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dilemmaontwolegs · 6 months

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F.I.N.E || MV1

Pairing: Max Verstappen x teacher!reader Summary: When your student gets injured and you can’t get hold of her parents you try call an old contact number hoping he can help. Warnings: slight angst, fluff WC: 3.4K

Max frowned at the unfamiliar number calling him. If it wasn’t for the fact it was a local number he would have ignored it but since few people had his personal number he decided to answer it. Immediately he was hit with the sound of high pitch cries and a soothing voice softly singing a lullaby that eased the knot of anxiety that had formed in an instant.

“Hello, is this Max?” you asked when you realised the dual tone had stopped and the call had been answered. You shifted the child carefully on your lap and grabbed the old enrolment form to see the name again. “Max Verstappen?”

“Maxy?” the girl in your arms echoed with confusion.

“Yes, who is this?”

“Miss Y/L/N, I’m one of Penelope’s teachers. There’s been an incident and I found your number under her emergency contact list.”

“Oh no, sorry, there must be a mistake. You should call her mother or father. I’m not, we’re not, um, I shouldn’t be on that list anymore.”

You cringed as another piercing cry deafened your ear and you rubbed the little girl's back. “It hurts,” she whimpered.

“I know, sweetheart, someone will be here to get you shortly,” you replied softly and you hoped it was the truth. “Look, Max, I’ve tried every other contact number and no one is answering. Is there any way you could come down here? At least until I can get in touch with someone else.”

Max pinched the bridge of his nose but when he heard P’s shuddering cry he knew he had to go. “Okay, I’ll be there shortly.”

Max didn’t care if he got a parking ticket, he took the loading space right outside the preschool building. He likely would have gotten a speeding ticket too in his rush to cross the city but thankfully there weren’t any police in his path.

“Maxy!”

Penelope wriggled in your arms as she spotted the stranger walking into the classroom. His eyes immediately found her and he crossed the space to where you sat holding her.

“Hey, P,” he greeted with a smile and knelt down at your height. “What’s happened, bug?”

Her little eyes welled up again as she lifted her bandaged wrist. “I fell off the playground.”

“I don’t think anything is broken but I would suggest having her doctor check to be sure.”

“I don’t know who her doctor is. I don’t even know what I’m doing here.”

“You’re contact details were-”

“Those must have been from when she started. Her mother and I haven’t been together for a while.”

“Oh, I see. I’m sorry to put this on you. I swear I tried every other phone number we have.”

Max nodded and his sigh sounded exhausted as he pulled his phone out of his pocket. “I just need to make a call. I’ll be back in a minute, bug.”

Max walked along the room, looking over the children’s artwork as he pressed his phone to his ear and waited. Eventually the call went to voicemail and his spine straightened tensely. “Kel, I’ve picked up P from daycare and I’m taking her to the hospital. Call me when you get this.”

You could see the man was stressed when he returned and his short hair pointed in all directions from the hand he kept nervously running through it. It was cute.

“Daniil is in Italy this week for work,” Max said as he returned to your side and picked up Penelope’s Prada backpack before opening his arms. “I’ll keep trying to get a hold of Kelly. Come on, bug.”

Lunchtime was coming to an end and children were starting to file back into the room, a few of the older ones stopping at staring wide eyed at Max. He was tall but not that tall or formidable to draw such a reaction but your question was answered when one of the boys ran to his picture on the wall. Timothée unpinned the drawing of a race car and ran up to Max, holding it out with a pencil.

“Sir, can you please sign this?”

Max looked used to the attention and took the pen with a polite, “Sure.” He stared at the picture for the moment after signing it and chuckled. “Is the RB20?”

Timothée nodded eagerly. “It’s my favourite.”

“Mine too,” he said as handed the picture back and smiled as it was crushed happily to the boy's chest. Max then carefully picked up Penelope, slowly so she wasn’t jostled, and his arms brushed yours.

“If you need anything you have my number,” you reminded as the weight was lifted from your lap. “Children can be a little overwhelming if you’re not used to it.”

Max smiled fondly at Penelope and shook his head. “This isn’t new. I still have her room set up.”

“You do?” Penelope asked hopefully and Max turned his head as he cursed to himself. “Are we going to live with you again?”

“No, no, sorry, P,” he said softly. “I just haven’t had time to redecorate.”

“Oh.” You both winced at the defeated tone and you knew the fresh tears had nothing to do with her arm this time but you were saved by the bell as it spurred Max to toss the bag over his shoulder and look to the door.

“I hope you feel better soon, Penelope.”

“Thank you, Miss Y/L/N.”

“Thank you,” Max echoed with a nod before departing.

All afternoon you were distracted with thoughts of the two of them until the final bell rang and you grabbed your phone. You had sporadically tried to contact Daniil and Kelly again but the calls went straight to voicemail every time and you found no returned calls.

Y/N: How is Penelope? Max: She is happy watching The Little Mermaid. She has a sprained wrist and the nurse complemented the bandaging so you should be proud. Y/N: And how are you? Max: I’m fine.

Max swore as the pot of water boiled over and he hissed as he grabbed the handle to find it was just as hot. He dropped his phone reaching for the teatowel and then P started calling out from the living room complaining that the movie was boring - the same movie she watched a thousand times and she had specifically asked for.

Y/N: My mentor used to tell me that stood for: freaked out, insecure, neurotic and emotional. Are you sure you are fine?

After turning the stove down to a simmer and wiping up the mess of water that had splashed across his floor he went and changed the movie to what would hopefully last longer than ten minutes before she changed her mind. Taking another attempt at making dinner, he grabbed a bag of pasta from his pantry and poured its entirety into the pot.

Max: I’m thinking I am definitely neurotic and possibly starting to freak out. Y/N: I couldn’t have that on my conscience. My offer still stands if you need some help. Max: You don’t have anyone you need to get home to? Y/N: My cat prefers his own company unless he’s hungry and he’s already been fed today so no. Max: I don’t want you to go out of your way. Y/N: I wouldn’t have offered if I wasn’t willing to follow through. Let me help. Please?

Max smiled at his phone before sending his address and looking around to see how tidy the place was. His jacket was tossed on the table instead of being hung up and Penelope’s bag was spilled across the entryway floor, not the first impression he wanted to make.

You entered the port address into your phone and locked the classroom behind you, feeling a little unsteady at the thought of seeing Max again. Penelope was a sweet child and she seemed comfortable with Max but you hadn’t really ever heard her talk about him before. You told yourself the only reason you were going there was to check on your student's wellbeing, but a small part of you wanted to see Max again.

You wondered if maybe he hadn’t heard your knock on the door or that you had the wrong apartment and you rapped your knuckles on it again before he called out. There was a crash and then a groan close to the door before it swung open and Max balanced on one leg.

“Uh, is everything okay?” you asked as he clutched his foot.

“Yeah, everything’s fine,” he rushed before he caught the teasing curl of your brow and he froze before a smile grew on his lips. “Right, freaked out, insecure, neurotic and emotional.”

“You’re a quick learner.” You stepped inside at his invitation and he closed the door behind you while you rushed towards the burning smell in the kitchen. “Oh, wow.”

“Fucksake,” Max grumbled as he grabbed a wet tea towel before reaching for the tray of garlic bread in the oven. “Ouch, shit!”

“You said a naughty word,” Penelope called out from the next room like it was something that she regularly commented on. “That's another 20.”

Max sighed heavily as he looked at a jar on the bench that was already filled with cash. “Shit.”

“I heard that.”

“Shouldn’t you be watching your movie?”

You giggled at the amusing conversation before turning the tap to cold and taking Max’s hand. “Wet towels and hot trays make steam.”

He watched you guide his hand under the water and flinched as it hit the burn mark on his palm. “I don’t usually cook, if you couldn’t tell.”

“The life of a bachelor. Keep your hand there.” You moved with ease around his kitchen trying to save what was left of dinner but paused at a huge pot of pasta that had swelled up and pushed the lid half off. “Are you expecting a dozen other people?”

Max shrugged innocently. “I didn’t know how much to put in.”

“Well the good news is the top half is edible,” you stated after finding a colander and draining the pasta until only a thick layer remained stuck to the bottom of the pot. “Do you have any sauce?”

“Sauce?”

“What were you going to have with it?”

“Garlic bread.” You both looked at the charred sticks still smoking on the baking tray.

“Do you mind?” you asked as you pointed to his fridge and the cupboards around the kitchen.

“No, please. Go ahead.”

You checked the fridge first and you were pleasantly surprised to find it well stocked with fresh fruit and vegetables. “Do you live off salads or does all this go to waste?”

“Neither, my nutritionist comes by twice a week and he prepares the meals.”

For a moment you had forgotten his profession. You had googled his name after Timothée couldn’t stop talking about meeting the ‘Max Verstappen’. “That must be intense, and restricting. Does your social life suffer?”

“It’s not so bad. I still get to go out for dinner and have a few drinks when I want.” He started to pull his hand out from under the water but you tutted and caught his wrist, holding it back beneath the cold stream.

“Keep still,” you warned with a voice you saved for children who weren’t listening. “It needs 20 minutes under there.”

“You want me to stand here for twenty minutes?”

“No, science wants you to stay there for twenty minutes.”

“Are you a teacher or a nurse?” he asked with a playful roll of his eyes.

