuck your snobby, self-serving bastard masters. 

You found your way outside after several turns and staircases. Glass doors led to a grand staircase down into the vast gardens of the Black Keep. Outside, you finally found a refuge to make your own. The faint sweet scent of flowers and fresh air filled your lungs and cooled your hot skin. Everything felt electric. A growl came through your throat that you didn’t think possible. In the seclusion of a maze, the scathing pains cooled down with each breath. Hot tears finally spilled from your eyes. You wished they’d killed you that night or sent you back to your brothel. That way you wouldn’t be wishing to see her again. 

Finally, you found yourself in an enclosed space. Gravel covered the walkway in and around the fountain and benches. The fountain, you saw, was three tiers of water and flowers spiraling and blooming from the top. Flowers in various shades of pink and white grew from the green leaves and vines. You plopped down on one of the benches and stared at it. Briefly, you thought about her again. She loved flowers. She claimed your father once liked them too; he owned a florist shop in town, but you found that hard to swallow. Flowers are delicate; he was anything but that. Your masters are exactly the same. They hide behind their pretty belongings and silly aesthetics. They dazzled you with good sex and pretty things to pacify you. Just like your bosses. Just like every other man in your life. 

But you turned their games back on them. You used them like how they used you. You stepped on them to reach the top. You’d been a college drop-out with no references or experience in anything. Jobs weren’t hard to find, but good paying ones were. A pretty girl working in an office full of men, you knew what you had to do. You destroyed long-standing careers, marriages, familial relationships and friendships to get what you wanted. No man or woman could say no to you. Your beauty rendered them powerless. A flash of a smile, a touch of a hand and a suggestion pulled them into you like fish on hooks. You heard the whispers around the office. You knew what people said behind your back. 

“YN’s a maneater.” 

“She’s a snake in the grass.” 

“A viper with pretty teeth.” 

“Who exactly do you think you are?” Yeosang came into the space, and you didn’t look at him. “Hello? Answer me, slut.”

“Leave me alone.”

“You lost that-”

“-I said leave me alone, slave,” you let the insult drip from your voice. 

“You don’t get to be alone anymore. You lost that-”

“-And I’m taking it back!” You fisted a few pebbles from the ground and launched them at his shiny, black shoes. “Go away! Now!”

Yeosang growled deep in his chest and charged at you. The moment he gripped your wrist, you slammed your fist into the center of his face. Your knuckles burned, but it felt worth it to see his nose bleed. The two of you scowled and snarled at one another. Like two animals in a cage, you clashed at once. Yeosang punched your cheek hard, bringing on a stinging you’d grown used to right away. You wrestled him to the ground, something you didn’t know how to do but did it anyway. Dirt and gravel shifted as the two of you slapped, punched and kicked one another. You saw the red in Yeosang’s eyes fill them completely, dark and angry as he bared sharp fangs. The brief second let you slam your fist into his jaw.

His body felt hard and hot against yours even under all the layers. You could tell he had a similar build to Mingi, albeit smaller and shorter. Grabbing at his arms, the hard muscles flexed under your hands. When your body collided with his, you took in the slight, strong frame. He'd be fuckable if you didn't hate him. The two of you paused for a moment, both of you panting heavily and bleeding. You stared up into his face, seeing his wide eyes and soft lips. He gazed down your own face as if really taking you in. Then Yeosang ripped the ties keeping your dress closed. 

“Fucking slum slut,” he grunted through his teeth, tearing the fabric with his sharp nails, “You think you have power here? You think you’re something special? Think again.”

“Like you’re any better!” you hit his kidney area, and rolled him over. You tore at his clean, white shirt. The buttons popped off when you opened it to reveal his smooth, chiseled chest and abdomen. Grinding your hips, you pinched and rubbed his nipples. “Look at you,” you growled, rolling his nipples while moving your hips, “You’re just as slutty as me. All of you are.”

“Fuck you!”

He slashed at your cheek and pushed you off him. Falling onto your back, you knelt upright as he went for you. His body flung in reverse, he pushed you onto your back and grabbed at your panties. You kicked your legs and bucked your hips as the arousal built up in your lower region. The sound of tearing fabric, and the cool air brushing your sex made it clear. He'd torn them off. You grabbed at his black hair, pulling at it while he resisted. Burying his face in your crotch, he wildly licked and sucked your clit. You didn’t dare let out the noises in your throat. His tongue slipped and slid over your hard clit. Two could play that game. Roughly removing his belt and unzipping him, you spat on his semi-hardon and stuck it in your mouth. The two of you laid on your sides, each one trying to coax a single moan from the other and resisting. 

“Fucking whore,” he seethed, rapidly rubbing your clit, “You never say no to dick, do you?”

You nearly ripped off his pants when you broke out of his grip. Dick hard and red, it pulsed in your hand as you grabbed his balls underneath. “And you don’t say no to my mouth,” you shot back, spitting on him more and wetting his delicious cock. “You act like you’re better than me, but I see how you look at me. You want to fuck the shit out of me every minute of the day.” You tugged at his ballsack, earning a loud hiss, “My pussy dripping in your mouth…My ass gripping your tiny cock.”

“It’s not tiny!” 

It really wasn’t, but you’d never tell him that. He rolled you onto the ground, straddling your hips and roughly tugging on your bra. Your tits filling his hands, he squeezed them as he placed harsh kisses on your neck. His dick, throbbing and wet, pressed right to your sex. You reached down to him, and continued stroking him while he bit and sucked your nipples. Heavy breathing, grunting and groaning came between you. You hungered for him. You hated that your body betrayed you so easily; it gave him a power you never gave up to anyone. His expert tongue teased the tips of your nipples, sucking the pebbles until they grew harder. His large cock leaking into your hand, so close to your sex, you thought you might go insane with need. 

You shoved him off you and started humping him. Focusing on your pussy rubbing the head, you smirked in pleasure at his whimpering. Yet, he refused to show any arousal.  Yeosang kept squeezing your tits, which sent you into a new whirl of pleasure. 

“Slut,” he slapped your breast hard, “Slut, slut, slut.” 

He emphasized each word with a slap to your tits, which had you pinning down his knees. You saw his dick standing straight up, and you smacked it hard. It wagged in the air, and you heard Yeosang give a painful hiss. 

“Slave, slave, slave,” you mocked him, slapping his dick and balls. You knew he liked it by how he grew even harder. “You’re a bigger whore than me. Each of you,” you lifted his dick to slap his testicles and make him jerk. “All of you are a bunch of whores. I only have to flash you and you all drool like fucking dogs.” You stroked him while smacking his balls, the combination of pleasure and pain making him leak in your hand. 

“Don’t make me laugh!”

He grabbed your hair and pulled you over again. His dick slipped into your throat, choking your airway with his girth. “We only have to touch you a little bit, and you get soaked! Look at you now,” he shoved himself in and out of your mouth, “Taking my dick like a champ as your little cunt gets wet for me. You slum sluts love cock. You crave dick all day.”

You started sucking him earnestly, humming around him in your throat and grabbing his pert ass cheeks. Yeosang groaned when you forced a finger into his asshole, the move making him fuck your throat faster. Snug walls sucked your finger further inside him, pulsing at this new intrusion. You felt his hole growing wetter, but not with what you expected. What appeared to be a thin, clear cum worked as a lube. Self-lubricating. You never found anything hotter. Yeosang grew louder, moaning against your pussy and pushing into your throat.

 “Going to make you my cum dump,” he said, eyes closed, “I’m going to make you swallow my whole load. You’d fucking love that.”

Sinking two fingers into you, you grabbed his arm and pushed him onto the ground. You continued sucking him off, straddling his head, and forcing his knees apart. Yeosang groaned and panted loudly as you fingered and sucked him. He hooked his arms around your thighs, and pulled your pussy onto his mouth. Neither of you spat any more insults. You’d make Yeosang cum like that whore he truly is. You’d get one over on him with your throat and fingers. Reaching deep inside, you found the spongy parts of his prostate. He moaned loudly on your clit, flicking the sensitive nub and sucking on it obscenely. His walls tightened around your fingers, and you matched your fingers' pace with your mouth. You grinded against his tongue, whimpering when it slipped inside you. He slapped your ass much harder than San ever could. You dug your nails into the fleshy part of his inner thigh before dragging them down. He bit the inside of your thigh. You smacked his balls hard. A primal hunger came out of each of you. Your body wished to give in, but your mind didn't let you. You tasted him leaking into your mouth, which you used to spit into your hand and shove back into his ass. 

“Too bad I don’t have a dildo to fill this pretty hole,” you taunted him, “Whores like being fucked in their ass.”

“You would know,” he said, mouth full of pussy. He grabbed your hair, holding you in place as he pushed up into your mouth. “You’d fucking know, wouldn’t you, bitch?”

You kept his legs open as you fingered him faster, spit making it easier to slide in and out. He was practically riding your hand after a time, and you started riding his long tongue. You wouldn’t cum first, even if the sensation started building behind your clit. You wouldn’t give him the satisfaction. 

“Cum for me, bitch,” he smacked your ass with both hands, “Cum like the fucking whore you are.”

“You first, asshole,” you used your hand to smack his balls while you throated him again. 

His tongue reached up to your g-spot, and your eyes rolled in the back of your head. You heard his moans grow louder, much like when you’d given him the handjob. The slick sounds of his wet cock and hole being used nearly sent you over the edge. The moment you taste thick salty cum, you begin sucking him harder and fingering him deeper. Once your thighs trembled, Yeosang kept the same pace and forced you to his face. It was too close to tell, but you both came. His cock stifled your feral groans and your pussy muffled his high moans. You hated to admit he tasted so damn good. You stroked and sucked each drop, loving the slightly sweet taste in the process. 

When you both finally came down, you moved away from him and wiped your mouth and fingers on the end of his coat. He did the same with your dress, the wetness clear against the cotton fabric. 

“Just couldn’t get through lunch without some dick, huh?” he spat with a smirk. “You slum sluts are unbelievable.”

“You didn’t complain when I was finger fucking your ass.”

“And you didn’t when I came down your throat. Cock-hungry, cum-eating skank.”

“Not as bad as being a desperate, small-dicked prick.” 

He spat in your direction, and stood up. “Get cleaned up and come to the library. We’re not done with your lessons today.”

You didn’t dare flop down into the ground. On jelly-legs, you used the fountain water to clean your hands and mouth before following him through the garden. Neither of you said anything on the way back to the library. Mingi spotted your limping and torn dress, and glared at Yeosang. 

“What did you do?” he said, hands clenching at his sides. “The Masters will whip you for this.”

“I didn’t put it in her,” Yeosang said, walking past him without stopping. “I know her cunt is theirs even though it should be everyone’s with how horny she is all the time.”

Mingi’s glare diminished when he saw you. Removing his jacket, he put it over your shoulders and buttoned it to cover your body. “Are you okay?” he touched your tender cheek, pulling away when you winced. “They’ll put him on the whipping post for this.”

“I’m fine, Mingi,” you assured him. “It was just a bit…rough, that’s all.” He tried hiding the intrigue in his eyes, but you caught it and stepped closer to him. “You know I like things a bit rough,” you said in a whisper, “Especially rough enough to make me cry.”

“I should’ve gone with you then,” he said, wiping underneath your lip. “I’d give you something to really cry about.”

“Sounds like fun.” 

You brushed yourself against his crotch as you turned in his arms and walked into the room. They make it so easy. It was amusing. Finding Yeosang in the library, you saw he’d pulled out several leather books. By their worn out spines and the corners, you guessed they must be several centuries old. The one scroll he’d taken out seemed delicate and frail as he carefully unrolled it on the table. 

“Lose the jacket,” Yeosang ordered, “If you insist on acting like a whore, Master Seonghwa should see it when he returns home.”