“Depends if it's halloween.”

His loud laugh made you smile and you eased your grip on his hand one finger at a time to see if he would stay where he was. He did. “I’ll behave, Miss Y/L/N.”

“You can call me Y//N.”

“I kind of like calling you Miss Y/L/N.”

You checked to see if he was serious but thankfully there was a teasing smile on his face before you returned to the fridge to gather some ingredients.

By some small miracle dinner can’t have been too bad since everyone cleaned their plates of the pasta, though you thought they were likely being polite since you could still taste the hint of smoke from the bottom of the pan. Penelope had spent most of the meal asking Max if he remembered what they used to do when she lived there, how they used to go travelling and shopping. You got to see first hand how much patience the man had as he answered each question despite how it made him uncomfortable.

“You miss her,” you commented after she had gone back to the tv. Max started to collect the dishes with you and sighed as he placed them in the sink.

“It was a big change when they moved out,” he spoke quietly and you stepped closer so you could hear better. “She kept asking if she did something wrong.”

“That must have been hard for you.” His eyes widened and you wondered what shocked him, but you had a feeling it was the fact someone showed concern for him. Even though you didn’t know the details of the break up, it was clear he had and still did care for Penelope and you felt sorry for him. “Can I hug you? I’m a hugger and I feel like you could really do with one.”

“You want to hug me?”

You tried to shrug it off casually. “If you want to. I don’t want to make you uncomfortable. Everyone needs a hug sometime.”

“I do,” he said quickly, very quickly, before he cleared his throat. “I mean, I-I wouldn’t mind a hug.”

You smiled at his tentativeness and stepped into his personal space, slipping your hands into the narrow openings between his limp arms and his body to curl around his waist. It took a moment for him to respond before his own arms embraced the comfort and curled around your back too.

“You smell really good, Max,” you complimented as you rested your head on his chest and caught the scent of his cologne.

“Thank you,” he chuckled, the amusement relaxing him even more until his entire body curved into yours. “I think you have playdough in your hair.”

You hummed in agreement. “Highly likely. You wouldn’t believe the places I find that stuff at the end of the day, glitter too.”

His bold laugh made you smile and you didn’t care it was at your own expense, you were just happy to know it was because of you. Unfortunately you didn’t have the chance to hear it again as his phone rang from the countertop and you saw Kelly’s name light up the screen.

“I should let you get that,” you said as you stepped back, instantly missing the warmth and his scent. “I’ll go keep Penelope company.”

Max waited for you to leave the kitchen before he accepted the call, his calm state evaporating in an instant. “What the hell, Kelly? Where have you been?”

“My phone was on flight mode, I was on a plane. Is P okay?”

“Her wrist is sprained but she’s alright now.” Max pinched the bridge of his nose and reminded himself to breathe. “Why would you leave her alone?”

“She wasn’t alone. Maria was meant to pick her up after school and I should have been home in time for dinner but my flight was delayed.”

“Who is Maria?”

“Her nanny.”

Max had to suppress the groan at the news. He knew Daniil hated the idea of a nanny and he had offered to have more custody so that P would be raised by her parents and not a stranger, but Kelly had vetoed that idea.

“Do you want to go out for dinner? I owe you.”

“No, we’ve already eaten.”

“Some other time then.”

Max made a non-committal sound, his eyes darting to the living room where he watched Penelope explain the movie to you. You were so attentive and patient, asking questions that had Penelope thinking deeper and using such a simple interaction as a learning opportunity. He could see why you suited being a teacher.

“Maybe,” he lied, “just let me know when you’re almost here and I’ll bring P out to you, I don’t want to confuse her any more.”

“Right, of course,” Kelly sighed. “I’ll see you soon, Max.”

Max made the most of the time he had left with P, abandoning the dishes so he could sit on the other side of her and watch the movie about a chef rat. She had cozied into his side with a yawn and nudged his arm until he eventually draped it over her shoulder. It was completely innocent but you couldn’t help noticing the heat of his hand touching your arm, the warmth spreading like wildfire.

The fire was doused when his phone vibrated and the moment to leave had come.

While he grabbed Penelope’s backpack, you grabbed your handbag and prepared your own goodbyes. It was silly to feel sad the evening had come to an end but you knew that you would likely never see Max again. You weren’t famous and he didn’t have children, your paths weren’t meant to cross.

“Have a good weekend, Penelope,” you said as you knelt down and gave her a hug. “I’ll see you bright and early on Monday.”

“Bye, Miss Y/L/N.”

You rose to your feet wondering where you stood with Max until he opened his arms. “Anytime you need a hug, you have my number,” you offered as you stepped into his embrace, no matter how unlikely that prospect was.

“Or if I’m feeling fine?”

You giggled and nodded against his chest. “Especially if you’re feeling fine.”

The walk to the elevator was slow, as if no one wanted the strange evening to end, but there was no stopping time as it began making its way down from the penthouse to the ground floor. The doors opened and you instantly spotted Kelly in the reception area, her elegant and effortless beauty reminding you that you still had playdough in your hair.

With one last look at the man beside you, you gave him a small smile and stepped away. “Goodbye, Max.”

He didn’t respond as you headed to the valet area but he pulled his phone out of his pocket and yours vibrated a moment later.

Max: Are you okay?

Y/N: I’m fine.

Max: Me too. Emotional, you?

Y/N: Insecure.

Max: Want a hug?

You stopped and turned to see Max hand Penelope’s bag over before struggling to separate the girl from where she clung to his leg. She didn’t know, couldn’t see how it was hurting Max, but you could. So you waited, and when the mother and daughter had departed you stepped into the elevator with the subdued man, slipping your hand into his.

The elevator rose quickly and you watched Max’s throat bounce with the deep swallow he made before he choked out a broken, “Fuck.”

“I feel like I should remind you about the swear jar,” you teased as you bumped your shoulder gently against his arm. “But I’ll let you off this once because I have a soft spot for you.”

He looked down at you from the corner of his eye and you saw some of the sadness fading from them. “Does that make me the teacher's pet?”

You gasped dramatically and clutched your chest with your free hand. “I could never bestow such high praise after just one day.”

“What are your plans tomorrow then?” he asked with a smirk as the doors opened and he pulled his house key out of his pocket.

“I don’t have any.”

“Lovely, now are you going to answer my question?” He stepped inside the apartment and opened his arms. “Did you want a hug?”

Your smile chased away more of the shadows in his eyes and the last of it was erased when you stepped into his arms with an eager nod. “I will never say no to a hug.”

His chest bounced with a laugh and you felt him rest his cheek on your head with a contented sigh. “That is very good to know.”

#max verstappen fic #max verstappen imagine #max verstappen fanfic #max verstappen x reader #max verstappen x you #f1 fanfic #f1 imagine #f1 x reader #f1 x y/n #formula one imagine

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augustinewrites · 5 months

Text

cw: suggestive content, fem!reader

“come for a stroll with me.”

“i can’t right now,” wriothesley tells you, glaring down at the mess of papers atop his desk.

it was not in your nature to be petulant, but the over dramatic sigh that falls from your lips has him believing otherwise.

though he wanted nothing more than to abandon the day's duties and join you on the surface for an afternoon stroll, the lord of the fortress of meropide was a very busy man. he had a prison to run.

“fine,” you say, though your exasperated tone indicates that his refusal was anything but.

“you’re the head doctor,” he reminds you, gesturing to the stacks of paper on his desk. “you know how it is.”

“actually i don’t, because i don’t do all my work at the last minute.”

“you have sigewinne, who does more than half of it for you.”

“sigewinne likes paperwork,” you argue, settling yourself atop the corner of his desk. “you could have a whole team of people to help you with these things, but you’re too picky to let them.”

“they don’t do it right,” he huffs, pen scratching a quick signature across the bottom of the topmost report before shuffling it aside. “i know this place better than any accountant whose only concern is balancing a book.”

“fair enough,” you shrug, picking up and thumbing through his reviewed missives with about as much interest as one watching paint dry. he looks down just as a sneaky smile appears on your lips. “i heard it’s quite nice outside.”

“too warm,” he mutters distractedly, too lost in the process of estate management to chit-chat about the weather.

“perhaps i should shed a few layers before heading out,” you hum thoughtfully, fanning yourself lightly with his papers.

wriothesley looks up, about to scold you, but the words dry up before they pass the tip of his tongue.

you certainly hadn’t outfitted yourself as a future duchess might, forgoing a frilly, structured gown for one of his own loose white button downs that’s tucked into closely tailored trousers.

it’s with great intrigue that he watched your free hand undo the top two buttons of your (his) shirt, revealing the delicate swatch of skin over your neck and teasing him with a peak at your cleavage.

you catch him staring as you set his papers down, eyes flashing with delight. like a predator that’s successfully cornered its prey. wriothesley - in a last ditch escape attempt - quickly looks away, clearing his throat and staring hard at the report in front of him.

he could not get distracted today. not with so much work to do.

but you, oh you. you hop off his desk, walking around it to drape your arms around his shoulders, pressing a light kiss to his cheek. “i suppose i’ll see you later then.”

he mumbles a reluctant goodbye but your lips linger, brushing dangerously close to that sweet spot behind his ear.

do not give in, his brain instructs, even though it’s getting harder and harder to process the words in front of him with every slide of your hands.

schooling his features into a calm mask, wriothesley draws a deep, steadying breath. it hardly manages to settle him because archons, you were going to be the death of him. he’s always considered himself a steadfast person with an immense focus that’d been built up from a young age. when he set his mind to a task, he was a difficult man to distract.

you and your wiles have always been proof of otherwise.