Rather than argue, you removed the jacket. 

And the dress. 

And your bra. 

In nothing but your heels, you sat in front of him and took one of the copies on the table. “What’s first in the curriculum?” you asked, pretending as if you sitting naked was entirely normal. 

“Oh, so you do know words with more than two syllables,” he said, acting surprised. “Look at you, little scholar.” He took his own copy of a book titled ‘Literature of the Kings: A Collection of the Middle Ages'. “We’ll start today with writings from the high middle ages. Master Seonghwa likes to talk about them, so try and keep up. Maybe you'll actually remember the time period.”

“The middle ages are all the same to me.”

While you both went over the first collection of old writing, you knew Yeosang kept looking at your body. You liked the attention and obvious struggle he faced. As he told you about something called The Cranberry Tales or whatever, you stretched to show off your chest to him. He’d finished with you in the garden, but here he was struggling to focus on his lesson plan. You wanted him to admit he was hornier than you and his masters combined. The men you used in the previous life liked to think themselves superior to everyone; they acted like the titans in their fields. You knocked them down a few notches with your pussy. It felt particularly good with men who acted above you, the secretary or office manager. Once you sat on them, they crumbled like broken cookies. 

Yeosang made it through the literature lesson, and you moved to History and Geography of Inferno. The map on the table detailed the various circles, inner and outer rims. Each part in different colors, it depicted which territory belonged to which prince. You'd seen the map before, since he brought it out every lesson. Seonghwa and Yeosang believed if you lived in Hell, you should know its lands. You decided to stand on his side of the table, hands on the edge as you moved in front of him. 

“Where are we on here?” you asked, rolling your hips into his groin casually. 

“In Prince Asmodeus’s domain, as I've told you before, the Lands of Depravity,” he pushed right back into you, arms going through yours to point to the light red space on the map. One hand casually grabbing your breast, he continued, “Everything from this end of the circle to this end is his. The whirling winds where you came from are on this side away from the main city. I understand why you were put there now…” he pressed his lips to your ear as he pinched your nipple, “You just had dick and now you want more. I guess you like my ‘tiny dick’.”

“I don’t know what you mean. You’re the one pushing your dick into my ass.”

“Because you make it so readily available to me.”

“Like you wouldn’t take it if I didn’t dangle it in front of you like a dog wanting a treat.”

“I’d fuck you like the bitch you are.”

“The only bitch is you.”

You squeaked when a hand smacked across your ass again. He went back to explaining the areas of the map, the others areas of Hell and which families owned them. The Rivers of Wrath belonged to Satan's clan, while the long mountain area called The Golden Range was Prince Mammon's domain. Prince Belphegor saw over the Forest of Agony above the seventh circle; Prince Beelzebub, Prince of Gluttony, owned the vast, fruitful food resource of Hell called The Meadow. Anyone related to Prince Leviathan lived in the cold, stormy seaside Port Envy. Every prince had an heir, someone who watched over their land for them. Some princes had more offspring than others. Yeosang mentioned Prince Belphegor having the least amount, since children do not interest him. Asmodeus had the most, understandably. He told you one of the biggest rules in Hell:

"You don't enter another prince's territory without permission."

When he demanded you repeat the information back to him, he cupped both your breasts and squeezed them. It only mildly distracted you. As you described every prince and their heirs, Yeosang nibbled at your neck and slipped his hand between your legs. Your pussy, still wet from the garden, felt sensitive to his touches. 

“-And this is our family,” you pointed to the serpents around the thorny rose, “Master Seonghwa is the heir to the land, with Master Hongjoong and Master San right after him-”

“-Yes, I am the heir of this land.”

Yeosang and you jumped apart when Seonghwa stood in the doorway. Removing his tie, his dark eyes glinting with interest. “And the heir wishes to know why his Kitten is naked and grinding into his loyal servant?” 

“I was hot,” you said, standing straight and killing the desires inside you. 

“Very,” Seonghwa said, eyes gazing up your body. He stopped and gasped when he saw your split bottom lip. “Kitten, what happened?” He went straight to you, cupping your face to see it more closely. “Oh, Kitten…Yeosang, what-Wait, what happened to your face?” 

The redness on the bridge of his nose stood out against his porcelain skin, and so did the welt on his cheek. Even though he'd tried fixing himself up, he hadn't done a supreme job. 

“Did you two have a fist fight?” he asked him.

“Yes, Master,” Yeosang admitted. “She was being disobedient and having a temper tantrum.”

“After you pulled a mean prank on me at lunch.”

“You humans are so damn sensitive,” he remarked. “It was only a joke. It's not my fault you can’t take a joke.”

“Nobody was laughing but you-”

“-Enough,” Seonghwa intervened, “You two argue like children.” He straightened his jacket as he said, “And you decided to fight? Where? In the dining room?” 

“No,” you answered. 

“Then who blew the dining room doors?”

“Yeosang!”

“What?! It wasn’t me! It was you!”

“I’m a human. I couldn’t have.”

“You did it somehow!” He snapped. “You slammed them open or pushed them hard to frame me.”

“Shut it,” Seonghwa snapped. “Where did you do it?”

“In the garden,” you said. 

“She’d stormed away from me when I told her not to,” Yeosang explained quickly. “I only followed her to bring her back into the house.”

“And instead of bringing her back you decided to hate fuck her again?” he asked, hands on hips. “Yeah, I can smell it on both of you. What did you do?”

“Hit each other,” you answered. 

“I mean sex-wise,” he elaborated, “What did you do to one another?” Not getting an immediate response, he said, “Oh, now you’re both suddenly ashamed?”

“I finger fucked him,” you answered, “While I sucked him and slapped his balls.”

“And I…” Yeosang hesitated. “I tongue fucked her pussy and fucked her throat.”

“Oh yeah?” The small descriptions intrigued your master, a smirk spreading on his face. He lifted your chin and examined your other injuries. You winced at the thumb touching your jaw, and he placed a soft kiss on it. “How many times did you both cum?” he asked, licking the caked blood on your broken lip. 

“Only once,” you replied, your body warming to his hot tongue. 

“A quick one then?” a low rumble came from his chest, and you knew what ran through his mind. 

“Yes,” you answered in unison. 

He looked between the two of you, then said, “Come with me.” 

Nervousness killed the arousal Yeosang started up again. There’d been no specific rules against sex with the other servants. They only said nobody could have vaginal sex with you. Is he punishing you for the door? It was Yeosang, not you. Maybe for fighting him? You can imagine that. Seonghwa likely believed fighting wasn’t lady-like. Reaching Seonghwa’s bedroom, you took in the tall canopy bed with its white floral curtains and white bed covers. The sunlight dimming outside left the room in a golden glow, bringing out the bright colors in the room. Seonghwa removed his jacket, putting it behind a chair he brought closer to the bed. 

“Get on the bed,” he ordered, taking a seat and relaxing in his chair. On a table beside him, he poured himself a brandy. “And finish what you two started in the library.”

“Sir, really,” Yeosang huffed a laugh, “This isn’t necessary-”

“-Do you both need to be fighting for the sex to happen? Is that your foreplay?”

“It’s not my fault he gets hard berating me all the time,” you said, shooting him a glance. “He’s always calling me names and insulting my intelligence.”

“I’m not saying anything untrue,” he replied. “You’re a cock-starved slum slut. Is that not true?” 

“And you’re an uptight, snobby small-dicked bitch boy,” you spat. “That sounds pretty accurate to me.” 

Seonghwa laughed, sipping his brandy, “You two really can go at it, huh? Keep going. This is fun.”

“If my dick is so small, how could you gagged on it when I fucked your mouth?” he challenged, stepping to you. 

“Psh, you call what you did ‘gagging’? The only thing that made me gag is your gross tasting cum. I wouldn’t eat it even if it was the last edible source in the world.”

“Look who’s talking. Master Seonghwa says your pussy tastes like honey, but I think it tastes like rotten fruit.”

You pushed him, and he pushed back. That sharp feeling in your chest returned, pooling like saliva in your mouth. You swallowed it back even if it hurt. Showing any sign of desire would mean Yeosang won. You wouldn’t let him. 

“Slap her,” Seonghwa said, eyes trained on both of you. “You’re going to let a slum slut talk to you like that? She’s a filthy human, and you’re a grandson of Satan. How dare she disrespect you that way.”

Yeosang took his words to heart and smacked you again. “Ooh, that was hard,” Seonghwa laughed, “Kitten, don’t just stand there. Hit him back.”

So you did. Yeosang blocked the hit and slapped you. When he reached for you, you turned him onto his back on the bed. Once more, you tore at Yeosang’s clothes much more harshly this time. The broken buttons made it much easier, and it came off with his coat as well. Yeosang squirmed when you took his nipple between your teeth. As you teased his nipples, he reached down to your own to pinch them hard. 

“Come on,” Seonghwa drawled, “You two can do better than nipple stuff. Bite each-Haha, yes! Like that!”

Yeosang sunk his canines into your shoulder, making you yelp in pain as he drew blood. You did the same back, and the taste of his blood stirred your hunger. It tasted like a good rare steak. You supposed demon blood tasted that way. You’d started grinding into Yeosang as you bit across his collarbone. The sting of pain didn’t stop him from pushing you onto your back. He straddled your stomach and started slapping your tits again, using wide swings to add extra pain. You cried out as he did it to them at the same time, enjoying the stings of pain with your arousal. Trying to wriggle out from under him, you undid his pants to pull his cock out again. You held his hands on your tits as you slipped his length between them. 

“Oooh a nice tit fuck,” Seonghwa said, “How delightful. You’re not going to give in that easily, are you, Yeosang? I didn’t think the sons of Satan could be so weak.” 

“He is weak,” you confirmed, glaring at him as you pumped him with your breasts. “He’s already dripping on my tits. He loves my tits, don't you, Yeosang? Huh? My soft tits and hard nipples?” 

“You fucking bitch,” Yeosang growled. 

You laughed mockingly at him, and he slapped your face. Still laughing, you grappled with him as he tried getting you onto your front. 

“Pin her down,” Seonghwa cheered, “Get her ass in the air.” 

“What’s going on here?” a curious voice came from the door. San appeared, fresh from work, and he stopped next to Seonghwa when he saw you and Yeosang on the bed. “Are they wrestling?”

“Hate fucking. Care to watch?”

“Absolutely. I love a good hate fuck.” 

Forced onto your front, you tried lifting Yeosang off your back. Laying on your horizontally, he held you down while he began landing hard slaps to your ass. Your kicking and jerking amused the three demons. 

“Finger her,” Seonghwa called out, “Make her cum first.”

“Darling, just grab his dick. It’s right there.” 

You curved your body as much as possible to reach Yeosang’s hardening cock. Yeosang in return slipped two fingers into your aching pussy. Seonghwa cheered for Yeosang when he spotted the butler listening to his instructions. Yeosang spread your legs further, putting one hand under you and another over you and he fingered your pussy and rubbed your ass hole. Whining and whimpering, you spat on your hand and worked him up and down. You felt him pulse with each stroke. With a hard squeeze of his shaft, the brief pain distracted him enough to lose his grip on you. Sitting on his chest, you spat on his dick and stroked him with both hands. Yeosang’s fingers tickle the tops of your feet until you become ticklish. You kept jerking him off even as you fought the tickling sensation in your feet. He went further up your feet until he reached the center of your sole, which had you kicking to escape them. 

“Ticklish much, slut?” Yeosang teased before grabbing both ankles. 

He rolled you onto your front, pinning you down with his body and continuing to tickle your feet. Laughing from the tingling feeling, you tried moving your feet from him but when he turned around against you, using the empty space like a chair, it was over. Strong arms wrapped around your legs, he kept tickling your feet and backs of your legs. 