“just be back before our audience with neuvillette this afternoon.” he tells you, doing his best to ignore the heat rising to his face.

finance reviews, surveillance reports, correspondence. finance reviews, surveillance reports, correspondence. finance reviews, surveillance reports, cor–

“stop it,” he demands when your fingertips glide across his chest, fiddling with the knot of his tie.

“why?” you ask, voice cloyingly innocent. “am i distracting you, your grace?”

“no.”

you clearly do not believe him in the slightest.

“care for a wager then? because i bet i can distract you by the end of the day.”

wriothesley knows that betting, wagering, or gambling against a former member of the house of the hearth is never a good idea. it’s a dangerous one.

he leans back, arms crossed over his chest as he attempts to salvage what’s left of his dignity. “what are the stakes?”

_____

you know your boyfriend. it isn’t hard for you to wind him up and get him right where you want.

which was on top of you.

or underneath you. it depends on the day.

there were no real intricacies in seducing the mighty and fearsome duke. it wasn’t even that hard to fluster him, because a simple brush of your fingers against his was enough to make his cheeks flush with colour.

you just needed to draw him out a little. you’re on the offense, and you know all the right moves required to force him to engage with you.

in an effort to avoid you and (attempt to) win the bet, wriothesley had locked himself in his office for most of the day. it worked out well for you, because you’d been able to sneak into his quarters holding a shopping bag from chioriya boutique.

your plan is put into motion when you hear the duke stomp up the stairs to get ready for the meeting with neuvillette.

“get back behind that screen,” he instructs when you poke your head out from behind the divider. he’s even slapped a hand over his eyes, intent on staying focused on the task at hand.

wriothesley huffs when you laugh, turning his back to you as he rummages through the dresser.

he’s murmuring the little rhyme he uses to knot his tie, so focused on the task that he doesn’t notice the crinkling of the tissue paper as you pull your new…outfit out of its bag.

“hey,” he asks. “are you almost ready?”

“i just need you to lace me up,” you call back, shrugging the shoulders of your gown down a touch before stepping out from behind the divider.

you turn to show him the undone laces of your gown, watching his reflection in the mirror. he’s regaled in the fineries of the duke, having swapped out his shirt for a clean black one and fastened a fine fur coat over his shoulders. you appreciate his appearance greatly, but even more so when he finds your little surprise.

“is this…new?” he asks quietly, gloved fingers brushing undone laces aside to get a better look at what hides underneath your dress.

it was new. a custom set, in fact. your duke likes you in dark lace and sculpted pieces.

he inhales sharply when you take his wrist, gently guiding his hand to one of the slits in the side of your skirt.

wriothesley breathes your name softly when his hand drifts up your dress and settles on your hip, meeting nothing but skin.

a smug, satisfied grin threatens to break out on your face when you feel his lips brush against your shoulder. you had him on the ropes now. he’s just so easy–

his sweet movements cease suddenly and he pushes you away gently.

“you almost got me,” he laughs, quickly removing his hands from underneath your dress. he grips the laces, deft fingers making quick work doing it up and pulling it taut and tight to hide the tempting lace of your brassiere.

“but–”

“go put your underwear back on,” he demands, delivering a firm smack to your rear.

defeated but not the slightest bit deterred, you reluctantly reach for the abandoned garment as your boyfriend glares at the opposite wall. but losing the battle doesn’t mean losing the war.

“should i put on the garter belt too?”

_____

downstairs, neuvillette sighs, cursing his better-than-average hearing.

at least you’d had the sense to leave out some good tea.

#wriothesley x reader #genshin x reader #genshin fluff #wriothesley x you #genshin impact fluff

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princessbrunette · 2 months

Note

rafe being president of a frat and saying readers brother can only get in if she sucks him off

thinking about this concept with this rafe? yes.

‧₊˚👛✩ ₊˚🎀⊹♡

you never knew floorboards could be this sticky, and that people could smell so strongly of beer. you didn’t particularly love frat parties, but you’d been looking for an excuse to get drunk after the week you’d had, and wear that new little skirt you knew you looked good in. as your group gets let in to the building, you’re stopped by the shoulder — and you huff as you watch the rest of the girls wander off without noticing your absence. you put that down to doing too many shots at the pre-game.

“and what do we have here?” you’re greeted by rafe cameron, his hand still clasping your shoulder, can of beer in the other. “what, you gonna… walk right in n’ignore me? where’s my hug huh?”

“you don’t get one. you told my brother he can’t join your stupid frat.” you feel pathetic at the way you border on a pout, crossing your arms over your chest what you hoped to be intimidatingly — which only make you come across as a sulky brat.

rafe tongues his cheek with a smug chuckle, looking away and nodding as a greeting at a familiar face passing by before turning his attention back to you. “who cares, a’ight? ‘kids a loser. i’m actually doing the guy a favour, he wouldn’t fit in.” he resists an eyeroll, bringing the can to his lips and taking a sip.

“you’re purposely excluding him! and — and you didn’t even give him a chance to prove himself.” you furrow your brows making his jaw tick, looking around incase you made a scene. he leans in, voice a little quieter.

“cry me a river. alright? that’s just how this shit goes. now is there anything else you wanna say?” he raises his eyebrows and you back down, deciding it’s not worth it. you were here to get drunk after all, and getting kicked out before you’ve even really entered would spoil that plan completely. you blink up at him silently and he nods. “no? alright then.” he steps back, gesturing with his head for you to go inside. “run along, sweetheart.”

but that’s not the last you see of rafe that night — if you’re not ignoring his usual stares, or glares if you’re talking to another guy — you’re dodging his attempts to try and get you to come over, where you know he’ll end up being all touchy and condescending (and you’ll have to totally deny that it’s turning you on.) regardless of your attempts to evade, he catches you anyway at the drink table, wrapping his arms around your waist.

“you know, i— i have been thinking about what you said.” he gets straight to the point, and your interest is piqued.

“about my brother?” you spin to face him eagerly, so he all but has you backed up against the drinks table, wet smirk on his face from the lip of his beer bottle.

“mm.” he hums, a faux pensive frown finding his face as he nods as if deep in thought, only further drawing you in. “i uh, i think there’s something we might be able to do. you know, a little agreement.” a salacious smile spreading on his face.

your brows knit, lashes scraping them as you look directly up at him — and it only made him wanna chuckle, because you just looked so doe eyed and pleading. he did believe you’d do just about anything.

“like what, rafe?” you sound unsure, but you could probably guess the direction things were headed. he leans in, his mouth hovering over your ear so that he could speak up and be heard clearly.

“i’m saying i…i would be willing to take a bribe. some oral persuasion goes a long way with me.”

you surprise yourself when you end up on your knees in a locked guest bedroom, the taller boy happy as ever as he fists his cock infront of you. even he was surprised this had worked, so he’d be damned if he wasn’t going to draw the whole thing out.

“c’mon rafe, just lemme—”

“nah, nah…” he licks his lips, batting away the hand that reaches for him. he pauses for a moment, looking you over with drooped eyes and parted lips. “i really, really think it’s in your best interest to start beggin’… let’s hear it.” he shrugs, stopping everything to stare you down. you huff, hot in the face and humiliated already.

“please, rafe. let me suck you off.” you mewl, quietly because you can’t bring yourself to speak any louder. he laughs boyishly, tongue poking out as he does so.

“yeah uh, i meant beg for me to let your brother into the frat— you really want this dick in your mouth though don’t you baby? huh?” he teases with a grin and you go all dumb and glassy eyed, barely able to think straight. he clears his throat and sits up straighter at your reaction. “alright, it’s okay— don’t go getting all… upset.” he dismisses, a clammy hand sliding round the back of your neck to bring you closer. “c’mon, get to work. you know what to do.”

you give him your all, because if you were going to stoop this low all for your brother, you might aswell make it worth something. you hollow your cheeks, you drool, you play with his balls, you take him down as far as you can go — all things you knew would get you in his good books. it seems to be working, praises starting to tumble past his lips when you gag on him instead of teasing you.

“shit, good fuckin’ girl. keep takin’ it.” rings through your ears as you switch to jerking him once more, tongue swirling at his tip. this seems to be what sends him over the edge, and just to ensure your place — you swallow.

he’s surprisingly soft with you as you both recover, the cameron boy wiping your mouth on the back of his hand and watching you catch his breath through his own wrecked panting. bless your heart, you’re staring at him with these big hopeful eyes, rimmed by watery mascara and pink scleras, batting gloopy lashes at him like he had all the power in the world. a dangerous thing for a man’s ego.

rafe tucks himself back into his pants, letting out a relieved exhale before cupping your face— leaning in and pressing a kiss to the centre of your forehead. he pulls back, gazing at you with an unreadable expression for a moment before patting your cheek. “i’ll think about it.” he presses his lips in a tight, malicious smile before he stands, walking to the door.

you stare, stomach twisting at the lack of promise despite your efforts and you turn your head from your knelt position, jaw agape. “c’mon, up you get. wouldn’t want anyone seein’ you like this, right?”