“Is it weird that I’m kind of into this?” San asked his brother. 

“Hongjoong’s into it, so let that be your answer.”

“Tickling isn’t that weird…”

You eventually kicked a foot out, and scrambled away from Yeosang. On the other side of the bed, you stood ready to tackle him. 

“Uh-oh, she got away, Yeosang,” Seonghwa jeered. “Just grab her!”

Yeosang lunged for you, managing to yank you onto the bed by the hair. Bent over, he brought you into the middle by an arm around your thighs. You struggled in his grasp. Your lower half in his lap, Yeosang resumed tickling your feet with one hand while holding your face into the bed with the other. Shimming your hips around, your pussy pressed to his cock easily. Yeosang let out a soft moan when you slipped him between your thighs. Grinding up and down, you fucked Yeosang with your thighs. 

“She’s thigh fucking him even in that weird position,” San chuckled. Finally seeing him, you saw he’d pulled up his own chair and drank from a brandy glass. “God, that’s hot.” 

The door opened again when you rolled off Yeosang. “Ah, so this is where everyone is!” Hongjoong walked into the room, and saw you and Yeosang on the bed. “Well, well, what is going on here?”

“Fight fuck,” San answered, “Pull up a chair.”

All three men groaned and laughed when you slammed a fist into Yeosang’s face. “Pet can really throw a punch!” Hongjoong laughed, shocked by the blood dripping from Yeosang’s mouth. 

“Put him inside you, Darling,” San suggested. “Milk him with that delicious pussy of yours.” 

“And he’d love it,” you growled at Yeosang, not hesitating to slide him inside you. Bouncing fast and hard, you pinned him by his shoulders and fucked him. “Who’s the fucking whore now, hm? Who’s the whore now?”

“It’s still you, bitch!”

Yeosang punched you this time. Teeth cutting into your cheek, he used the moment to force you onto your back. Blood tinged your mouth, which you gathered and spat on him. This only angered him more. 

“Fuck her, Yeosangie,” Hongjoong called, “Fuck her!”

The three brothers hooted when Yeosang curled you and shoved his dick into you hard. The bed bounced in every thrust. You refrained from moaning in each blissful push. Stars exploded in front of you whenever his dick went particularly deep. You swore the man was drawing out your sanity bit by bit. You clawed at his arms, his hands and back to distract him but he kept on going. The stabs of pain did not stop him at all. Even as blood peeked out of the hard scratches, Yeosang seemed unfazed. 

“You can tap out any time, Kitten,” Seonghwa said, “You can give in and let him fuck your pretty holes.”

“N-No,” you grunted, trying to slide out from under Yeosang even if his cock hit your g-spot perfectly. “Oh fuck, no. No, no, no, fuck you, no!”

Sensing your orgasm, Yeosang started pushing deeper. The brothers having a perfect view of Yeosang inside you, they started counting his thrusts. 

“Bet she cums in, like, ten more thrusts,” Hongjoong said. 

“I bet five,” Seonghwa replied. “She’s already curling her toes, look.” 

“Darling, come on, don’t give in that easily. You hold on so well for me in my bed.” 

You used all your strength to get Yeosang off you. Once separated from him, putting one arm on his throat, you squeezed his balls as you started sucking him. 

“That’s my girl,” San said approvingly. “That’s it. Give him a nice blowjob.”

“Fucking hell, Yeosang! You almost had her!” 

“Kang Yeosang,” Seonghwa scolded him, “If you don’t turn that bitch around and get back to fucking her, I’m going to put you in the greenhouse. You remember how stretched your ass hole got when Dennis finished with you, don’t you?”

This threat caused you and Yeosang to roll onto the hard floor. A shock of pain went from your head to your back, with you breaking Yeosang’s fall. Scrambling over you, he took advantage of your hard fall and lifted and spread your legs. Your head stuck against the bed frame, the awkward position nearly choked you. Keeping himself up on his hands, Yeosang fucked you in a reverse position that pleased your audience. 

“I bet you she passes out,” Hongjoong tapped San’s arm. “He’s got her in a rough position.”

“Darling, don’t give up,” San encouraged you. 

“No, do give up, Darling,” Hongjoong said, “I want to fuck you after Yeosang.”

“Hell no,” said Seonghwa, “It’s my day so I’m fucking the loser first.” 

Using Yeosang’s tactic against him, you started tickling Yeosang’s feet. He collapsed right at the first few brushes. To keep your audience happy, you managed to maneuver yourself on Yeosang so they could see you jerk him off with your soaked cunt. 

“She’s so fucking wet,” San moaned. You saw the bulges in each of their pants. San palmed his down to focus on you instead of his own pleasure. “How long have they been at this?”

Seonghwa told his brothers what you and Yeosang did in the garden. While he recounted the story, Yeosang knocked your elbows so you fell onto his chest. Locking his legs around yours, he stuck his hand to your pussy and started rubbing your sensitive pussy quickly. You managed to stick him between your thighs again, grinding into him. Both of you grunted and groaned, restraining your needy whimpers as you fucked on the ground. You refused to let him win. Even with your bloody mouth and aching muscles, you fought against him. 

“Holy shit, they did that?” Hongjoong laughed. “Sounds to me like they’re both whores. I don’t see anything wrong with that.”

“Neither do I,” said Seonghwa, “But it riles them up. I figured a one-on-one will settle things between them.”

“By how they’re fucking, I don’t think that’s going to happen.” 

Yeosang turned you into your front and stuck himself in your ass. Your sudden scream delighted the three men. “She loves it in her ass,” Hongjoong said, “Give it to her hard, Yeosang.”

“Fuck her ass,” Seonghwa chanted. 

The three brothers began chanting as you clawed at the hardwood floors. Pleasure pounded into you in every thrust. When your moans finally broke and became louder, the chanting ended and you heard clapping. 

“Make her cum,” Seonghwa said, “Get that slum slut to cum really hard. I want that pussy nice and sloppy for me.”