‧₊˚👛✩ ₊˚🎀⊹♡

#anon #rafe cameron prompt

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commanderyes · 2 months

Text

The Commander Says Goodbye

I’m not going to lie, I’m extremely anxious as i’m writing this, out of what these news could mean to a lot of people, and my heart feels heavy enough it could drop down my ribcage any minute from now and squish all my other organs. But I’ve been dancing around this topic for a long time now, and I think i’ve finally reached a point where i can’t ignore it anymore, for my own sake.

I hereby announce Commander Yes has come to an end.

As I’ve mentioned plenty of times before, here and to many other people, when I began this comic all the way back in 2018 I was in a really bad, really low place in my life in every sense of the word, and it was a spur-of-the moment decision to cheer myself up, because Path of Fire had just released and my enjoyment of the game had reached fever pitch and I had been playing Guild Wars 2 alone since as far as launch, and none of my other friends had ever really gotten into it. I guess I just, dunno, cried out into the big maelstrom of the community, one voice amidst millions, because i wanted SOMEBODY to look at what i did and revel in the nerdery with me.

And somehow the snowball began to roll and people wanted more and more of what I could do, and I was being actively reached out to, and, well, some time after that I landed my first ever job, I discovered a lot of things about myself, and I found myself in communities that welcomed me with open arms, and many of the people in there have since become among the best friends I could’ve possibly encountered, kindred souls who i’ve shared joys and sorrows for many years and who I can’t imagine living without anymore.

And all the while I kept making the comics, and with every entry posted every week I’d keep having people stopping to comment on them, and whether they were dumb jokes or personal takes on the story, they’d all share how much what I do kept hitting them in the kokoro, and to this day whenever I play anywhere in the game I still get people who recognize me and thank me for doing what I do. It was wonderful, it IS wonderful, and seeing that response motivated me to keep going, because what did still mattered to people, out there.

But I did always say I planned to keep doing these comics until I ran out of energy for them, and I think i’ve finally reached that point.

Because ever since I actually landed that job I’m exhausted and sleep-deprived every other day, so much so that I only have time to work on the comic on saturdays and sundays, and it gets harder and harder to just sit and draw, and at that point it was just more work, and while I still enjoy and play Guild Wars 2 a lot, it no longer consumes my time and attention like I’ve used to and i’ve been having fun with more personal projects, and honestly the direction the story is taking these days does not sit right with me and it’s hard to find inspiration in that, and this might be borderline selfish but every year I find people care less and less about the comics and it really takes a hit to you motivation when hardly anybody responds after you’ve spent a whole weekend trying to squeeze a five-page comic out.

And, well, I have been doing these for six years straight, and I think that’s a good run. I’m tired, and ready to move on, at long last. Let it be someone else’s turn.

But that’s the beautiful thing about this community, isn’t it? Even if I’m hanging up the hat, there are a whole lot of fantastic artists out there, as we speak, still cranking out works of art, deserving of all the attention they can get. And think of all the artists yet to come! For every story that ends, another story is just about to begin!

The world keeps on spinning, one way or another.

I’ll be closing my patreon shortly after this, but the reddit archives and tumblr blog shall remain for people to browse whenever they feel like (or until they both go in flames, i guess, what social media isn’t about to these days)

I still don’t think I ever was that much of a big deal, but all the same, to everyone who’s ever supported me and helped me be the person I am right now, to everyone who’s been there from the beginning, to all the devs of this game that has captured us for nearly a decade now, to all my fellow players and artists out there

Thank you.

See you out there, fellow commanders. Still the stars find their way.

#guild wars 2 #guild wars 2 fan art #guild wars 2 fan submission #snargle gutslurper #commander yes #that's all folks #thank you for everything #keep loving yourselves okay? you're worth it #all of you #see you in the game :)

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bump1nthen1ght · 19 days

Text

Lovers in Arms (Living Armor x Fem!Reader)

Pairing: Fem!Knight x Living Armor (He/Him)

Genre:Fantasy, Established Relationship, Slight Exhibitionism

Warnings: None

Word Count:1507 words

Summary: As a famous knight, you’re quite used to receiving unwanted attention from others, romantic or not. Your partner, however, has found another way of coping with it.

Request: Hear me out a female knight x living Armor. Outside is very protective plate armor but the inside is a sticky, slimy mass of tendrils. When she is out fighting everything is normal but when she is talking with people and doing errands is when it starts to become hard to ignore. Doesn't help that the armor dirty talks and praises her while its fondling and screwing her. They both have a great relationship.

“I don’t like this man.”

“I’m aware.” You mumble under your breath, feeling the way Rust squirms and wriggles against your skin, a tell-tale sign of his annoyance. It’s a far cry from his usual movements, which have a way of syncing perfectly to your limbs, slipping right into the natural crevices. “But he’s willing to pay for this next campaign, so we gotta suck up a bit.”

You’d normally not speak so freely with Rust like this, but the man of discussion, some lord or something, is talking about himself so loudly you doubt he notices.

“I’ve heard much about your past battles, good knight! When I saw you would be leading this battalion, I knew I had to come and meet you.” You nod along, used to the simple back and forths of these sorts of conversations. You play the part, stroke their egos, and your knights and squires have full bellies and well-maintained equipment for the rest of their next mission. It’s embarrassing, but worth it. “I must say too, you are much more…beautiful than I expected, captain.”

You internalize a groan, your armor shuddering as Rust’s tentacles tense up.

This happens a lot too.

“I mean not to offend but when I first heard of your epic tales, I thought ‘surely someone so accomplished can’t also be attractive.’ And yet you-” The lord bites his lip in what he mist thinks is charming, “-have enchanted me.”

You muster your best flattered grin, despite the way your stomach sours.

“Thank you, my lord. I assure you the feeling is mu- hngh!” Blood nearly draws from thr forceful bite against your lip, a moan nearly clawing its way out of you mouth. The lord’s eyebrows shoot up. “E-excuse me. I think some of my old battle scars are-” another breathy sigh, your cheeks growing hot, “-acting up. I apologize.”

You don’t stay to hear the lord's worried questions and sympathies, instead running to your tent. You pass by drinking soldiers and courtiers, all celebrating your last victory. None spare a look at their serious captain, knowing how often you retreat your quarters. Surely to look over battle strategies and war routes, always the hard worker.

“F-fuck, Rust.” You pant, nearly collapsing once you reach your bed. The appendage currently circling your clit stops, your cunt aching from the lack of stimulation. “You have to stop doing that.”

“And why should I?” Rust's smug voice echoes in your helm. “Not like that buffon would’ve noticed. Pigheaded, ignorant fool, flirting with you-”

This was a common occurrence as well. Something about military success and captain’s armor has a way of drawing people’s attention, several nobles looking to leech off of the prestige of courting you. While you’ve perfected a method of deflection, seeming humble yet appreciative, Rust can’t help but seeth whenever they start sweet talking. His jealousy comes to a head, all the sass and the passion all bursting out like a broken dam. You’re usually able go escape somewhere private before it becomes too overwhelming, but there have been times you struggle to finish your sentence because of the tentacles fucking you like a piston, his low voice whispering laviscious that echoe in your ears.

“You’re an immaculate treasure, captain. They don’t deserve you.”

“I don’t know when you look more beautiful, on the battlefield or cumming on my tentacles.”

“Cum for me, Captain.”

You learn to give a grated smile, utter an excuse about your old injuries, and hobble away while cum runs down your legs in rivulets.

It can get a little frustrating, but in this moment, you can't say you hate the effect jealousy has on him.

“Forget about him.” You collapsed onto your bed, all thoughts of reprimanding Rust fading from mind. The only need at the forefront of your mind is lust, your body craving the taste of pleasure. “It’s just us now.”

If he could, Rust would surely be smirking.

“That's right. As it should be.” Rust’s voice rumbles all across your body, accompanied by the familiar slipping of his tentacles, all slotting into place. One slides right between your pussy lips, now slick, and resumes circling your clit. “Just you and I, together.”

Your head is thrown back in a moan, helm falling off and letting your hair lie loose. Rust’s inner body only extends to your chestplate, his voice now echoing off your collar and into your ear.

“Yes, pretty girl. Such pretty noises.” Two tentacles encircle your breasts, squeezing and fondling. “My gorgeous captain” The metal shakes with Rust’s purrs, plate joints rubbing against each other as all the tentacles move. “Hmm, I love the way this pussy tastes after a long battle.”

“Rust.” You whine, hand thrown over your face as a hot blush spreads up your neck.

“What? Its true.” A tip of a tentacle prods at your entrance, dancing around it like a tease. “The sweat that drips down between your thighs, your sweet juices…” That tapered tip slowly enters your whole, tabtalizinignly slow, “It’s addictive.”

A shaky sigh is muffled by your palm, your legs instinctively spreading wide as the tentacle stretches you open. Lines of ridges along the side scrape against your walls, sending shocking bolts across your stomach. Your free hand digs into your blankets.

“Divine.” Rust moans, two limbs pressing your breasts together as another slots in between them. The tentacle inside burns as it reaches its girthiest part, the tip now curled against your g-spot. “If those fools ever saw you like this, captain, they’d know how out of their league you are.”

“Aah!” Your hand becomes a fist and you bite down on your knuckles, Rust finally starting to thrust inside of you. In private he likes to take his sweet time setting the pace, unraveling you like a gift.

“I want you to sing for me, general.”

“Oh, fu-uck.” You draw out your vowels, back arching as the tentacles around your nipples twist even tighter. The ones deep in your pussy go frustratingly slow, drawing out to the tip before pressing you open again. “Rust.”

If your enemies could see you now; The fierce Captain of the Crimson Brigade, whose command brought countless victories for the crown, who never rested until the fight was one, begging like a common whore. Your voice all high and needy, so different from the gruff persona you put on when shouting orders.

On the battlefield, you and Rust are all business. Everything clicks, your two bodies moving in perfect synchronicity, throwing javelins and wielding a greatsword with ease. You’re the perfect pair; You bring the technique, he brings the strength, and together you can bring down titans. A force to be reckoned with, that bows to no one.

But it can be exhausting. All those decisions, life-changing decisions, are in your hands. You are the face of this operation, after all, and any missteps reflect on your leadership, no one else's.

So what's wrong with handing the reins over, every once in a while? Let someone set the pace, move your body for you. Let you be the obedient soldier, following the lead.

“Good girl.” Rust purse, and all those troubles from before melting away.

Your thighs fight to clench together as he begins fucking you faster, vision blurring as he hits your g-spot with precision. The merriment of celebration and drunken victory outside are loud enough to drown your wanton noises. Let them have their image of their general, let them have the person you pretend to be on the battlefield. These noises are for Rust, and only Rust.

“I’m getting close.” Your lips quiver, the skin nearly worn thin from your incessant biting. “Please, Rust.”

“How could I ever say no to you, Captain?” A second tentacle slips inside you, joining its twin and thrusting in you like a well-oiled machine. A gaso claws its way out of your throat, hips jumping from the burning stretch. “Especially when you ask so nicely.”

The tentacles twist together, writing against your walls. Your eyes roll back into your head as a buzzing sensation travels up from your core to your face, like you're starting to go numb.

“Oh, gods!” You cry out as the crescendo finally hits, pussy clenching the tentacles in a vice. All of Rust’s appendages shudder, a sultry groan echoing out of your collar.

The armor feels hot, almost too hot as you lay in the end, the high of climaxing slowly fading. Sweat drips down your entire body, loving tentacles lapping them up eagerly. Words still escape you, your thoughts a jumbled mess of sensations and emotions. You should really take a shower, shed Rust and clean him as well, but everything is sore, and your brain calls for sleep.

“Rest, my captain. We can bathe in the morning.”

Rust whispers, low tone only pulling you further into unconsciousness.

In the soft embrace of your lover, you can fall asleep peacefully. No thoughts of battles, or blood, or death. Just the two of you, as always.

#my writing #reader insert #monster x reader #monster romance #female reader insert

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superhoeva · 4 months

Text

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐒𝐓𝐔𝐃𝐘: 𝐖𝐄𝐄𝐊 𝐎𝐍𝐄

next chapter | series masterlist | main masterlist

⬩ pairing(s) sexologist!francisco "frankie" morales x college student!female!reader

⬩ warning(s) very inaccurate scientific study methods (this could not happen in real life without someone going to jail, i think lol), language, flirting, sexual tension, scientific talk about genitals, safe sex practices, pcos (mentioned), endometriosis (mentioned), commentary on unbalanced male domination of sexual spaces, Spanish nicknames/pet names, smut smut smut, somewhat-guided masturbation, reader hs nipple pircings, dirty talk, mdom-ish!frankie, pussy drunk!frankie, consent checks, oral sex (f receiving), fingering (f receiving), big hands!frankie, bodily fluids, doctor/patient relations, the whole "we want to but we can't but we might have to anyways" kind of vibes, some aftercare, pov switches (reader's pov uses "dr. morales. frankie's pov uses "frankie.")

⬩ author's note happy new year! starting 2024 off with a bang (literally, ha) of a new series. as mentioned before, this was inspired by an audio series created by anonyfun35 on the erotic audio site quinn (very much recommend the series and entire site if you're looking for more ethical alternatives to regular porn and able to spare a few extra dollars!), which is absolutely heavenly. frankie's been sitting in my heart recently after rewatching triple frontier, and now here we are! here is chapter one, as promised, and i can not wait to share the rest of this series with you all! (p.s. i know some people have asked to be tagged in this, but i no longer do tag lists. for those who want to keep up with new chapter, i'd recommend following the au: the study tag or just check back here regularly! heeds the warnings. let me know if i've forgotten any. drink your water. love you and hope you enjoy. <3

⬩ word count 6.4k(!)

The lobby is suspiciously comfortable for a doctor’s office. As if the chair you’ve been shuffling back and forth in for the past five minutes. You’ve decided to focus on the mint green tint of the walls to steady yourself. Your breath moves in and out of you in quivering streams, and you have to keep running your tongue over the flesh of your bottom lip to stop your teeth from drawing blood.

A sweet-looking brunette types away at the lobby desk, and she sends you a quick smile when you accidentally catch her eye. You hope the grin you send back doesn’t look as pitiful as it felt.

Straight across from you, there’s a poster of a vagina. Vibrant and contrasting nicely with the color of the wall, it labels each part of the genitalia with pretty, curvy letters. You read over each of them, laughing a little when you get to the clitoris. Maybe you should hang a copy of the poster over your headboard. Just to make it a little easier for those who need it.

Your eyes trail left. Another poster, this one with photos of different types of barrier methods for safe sex; on it is everything from internal condoms to dental dams and a short explanation for when it’s best to use them. You study it with a little more intent than the last one and become so engrossed that you don’t hear the receptionist at the desk until her third calling of your name.

You jolt a little, looking over at her with widened eyes.

“Sorry, yes?”

She smiles at the look on your face, shaking her head.

“It’s alright,” she promises, “that stuff’s actually pretty interesting, right? I just wanted to tell you that Dr. Morales is ready to start whenever you are.”

Ignoring the way your heart jumps a little, you rise from your seat with the best grin you can manage.

“Alright,” you nod, gaze flickering down a nearby hallway, “is it–”

“All the way down and to the right. Can’t miss it. And feel free to let me know if you need anything, before or after. I’m here for whatever you need me for.”

There’s something genuine in her voice that lets your shoulders relax. You smile again, and it feels real this time. “I think I’m okay right now, but I appreciate it, I do. Thank you.”

“No worries. Oh, and honey,” she pauses, taking a second to leave her seat and trot over in front of you. “Remember to breathe. Dr. Morales is a sweetheart, I promise. Wouldn’t work here if that wasn’t the case.”

Melanie the tag on her name reads. She gives you one last wink before returning to her desk. A warm feeling fills you nicely as you watch her for a few more seconds.

Melanie is nice. You like Melanie. If you could, you’d stay and talk to her for a while, but no sense in keeping the doctor waiting.

As you head down the hallway, the walk feels like it lasts half a second and a thousand years all at once. Time here seems to work a little differently, but maybe that’s only because of how unbelievably fucking nervous you are.

The room is at the end of the hall on the right. Just like Melanie said. The knock you give the door is softer than you mean for it to be, but it pulls open before you get the chance to knock again.

“Hi, welcome. Come on in, please.”

Well, fuck. Fuck.

The first thing you notice isn’t the fluff of hair on his head, or his big, doe, brown eyes–it’s his voice. A deep, pleasing rasp that’s soft and stirring, all of it combining into a sensation that sits snugly right in the middle of your chest. And legs.

You take a second to swallow the spit in your mouth.

“Hi,” you all but mumble back, swallowing again. God, you hope he doesn’t hear the sharp exhale that leaves your nose when he steps to the side with a smile. Your eyes blow up, big and wide, but only for a second as you swiftly compose yourself. You’re here for a scientific study, damn it, not to gape at how fucking gorgeous Dr. Morales is. Even though he is fucking gorgeous. “You’re Dr. Morales?”

“Yes,” he answers effortlessly, and you bite your tongue when he rattles off your name. His voice. You barely remember to nod, and he smiles. Now that you think about it, he hasn’t stopped smiling since he opened the door, and it’s already building a bit of sweat at the back of your neck. “It’s nice to meet you finally. Been seeing your name on all the paperwork, so it’s nice to put a face to it. Especially a face as nice as yours.”

You swallow, again, and can’t hold back the grin his words bring. “Thank you and uh… likewise.”

Dr. Morales pauses and your heart stops at the way his face drops. Then his eyebrows raise slightly like he’s impressed, and he takes in a long breath himself. A gulp of air finally refills your lungs when his smile returns, more of a smirk now.

“Thank you.”

The two words are followed by a small silence. You take it as a chance to look around. Dr. Morales takes it as a chance to glance you over, and his teeth bite into the side of his mouth at the dress you’re wearing. It’s airy and short, stopping just above the middle of your thigh.

He sniffs, clearing his throat.

“Well, if you want to go ahead and get seated, I think it’s best we just start with some introductions to break some ice. Then a short discussion about the study itself, boundaries, things like that. And I know you answered a lot of those types of questions in your application, but I think more authentic answers can come about when speaking, you know, face-to-face. Plus it’ll give us both the chance to get to know each other a little better. Relax before we get to the actual… activities for today’s session.”