“Darling, stop being a wimp and fight back!”

“She’s too fucked out to care about fighting-Oh, oh, oh, I think it’s happening!”

You punched at Yeosang’s arms, hoping it might cause him to collapse, but he held strong. Your face pressed to the floor by his hand, you trembled and pounded the floor as you came. You felt humiliated and defeated. Yeosang laughed in triumph. Hongjoong and Seonghwa cheered at your quaking legs and stiff muscles. They encouraged him to keep going, but Yeosang pulled out and stood over you. He kicked you over onto your back, smugness on his blushing face as he put his foot on your chest. His muscles tensed and body rocked back and forth. Thick drops of cum fell right onto your face and neck. This time, you didn’t catch them in your mouth but instead turned your head. You hated how he laughed in the face of your defeat, humiliating you further by cumming all over you. 

“Oh, all of a sudden you don’t want cum in your mouth?” Seonghwa asked in disbelief. 

“Darling,” San moaned in disappointment, “You were doing so well. What happened?” 

“Yeosang’s cock happened, that’s what,” cackled Hongjoong, who stood to unbuckle his pants. “Now, it’s my turn.”

“No, it’s mine,” argued Seonghwa, taking off his shirt. “Like I said, it’s my day with her so I go first.”

“Then I’m going second. San goes last.”

“What? Why me?”

“You’re the youngest.”

“And the biggest,” he argued back.

“Oh give me a break. Don’t use that excuse again.”

“On the bed, bitch.”

Seonghwa took your ankles and Yeosang took your arms. In a single swing, they threw you onto the bed. “Fuck, look at that,” Seonghwa groaned, removing the rest of his clothes and climbing onto the bed, “Her pussy is so damn wet.”

“She’s a whore,” Yeosang said, tapping his dick on your mouth, “They’re always wet.”

“Isn’t that the truth?” 

He swiftly slid inside, and immediately began pounding into you. They both laughed at your instant moaning. Hearing you moaning, Seonghwa shook his head and slapped your cheek. “Losers don’t get orgasms,” he said, “They get their slutty hole fucked and pumped with cum. They don’t get to finish.”

“You should’ve considered that before fighting me,” Yeosang said, swiping his dick on your face. “Unless you lost on purpose, which is just pathetic. So, so pathetic.”

When you wiggled, Yeosang grabbed your arms to hold you down. San and Hongjoong appeared to keep your legs spread wide as their older brother quickly finished inside you. You quivered feeling hot cum shoot all over your walls. Being held down made it hard to escape the overstimulation each one brought. Hongjoong and Seonghwa switched places, and he swished his hard tip over your gushing sex. He chuckled when you whined, doing it even more to hear you cry out. He fucked you exactly how you expected, hard and fast. His hips snapped into yours while he rubbed your nipples. You nearly came again until he did first, adding his milky cum to Seonghwa’s load. 

“Oh fuck, look at this.”

They all groaned at the cum oozing out of your pussy. “Let’s see how much it gushes when I fill her up,” San said, sticking himself in you next. “I thought for sure you’d win, Darling,” he said, fucking into you hard. “I thought my wife was a winner.”

“Ma-Mas-t-er…”

“Shut up, whore,” Yeosang said, smacking one tit until you cried. “Keep talking and I’ll shut you up myself.”

“She’d probably like that,” said Hongjoong, tweaking your nipple hard. “She’d suck dick all day if we let her.” 

“I wouldn’t complain!” Seonghwa whimpered, on the verge of an orgasm. “I’d take her to work with me too. Let her suck me under the desk.”

“We should do that,” Hongjoong said, eyes brightening at the new idea. “It’d make my work day so much more fun.”

The thought set San off. He came in several deep thrusts, bulging your belly like always, and pushed back all the cum that leaked out of you. Yeosang, hard from watching them use you, finally took his turn. Your masters laughed and beckoned him to go faster inside you. 

“I’ll pay you fifty-gold if you make her cum again,” Hongjoong told Yeosang. 

“Fifty-gold and a weekend off,” added Seonghwa. 

“And your choice of a brothel whore,” said San. 

Playing with your clit and pounding your sweet spot, you saw stars as you came. Your high-pitched squeals and quaking body amused them, but angered you. Yeosang forced himself as deep as possible as his cum joined the mess already inside you. Your masters finally released you, watching you cry from the overwhelming sensations running through your body. When you moved to close up, they held you apart. 

“I want to see it,” Hongjoong said, looking to see their combined fluids seep out of you. “Haha, it’s so full. If she were even half a demon, we might’ve just knocked her up.” 

“If only,” said San with a pout. “She’d look so pretty pregnant.”

“I’ve never fucked a pregnant chick, surprisingly.”

"Are you okay, Kitten?” asked Seonghwa, cupping your face and kissing you. “Sensitive? Any pain?”

“Yes.”

“Here, lay back against the pillows.” 

“I’ll call Yunho. Yunho!” San called into the room, the butler appearing when summoned. 

You hardly paid attention to anything else. You glared at them, “You’re a bunch of whores too. If there’s a House of Kisses, then this is the Palace of Whores.” 

They laughed at your frowning face, and Seonghwa cooed. “Don’t be a sore loser,” he said, smiling and kissing you again, “You did well too. You’ll get him next time.” 

“If you want,” San came up next to you with a wet cloth, beginning to clean your face, “We can practice together. I’m quite good at fight fucking, I’ve been told.” 

“He really is,” agreed Seonghwa. 

“I’m more of a spectator.” Hongjoong knelt in front of you, another damp cloth in his hand. He went to touch your sex, and you clammed up, shaking your head. “I’m not going to do anything. We need to clean you, baby.” He gently moved your legs apart and cleaned the sticky mess coming out of you. “We can’t have you walking around dripping like this.” 

“Just get some rest, Darling,” San pecked your lips, “We’ll be here when you wake up.” 

“You promise?” you asked softly. 

“I promise,” he said, nuzzling your nose gently. “Be a good pet and sleep.” 