You blink.

“You’re doing the… the stuff?”

Dr. Morales blinks.

“Yes,” he starts slowly, eyebrows furrowing. “I’m sorry, was that not what you were expecting? I-It’s in the forms you signed, though I guess it is pretty easy to glance over if you don’t know where to look. But if that’s not something you’re comfortable with, I completely understand. We also have some female doctors participating in the study if you–”

“–I’m comfortable with you doing it.” God, you know interrupting was rude. But the words spill out of you before you can stop them. “Really, I’m okay with it. Just surprised me a little, considering…”

A hard clenching of your teeth doesn’t work to hold back the small grin that sneaks upon your face at the expression on Dr. Morales’s face. He’s gone from warm to faltering and back to warm again, with a hint of delight just in the past few moments.

“Considering what?”

Dr. Morales squints his eyes as he asks the question. Watching and waiting for your answer with the knuckles of his fingers rubbing across his pink lips. You only let your gaze trail across the action for a short second. Any longer, and you’re sure you’ll melt away.

“Nothing,” you finally breathe with a soft laugh. The muscles in your neck tense and pull as you force your eyes upwards. Back to his eyes. “Sorry, uh… introductions?”

Something in his gaze shifts and he drops his hand.

“Right, right. Uh, feel free to take a seat here while I pull up your file real quick,” Dr. Morales tells you, motioning to the deep red chaise wing chair you didn’t notice until now. You nod, not trusting your voice, and settle into the large chair. It’s even more comfortable than the one in the lobby, and Dr. Morales just barely keeps his smile at how you subconsciously snuggle into the plush.

Other than the blood rushing past your ears, the clacking of his fast typing is the only sound in the room.

Much like the lobby, the room is rather warm for where you are, literally and figuratively. It’s a kind difference from something like the dentist or your normal practitioner. The opposite of the bright, sterile white you’d expected. You can tell the room was put together with the intention of being congenial for whoever steps inside. The velvet couch and nice rug that decorate the space tell you that much.

It seems that Dr. Morales dresses with the same purpose, white coat hanging forgotten on the back of his swivel chair, showing off the taupe button-up that stretches over his impressive set of shoulders. The shirt is tucked into a pair of thick, clean-cut jeans that hug around his waist.

“Alright,” Dr. Morales begins, sliding his chair over a few feet so you can see him a bit better. He smiles as he continues, reading off your name and age, to which you nod and smile back. You make sure the grin is big enough to cover the shiver that runs throughout your body and you don't notice that he didn’t even have to look at the screen when reciting the words.

“Great. Well, as I already told you, I’m Francisco Morales,” he chuckles, “one of the doctors here participating in this study you’ve so kindly agreed to be a part of. We’re really excited about all the knowledge we’re expecting to gain from the study. I, uh, we–we really appreciate you being here.”

“Oh, thank you for the opportunity. I’m also really excited. Never been involved in something like this before, so… yeah. I’m excited.”

Huh. Excited is one of the few words able to come to your mind as you bumble through the sentence. After only a few minutes with the doctor, you’ve found it’s somewhat difficult to form a coherent enough sentence. It’s even harder with him staring at you.

“What made you want to participate, if you don’t mind me asking.”

“Um,” you start without thinking, “part of it was the topic of the study itself, I guess. So many of the things that have to do with sex, at least in my experience, are centered around men and their pleasure and what makes them feel good. So I think it’s refreshing to see something like this.”

“Oh, absolutely. That’s the whole reason for us doing this. I mean, we’ve got gynecologists, hormone specialists, endocrinologists, gender surgeons, and even sex therapists on my team all working together on this.”

“Oh, wow. That’s actually… really impressive,” you breathe out, but Dr. Morales shakes his head.

“It is, but I don’t wanna take all the credit. We’ve got a lot of amazing people working on this thing that’s gonna lead to ways to help women suffering from endometriosis, PCOS, trans women, everyone, really.”

Your eyes soften at the doctor’s words, and you straighten a little.

“Well, now I’m very happy to be here.”

Dr. Morales’s eyes squint with his smile this time. It’s the biggest he’s smiled all week.

“Good. I’m glad. And you’ve already filled out all the financial paperwork? Wanna make sure you get paid for this week’s session as soon as possible.”

“Oh, yeah. That was actually the other reason I signed up. Got some student loan payments coming up, and I could use the extra money.”

Dr. Morales laughs to himself.

“Loan payments are a bitch, aren’t they? Still paying mine off,” He shakes his head. Something about his curse pulls a small chuckle from you.

“Never heard a doctor curse before,” you tell him, and he laughs this time, raising his eyebrows with a shrug.

“Sorry. I’ll try to keep it at bay, but I should warn you… I can have a pretty dirty mouth.”

Whether he knows it or not, Dr. Morales’s voice seems to drop an octave as he speaks. The words are paired with his gaze clouding to something similar to a stirring ardor. It shakes something inside you, rumbling into the depths of your veins, heating you in a way that feels remarkable. In a way that has you clenching and reeling, eyes just barely watering.

He hasn’t even touched you yet, and he’s got you evaporating into a transcendent air of nothing. You brush your hands along the fabric of the skirt of your dress, arms stretching and trying to find some sense of relief. Dr. Morales stares into you, a burning observance of an action that your subconscious therefore controls more than anything. The look is hot and pointed and forces him to take in a long inhale. He squeezes the thin arm of his chair when you finally grant him a soft reply.

“I don’t mind.”

Dr. Morales pauses before letting out a huff. A smirk teases across his lips, and his mouth opens like he’s going to say something. He stops just short of whatever it is, opting to roll his seat a little closer to you while clearing his throat.

His elbows hit the top of his knees, gaze tilting to yours. Unable to hold it, you try to settle for his hands, but that doesn’t seem to calm you at all. You flick your eyes again, this time onto his thighs, but it’s no use.

Damn it.

“Um, so today’s session will revolve around cunnilingus and a some hand stimulation. Uh… sorry. Sorry, I–” Dr. Morales stumbles to a stop and your eyebrows furrow.

“You okay?”

He holds a hand out at the look on your face with a quick nod.

“Yeah, yes, I’m okay. Where was I? Uh… right, so like we talked about a little bit ago, I’ll be the one performing the… stuff, as you called it. And speaking of that, you’re still one hundred percent comfortable with me being to one to do it?”

“Hundred and ten,” you promise with a bobbing of your head that makes him grin again.

“Okay, then,” he nods back, hands rubbing against the denim of his jeans. “Let’s get started.”

.・゜゜・

You’re going to be the death of him.

He had an inkling of it when you greeted him at the door, those eyes all wide as you took everything in. He was confident about it when you assured him that you’d be alright with the fact that he’d be the one ‘doing the stuff.’ He knew when you didn’t mind his dirty mouth. And he was certain when you'd asked if he was alright.

Dead. That’s what you’ll make him by the end of this study, and he’ll go happy. A little embarrassed also, given how he started sputtering through his sentences like he was twenty years younger.

Frankie’s breath catches a little when he returns to the room after washing his hands. You’re just finishing the tie on the robe he’d provided you with, and he doesn’t realize how flimsy it is until now. It maps across your shape damn near perfectly as you hang your dress on the side of the wingchair.

“Hi,” you breathe out, spinning around. Frankie rakes his teeth over his bottom row of teeth hard.

“Hi,” he blinks back, making sure to brighten his face with a small smile. “Ready?”

You shakily hum your answer, smoothing down your robe to busy your hands. It’s made of silk and feels incredible, but boy is it small. Just barely covering the cheeks of your ass, you might as well be wearing nothing.

“Alright. So, before I forget, let me go ahead and get a swab of the inside of your cheek, just so we have that on record.”

Frankie grabs a long cotton swab and its transport tube off his desk, stepping over to where you stand waiting. He swallows, ordering you to softly open. You obey with no questions asked, dropping your jaws.

Did you mean to stick out your tongue, too? Frankie has no idea, but whatever the answer is, he doesn’t care, not with the rustle he feels in his middle.

“Thank you,” he replies after a few scrubs of your mouth, eyes catching yours briefly before sticking the swab in the tube and placing it back onto his desk. He huffs, turning back around to you. “Now, let’s get you settled on the couch.”

Frankie holds out his hand for you to take without thinking. The regret that runs through him slips away as you place your hand into his grip and let him lead you. His other hand reaches for his chair, rolling it over as he walks with you.

He rubs a gentle thumb on the back of your palm as you sit, hand squeezing into a fist when yours drops from his. Frankie sits in his chair with a grunt, planting his feet on the group, making sure to face you.

The man softens a little at the sight of you, all bunched up into a ball of returned nerves, and he thinks for a moment.

“How about we start with a deep breath, yeah? Relax a little bit before we do anything else?”

You nod and Frankie’s head goes a bit fuzzy for a short moment. You’re so sweet, with your tiny robe and all your nods, like candy. You breathe in deep, just like he says to. Your chest rises with it, and Frankie almost forgets to take in the breath as well.

“Good. Now, how we go from here is up to you,” Frankie starts, hands folding together politely. “Robe can stay on, or you can take it off. Your decision–”

“Robe off,” you speak before he’s finished. He holds back a chuckle. “Sorry. I’m okay with it off if you are.”

Of course, you are. Of course, you are, and so is he.

“That’s absolutely okay with me. As long as you’re comfortable,” he states, and your fingers go to pull at the tie. He shuffles, waiting, and swallows when you pause.”

“Um, is my bra being off okay? I took it off with my dress, didn’t even think about it until now.”

Frankie’s head pivots back to the wine-colored chair. And so you did. There’s more lace than he expects, causing him to stare longer than he means. He turns back to you with his eyes darker than before.

“That’s perfectly fine.”

You nod again, fuck, and finally pull the ties. His heart nearly stops as the silk slips down your shoulder, exposing your naked skin to him, inch by inch.

God, you’re devastating. You devastate him, and he’s going to die a happy, happy man. It’s inappropriate, he knows that, but fuck. Yes, he’s a doctor, but he’s also a man with blood pumping through his veins and down into his cock, which he’s currently shielding with a subtle cupping of his hand.

Your robe continues to fall, and soon enough, nearly all of you is revealed to him. His eyes, working with a mind of their own, fall upon your breasts.

Of course.

“Wow,” is all he says, and the corners of your mouth pull upwards. You peek down, the tips of your barbell piercings shining with every one of your shaky inhales. “Wow, uh… wow.”

“Oh, these. Yeah, I got them a few years ago,” you reveal, setting the robe to the side. “Hurt like hell, but it was worth it.”

“While I definitely agree, I was talking about your… everything. You’re gorgeous, querida.”

Querida. The name is unexpected, yet received by you with dilating pupils. It’s not just the way he says it but the way he says it. You can tell that he means it, every letter. Every syllable, as it falls off his tongue, into your ears, and down to just inside the thin layer of your panties.

It’s the only piece of clothing left on your body, and you’re certain they’re soaked. You can feel yourself seeping through, needing for something to happen. Anything, or you’ll die.

“Thank you,” you murmur back, impatience inching you closer and closer. To what, you don’t know, but you think it’s something special. “Should I go ahead and…?”

Dr. Morales’s gaze oozes down you where you’re slowly parting your legs. It takes him a second to answer.

“Uh,” he interrupts himself with a short laugh, “actually I was going to have you do something else for me first. When you’re, you know, in the act of pleasuring yourself, how do you usually start? Do you… do you dive right in or is there some kind of build-up?”

Legs having paused, you blink. It’s almost impossible to formulate an answer, but somehow you manage.

“Normally, I’d play with my nipples.” God, it sounds so silly when you say it out loud. “Tease myself for a little bit until I’m ready to start.”

The doctor sits back in his seat, still covering his growing member.

“Why don’t you go ahead and do a little bit of that for me?”

There’s that thing again. With his voice, the thing that is causing your organs to convulse and squeeze. Has you scooting a little further back onto the couch with ease and a deep breath.

You hear Dr. Morales suck in one of his own as your legs spread a little further, revealing a large wet splotch in the very middle of your panties. It’s seeped a little into the couch, and you’re not even embarrassed. Your legs more because you want him to see it. You need him to.

A flinch jerks you when the tips of your fingers meet the buds of your breast. You twist and pull, and it feels good. Better than normal with the beautiful doctor watching you do it. They start to pebble around the metal and a few shocks through you.

Leaving your lips is a gasp. Soft and nearly nothing, but it tugs something from Dr. Morales.

“That’s it. Good girl.”

When you gasp again, he bites his lip.

“You like that? You like it when I say that?”

You nod.

“Words, querida.” No matter how much he likes the nod.

“Yes, I like it when you say that.”

“When I say what?”

You hear him chuckle at the small groan you release.

“A good girl.”

Your voice is even smaller now, hoarse with want.

“Good girl.” Another groan from you. “Now, I need you to move a little further down, okay? Slip those pretty panties off for me.”

Your turn.

“You really like them?”

Dr. Morales’s throat bobs at your question you ask while dragging your hand lower. They glide across your stomach to rest just over your center. Pushing onto your clit, your moan is muffled by the way your teeth catch the soft flesh of your lip.

“I do, muñeca,” he assures you. “I really do. They’re almost as pretty as you are.”

You can’t help the full grin that sneaks onto your face. You push against yourself a little harder, and your head falls to the back of the couch. Fingers hooking under the seam, you tug.

Everything feels like it’s moving in slow motion at this moment. You raise your head back up, just to catch the reaction from the doctor, who’s already gazing into your pussy when your eyes refocus. His breathing changes from long, calming inhales, to unsteady suspires.

“Jesus,” he grits out just under his breath when you eventually throw your panties alongside the robe and fully open yourself to him. Clenching around nothing, you relax further into the couch, legs propped and feet settled against the velvet.

Your huffs push out hot when Dr. Morales finally lifts from his seat. You don’t dare look away as he steps forward, towering over you. He bends at the waist, face lowering near your own. He gets so close that, for a split second, you think he’s going to kiss you. Press his pouting lips into yours like you so badly want him to.

His breath fans across your face, but he pulls away before you get to bask in any of the warmth. In his hand is a pillow from the couch that he plops onto the floor.

“Bad knees,” Dr. Morales mumbles, smirking at the dazed look in your eye. You say absolutely nothing, only watching as he drops his knees onto the wide pillow, hands clenching the edge of the couch cushions.

All the doctor does for a tick is stare. He stares and stares, tongue darting out to wet his mouth.

“Keep rubbing for me, hermosa,” Dr. Morales orders. “Just a little more.”

Your pussy clenches around nothing when your fingers dip down and come back sticky with your wetness. A whine exits you, and your head falls again.

“Can you touch me now? Please,” you remember to add at the end, the ache between your legs forcing you to squirm. “Please, I can’t wait anymore.”

A hand on your thigh almost startles you. Your head tips back up to see his palm sitting heavy against your leg.

“This what you want?” He asks, another scalding touch planting itself on your other thigh. His hands give thrilling grips, thumbs landing at the very edge of your dripping lips.

A pathetic nod from you.

“Words, gorgeous,” Dr. Morales tells you, gaze completely unmoving.

Gorgeous. Hm. A new one, but just as effective.

You pant a few more times before pushing out “Yes, that’s what I wanted.”

“Good girl,” he praises, and you’re nearly done for. “Now, if I ask on a scale of one to ten, how turned on are you right now?”

It’s tough to think of an answer. His hands, so big and inching closer and closer to your heat, are melting your thoughts away at record speed. Everything you try to come up with leaves too fast for you to catch them.

“A… a seven,” you sigh, liking the way his eyes twinkle at your response. “Seven.”

Dr. Morales chuckles lowly, looking up at you.

“Seven?” Frankie grins. “I haven’t touched your pussy yet, and you’re already at a seven?”

He waits for an answer but only receives a long whine that makes him want to laugh again. Fuck, you’re cute. And wet enough that your juices ooze out of you with a pretty shine, and it’s all for him.

Honestly, the only reason he’s lasted this long is because this is for science. Because Francisco Morales is a medical professional and needs to have some kind of composure. It’s breaking, though. He knows it, and not just because of the way his hands crawl closer and closer to your pussy. Or because of the ache in his cock that’s straining against the crotch of his jeans. Sucking in a breath at the feeling of it catching against the tight fabric, Frankie scans you.

Your chest, those stunning tits, have a noticeable rise and fall and you watch him. Something in your gaze, an unexplainable force, finally pulls his face down. It’s as close to your pussy as it’s been. He tries to remind himself about the self-control he’s supposed to be possessing, but a few more seconds pass and it’s nowhere to be found.

He starts just off the left side. The first kiss, soft and careful to start easy. Figure out what you like, what you don’t, and what you really like.

Kiss after kiss, his lips press a little harder. Gliding across the skin of your thighs and pelvis, staying in a spot a little long when it elicits a sound or squirm from you.

The pecks turn to full smooches, and he soon enough finds himself right where he wants to be.

Eyes meeting yours, he sinks into you with a long, fiercely slow drag of his tongue. Frankie’s gaze ties into yours, he puckers his lips and sucks. It’s a supple thing that he pairs with a flick of his tongue right across your pearl.

“Oh,” you squeak, unable to continue with anything but another broken sound. When you arch, Frankie’s hand reaches higher to rest against your hip. He had his suspicions that you were a squirmer, but to see it like this, up close is something else. Something special. “Shit.”

God, you taste incredible. Better than incredible, and while he wants to tell you he can’t. There’s no way he’s pulling away from this, so he suffices for his own moan.

“Fuck,” he mumbles against you, mouth lifting to suck a bit harder. The hand not occupied on your hip reaches until his thumb sits just inside your opening. He rubs, delicately, all the way up, only pulling his mouth away to smooth it over the slick skin.

Another moan, this time from both of you when your hips grind upwards. He matches your movements, letting his head dip back down to continue his lick.

After a while, Frankie decides to up it a notch. Delve as much of his mouth as he can against you, lapping and slurping whatever he can catch before it leaks down onto his chin. The sound it makes, your pussy and his soaking lips, is disgusting. Loud, sinful squelches of wetness that he would give anything to hear for the rest of his life.

Yet somehow, what leaves you is even better. A combination of hitching breaths, loud coos, and cries for him to keep going. Just like that, fuck. So he keeps going, just as he is until he can barely breathe.