The last words you heard as you drifted to sleep were Hongjoong’s: 

“Dude, what happened to your doors?”

****

Yes, what had happened to the doors? Yeosang wondered about this as the masters converged on you. His body slumped into a nearby chair, sweat sticking to his skin and matting his hair. The grappling and fighting took a lot out of him, leaving his body sore and bruised in places. All the adrenaline in his veins died out after his third orgasm of the day. Surely, he’ll be needing that weekend off. The smell of apples clung to his nostrils even with the sweat and sex in the air. Your fruity fragrance always stuck with him after being around you too long. He wondered which perfume you owned had such potency. It usually wears off after a short amount of time, but yours always stuck around. 

“Yeosang,” Master Seonghwa approached him, pouring a brandy for him, “Here. For you.”

“Thank you, sir,” he nodded, mustering energy to grab the glass and sip from it. 

“She’s something, huh?” he asked, leaning in his own chair and finishing his brandy. “I’ve never had a human who can take such a pounding like that. They usually give up in the first few minutes.”

“She’s a whore, Master. It’s what she’s made for.”

“Humans are made to be blank slates for the world to fill up as they grow,” he said. He saw his master staring at you intently. Yeosang only saw that stare in one situation: when his mind was turning. “They’re meant to be given choices, leading them one way or another, and they’re given free will to choose. Kitten chose herself each time…”

“I suppose so, sir.”

“What does she smell like to you, Yeosang?”

“Master?”

“When you are near her, what does she smell like?”

“Apples,” he answered, “Apples covered in cinnamon.”

“Are you fond of cinnamon-apples?”

“I do enjoy them on occasion.”

“Hm, interesting.” He poured himself another brandy, “She smells like honey to me.” He smiled softly, “Golden honey spread over fresh, warm bread.”

“I am aware, sir.”

“Hongjoong tells me she smells like strawberry ice cream,” he said. “You know how partial he is to strawberries in general, but he says she’s like the ice cream specifically.”

“Huh,” Yeosang said, leaning in his chair. “That is interesting.”

“San says he smells orange slices.”

“So fruit based scents,” Yeosang concluded. “What does that tell you?”

“Remember when I kissed her?” he said, “Licked her bloody lip and all?”

“I do.” He’d found it a pleasurable sight. 

“My throat stung.” The silence that followed the words left many things unsaid. “It stung as if I had acid reflux. At the time, I thought it was something I ate but now…”

“Do you believe otherwise?”

“I do. You tasted her blood. How do you feel?”

Yeosang took a moment to think about it. In the heat of passion, he’d owned the stinging in his throat to his low growls and snarls. He thought it might’ve been the deep breathing drying out his mouth. Yet, as he took a purposeful swallow, he realized it stung slightly. The sick feeling in the pit of his stomach might have been his tensed abdomen or another thing entirely. 

“The same.”

“Huh…And the doors-”

“-I would never damage your property, sir,” Yeosang interrupted. “Not even in the hottest of rages would I do that.”

“Then who did it?”

“I’m not sure. She might have touched it without realizing and pushed them hard. This house is very old, Master. It is possible.”

Seonghwa chuckled, “Yeosang, you are not so blind.”

“Then what do you believe happened?”

“I think Kitten hasn’t been entirely honest with us,” he said. “I must think about this more.” 

Yeosang felt a pit of worry break through him. “Master, what happened between-”

“-Dennis…” the name came from Seonghwa without realizing. 

Yeosang’s blood went cold. “What about him?”

“Let’s put her before him,” he suggested. “I’d like to see what happens.”

“What happens? Sir, I don’t believe that is the best idea. Dennis will drain her, then rip her apart. You’ll have lost-”

“-Let me worry about that. You go and enjoy your weekend off. I recommend that brothel in the high street. It’s called Scarlet Silk. They truly have a nice selection there.” 

“Master, the greenhouse is meant for disobedient slaves and for the maids,” he said, not letting it go so easily. “YN might be a bit untamed, but she doesn’t deserve such a harsh and cruel end. What happened between me and her was nothing. It was a spat between rivals. I would never truly harm her or wish her to be harmed. I could’ve easily have crushed her if I-”

“-I said I will worry about it, Yeosang,” he said with finality. “Clean yourself up and get some rest. Jongho can see after Kitten tomorrow.” 

“Yes, Master.” 

Regret tore his insides as he left the room in nothing but a sheet. Walking through the quiet palace, he worried about what he’d just done. He’d played the prank in hopes of heating you up for sex. Yeosang enjoyed the small spats and insults you threw at one another. He knew if you figured that out, he’d never have a peaceful moment. He’d struggled to keep himself together in the library, where you left yourself bare for him. He might have taken you right there if Master Seonghwa had not intervened. The two of you could always have an amicable relationship like you and Jongho. 

But, where was the fun in that? 

***

Y/N: hmm, interesting, no? We might start learning a few new things about YN now. As always, thanks for reading, and please reblog and like <3

[strawbeerossi]

Only Friends

Pairing: Gender Neutral!Reader x Spencer Reid

Description: You and Spencer are best friends who act like anything but.

Content/Warnings: Oblivious mutual pining, kissing, lap sitting, teasing friends, cute little love confession at the end.

Word Count: 1.3K

Anon Request: hiii oki req (if u want pls take ur time) i think this is prob OOC butttttt spence + reader being in love and they don’t even realize it but they still kiss/ cuddle when they hang out and stuff and just say “we’re really close is all” “best friends kiss!” and stuff..

Navigation || Criminal Minds Masterlist || Request

🏷️ @kr-1-sta @iluvreid @nervousmoongiver @multifandom-on-the-side @ferrjulie

Affection in friendships aren’t always the same. Some friends hugged, some friends rarely talked yet maintained a healthy friendship, some friends even showed the smallest bit of intimacy due to their comfortability.

You and Spencer were just a tad different. You two would cuddle, share brief pecks on the lips, as well as sometimes shower together whenever you were in a rush on a case and got a brief break.

It wasn’t anything inherently romantic or sexual, just something that came easy. The team was highly convinced you both had a secret relationship. Which was fair enough, however no matter how many explanations, they never seemed to be enough.

Tonight the team was having a small watch party for a new show at Penelope’s apartment. She’d been so desperate for the team to have something like a show they watched together, or special games to play together. Nobody could really say no.

You had arrived with a handful of snacks just an hour prior, helping one of your favorite coworkers set up her apartment for the night ahead. As expected, it turned from you helping to the bubbly blonde interrogating you over the aspect of a potential relationship.

“We aren’t dating, Pen.” Your head shook as you were filling a bowl with pretzels, taking it to the table in order to place it in the available space surrounded by other snacks. “I saw you guys kiss before you left the office yesterday! What kind of friends kiss each other on the lips?? If this is normal, we need to make Derek aware because I am missing out.” Penelope huffed out of frustration. “Mark my words, I will get to the bottom of this. When I find out that you are secretly dating, I will bring all of the hurt!” The blonde held up her fist while narrowing her eyes in your direction.

By the grace of all things holy, it wasn’t long until the team had slowly begun to show up. There were no more interrogations, not yet anyway. As everyone was piling up on the couch, there was very limited room for you as you walked out of the kitchen. “Fuck.” You groaned, arms crossed. “I am not sitting on the floor!”

“You can sit with me.” Spencer spoke up from his spot at the far end of the couch, his shoulders shrugging as his hand patted his thighs to offer you the spot in his lap. “Come on! This is a family friendly show! None of that.” Emily groaned, which had you rolling your eyes as you were heading over to sit yourself on your best friend’s lap.

“It’s not a big deal.” You protested her dramatics while your body was leaning into Spencer’s chest, your body snuggling closer to his as the show began at its scheduled time. However instead of enjoying the programme, you were too busy ignoring all the curious stares from your friends. “Come on!” You huffed while pushing yourself to sit up. “What is the big deal? You’re all staring like we are animals in a zoo.” In all honesty, you were annoyed with the way people stared. You were friends, doing platonic things.

“Look. Kid, I hate to say it but you two are definitely a little too close for what friends should be. What kind of friends do you know that kiss each other? And yes, I know, they are pecks. I’m just saying.” Derek put his hands up as he broke the silence.

“It’s not a crime to have a crush on one another or to date one another.” JJ added soon after while letting her shoulders shrug. “We aren’t dating though.” Spencer confirmed everything you’ve been preaching while looking at the group in confusion. “Spencer, you haven’t eaten any snacks tonight because all of our hands have been in the bowl. It makes no sense to me that you’d kiss her considering the mouth has like a bajillion germs.” Penelope added.

“Well, the mouth has over a billion different germs and we don’t know the exact amount.” He corrected as he looked up at you for help. “I assumed we were normal?” He spoke up while you nodded in agreement. “I thought we were, too.” You huffed while leaning against his chest.

“It’s not even the hugging, kissing, and lap sitting. You guys just look so head over heels from an outside perspective. I mean, you hang out together all the time, you always room together, plus you guys go out on dates. You may not look at it that way but come on. You are both profilers. How do you not pick up on how you feel about one another?” Emily asked while frowning softly.

The more they were talking and giving actual points, the more you were thinking over the course of your friendship with Spencer. You’d always been close, even after your first initial meeting when you joined the team. You could remember how shocked the team was because the typically quiet and socially awkward genius was the first one to welcome you. You’d managed to become close friends over the course of two weeks. The first time Spencer even hugged you was after a case where he’d been put in harm's way. He came to you for comfort. You.

The first time you started your pecks on the lips, it was due to a complete accident when you tried to kiss his cheek but his head turned to face you. It just seemed.. Right. No matter how flustered you both were or how you felt butterflies in your belly, you just dismissed it. You being lost in thought was concerning enough for Spencer. “Hey. Do you wanna step outside?” His voice pulled you out of your thoughts, your head nodding. “Yeah, please head out with me.”

He helped you to your feet before his hand was gently holding yours, leading you out of the room.

“How much do you wanna bet that they are gonna actually kiss out there?” Aaron spoke up after being silent a majority of the night, the team turning to the unit chief who normally wouldn’t have inserted himself. “I’ll take those odds,” Derek smirked while getting his wallet.

Out in the hallway, you had your arms crossed as you looked away from Spencer. “I know that we are best friends and I promise you’ve done absolutely nothing wrong. I just really want you to tell me one thing,” You spoke while turning your head back to face him. “Did you ever, at any point, have feelings for me? Be honest.”

The words had Spencer’s face bright red, his hand nervously rubbing the back of his neck. “I mean, I’ve always thought you were amazing.” He spoke while offering a shy smile. “I just didn’t want things to get weird. I like our friendship and the relationship that we have isn’t something that could be ruined. Dating friends can get messy and.. I don’t wanna live a life without you in it. I can’t even fathom a reality where you aren’t here.” He responded.

“So you did?”

“Y-yeah. I just didn’t want-”

Your hands were gripping his upper arms while you were gently shaking him. “Why didn’t you say anything?!” You asked while staring at him with wide eyes. “I’ve always been fond of you!” You added, his surprised look making you laugh softly. “God. How are we profilers?”

“You know, I’m not so sure. I think we are rusty.” Spencer responded, a little chuckle leaving his lips. “So.. Is there a chance? You know.. Us?” He asked softly while you nodded. “I do think there’s a good chance.” You responded while Spencer sighed in relief. “So it won’t be weird if I do this.”

“Do what?”

His hands were gently cupping your cheeks, taking every opportunity to press his lips against yours, much different than you were both used to but it carried the same feeling as all the little pecks have all this time. It was right. Like you were meant to be together.

“I’m pretty sure they are running bets. Do we tell them we kissed or pretend like nothing happened?”

“I want Derek to lose his money in that scenario, so let’s not tell them yet.” Spencer chuckled.