He yanks away from you with a grunt but makes sure to replace his tongue with his hand.

“Such a gorgeous pussy,” Frankie husks out, pressing another kiss to your inner thigh while he finishes catching his breath. “What number now, princesa?”

Frankie makes sure to wait until you’re about to answer him when he snakes his tongue into your slit and fucks. His head bobs back and forth, tongue caressing as deep inside of you as he can. His fingers return to your clit, rubbing with ease thanks to the mixture of slick and spit.

“I don’t know, I can’t think of one,” you rush out, and Frankie chuckles. He gives you one last bold lick before pulling away. He has to hold you tighter when you squirm in irritation, nearly sobbing.

Frankie shushes you with a kind pat on your thigh. You don’t have a chance to whine anything out before he hooks an arm of your thighs and tugs you to the edge of the couch. One of your legs hangs just off the couch, so the doctor hitches it over his shoulder.

His eyebrows scrunch, and he focuses his attention on ghosting a few fingers just barely inside of you. He looks up at you and is met with you already looking back, ready and waiting for him to push further.

He pauses in a wait. Not ten seconds pass before you try to thrust his fingers further yourself, but he doesn’t let you.

“All you need to do is give me a number, baby, and I’ll fuck these as deep as you want.”

“Nine,” you whisper, and he spots your hands clench. You must want to touch him.

“Nine,” he repeated, thumb rolling a circle over your clit. “How many fingers to get you to ten?”

“Three, plea–ah,” you mewl out when Frankie slides his middle digit inside you. He lets out his own noise at the way you suck him in.

His hand bottoms out, and you’re already fucking yourself on his finger. “That’s a girl. Already taking my finger so well. Feel so fucking good around me.”

You’re truly a sight to behold as Frankie watches you, skin damp with a slight sheen, curving and grinding against his hand. Speed increasing, almost growls when he bends to lap at your clit. His tongue twirls against the bud of nerves, and he has to close his eyes to stop himself from reaching down and giving his painfully hard cock a squeeze.

Frankie slides in the second and third finger at the same time, and you break.

You don’t mean to tangle his hair with your fingers, but they do anyway. It’s hard, but you tug them away, clenching the couch instead.

“Sorry. Sorry, I–” you blurt out, breath long gone, but Dr. Morales has none of it. He doesn’t lift from his licking and swirling to grab your hand and tangle your fingers back into his hair. “Fuck me.”

The rhythm he finds is relentless. He pumps knuckles deep inside you, sliding in and out, collecting a residue of thick moisture. He curls his fingers, searching and finding the spongy spot that causes you to tighten your grip on his hair. His fingertips drag across it, over and over, and you fall limp in his grasp.

“Good fucking girl,” he tells you, words slurring together in his pussy-drunken state. “So good for me. Now I need you to cum, alright? Need you to come for me, all over my fingers so I can drink it all up.”

Dr. Morales slurps messily, chin now nearly dripping as he eats at you. Savoring the tang and hint of sweet while his fingers drive with a steady vigor. There’s no way you can stay still now. You arch, twist, and grind into the doctor, propelling him even deeper. He’s reaching somewhere inside of you that you once thought impossible. Taking grasp of you entirely.

You’re close. You’re so close

“I’m clo–fuck, yes, I’m close. Please don’t stop, please,” you whimper.

“Yeah, you are. Squeezing all nice around me, like a good girl. Sucking you into my mouth. Love how you feel on my mouth, baby. And on my tongue and around my fingers. Never gonna forget how you taste. Shit, could come just like this, so I need you to come right now, okay?”

Frankie doesn’t even know what he’s saying, his rambles. They just pour out, some of it incomprehensible as he busies himself with circling and flicking your sensitive clit.

You sob out one last moan before the damn breaks. He groans along with you at the way your clit throbs against his tongue. His fingers slow, but only a bit as they make sure to rub right against your g-spot.

A choking sound leaves you as you can barely breathe. The air sucks from your lungs almost as hard as Dr. Morales does down below, and your eyes clench shut. You see stars and space, world falling mute, and body quaking with a thick orgasm.

It rolls over you in drowning waves, the euphoric warmth, driving you with an unbearable bliss. You whine, crying out a few tears. Twitching and shivering under the strong hands of Dr. Morales.

His hold is tender as you work through it, talking to you gently in the pauses he takes from licking you clean.

“Fucking look at you, querida.”

“Did so good for me, so fucking perfect.”

“Can’t wait to get you back in here next week.”

Only some of the words make it to your ears. The blood rushing makes it hard to understand, but just the sound of it is comforting enough. You feel more kisses press into you, this time just under your belly button, as the fingers inside you still.

The two of you stay like that for several minutes. Dr. Morales murmuring quietly to talk you down. Your leg still over his shoulder caressed by his free hand, while your own twirls at his brown locks.

“Fuck me,” you breathe out eventually, and Dr. Morales smiles against you. You can’t help but join him, chest warming at the final peck he places onto your knee before lowering your leg.

“Gonna pull out, okay? I’ll go slow,” he tells you. You nod, hand falling around his to touch at the warm skin. You huff out a short breath, mouth falling open as you stare at the wetness revealed when he begins to pull out.

Frankie whispers out his own damn, watching you until his fingers are free. Fuck, you’re pretty, aren’t you?

“I meant what I said earlier,” he declares, pushing away the thought. “Did great, muñeca. Incredible, actually.”

“I could say the same for you…” you mumble with a shy grin, and Frankie finds it touching. You’re divine. You’re precious. You’re… his patient.

The room is filled with heat and smells of sex. It clouds Frankie’s brain, but he knows he needs to keep moving. You can dwell, but not him. He’s got a job to do.

Frankie only lets himself stare for a few more minutes before he rises with a groan. His knees are aching, but he doesn't care. His face heats when you help him up the rest of the way, loose limbs and wet stains in all.

“Thank you,” he smiles, moving to hand you your robe with his untainted hand. “Let me go grab you some water and a towel, and then we can do your swab so you can get out of here.”

He’s turning to leave, heading for the bathroom across the hall to wash his hand–it’s still wet and shining, even now–but stops when he sees the look on your face.

“Is it required that I leave right away?”

Frankie is quick to answer. The small pout on your face makes it so.

“Of course not,” he shakes his head. “You’re free to take your time, take a breath. Sip on the water I’m gonna go grab you. Hell, you can even take a nap, if you want. I’ve uh… we’ve got rooms upstairs with beds and blankets. I think there are some snacks in there, too.

“Really?” You blink at him.

“Yeah. Gotta keep you all as comfortable as possible.”

Frankie sees that look again, the pout. He’s not sure you even know you’re doing it.

“I actually might take you up on that nap. I don’t think my legs have really come back yet,” you tell him, looking at him while slipping on the robe. When feels your eyes trail down, right to the bulge in his pants, he sucks in a rough inhale and does his best to screen the obvious.

“I’ll be right back with that water and towel,” Frankie rushes out, turning for the door.

His clean hand is sitting shaky on the handle when he hears you.

“Do you want me to…” you trail off, pausing for so long that he doesn’t expect you to keep going. “I could help you with that if you want.”

That. He knows you aren’t talking about getting water or towels, and it crumbles him. He grits his teeth, dick jumping at the thought of your–

No. No, he can’t. No matter how much he wants to, he can’t.

Frankie turns, digging deep for the strength to look you in the eyes.

“...we shouldn't, sweetheart. It’s against the rules, and we don’t want either of us getting in any kind of trouble, right?”

It takes a long time for you to nod. Way too long.

“Right,” you agree, but Frankie can smell the lie. He wonders if you can smell his, too.

#frankie morales smut #frankie morales x reader #frankie morales x you #francisco morales x reader #francisco catfish morales #francisco morales #triple frontier fanfiction #triple frontier smut #triple frontier #au: the study

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seoafin · 1 year

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pairing: vash the stampede x fem!reader warnings/tags: jealous insecure vash, you get hit on twice, vash's pov gets kinda depressing, takes place before and after and I know it’s hard enough to love me, stampede coded vash word count: ~4.3k

Vash the Stampede is a complete enigma to you.

In the span of the four hours you’ve been following after the blonde, you’ve witnessed him get bullied and dragged around by a group of children who had unanimously decided to tie him up for fun, help a distressed woman find her poisonous pet gecko, and frantically try to explain his startling similarities to the humanoid typhoon to a threatening group of individuals who had cornered him on the street, loaded guns in their possession.

You watched him nervously laugh off their claims until they had left, one by one. Then he breathed a large sigh of relief, before meeting your eyes with a grin and two thumbs up.

He just can’t say no.

You’re still thinking about this troubling tendency of his when you slide off the rooftop, and twist through the alleys to the bar you had seen when you and Vash had first entered the town yesterday.

This time, he’s following you. He must have run out of people to help. All the way to the bar. And when you enter through the swinging entrance, you don’t need to turn around to hear the doors swing open again, not even seconds later.

Shouts ring throughout the bar, as several patrons happily greet him with a raised mug of beer and smiles. Already, he’s grown on people.

You slide onto a barstool. “I’ll have a drink,” you say, giving the idling bartender your order. The aged man proceeds to pull several bottles from the rack hanging behind him. You look over your shoulder to see Vash sitting down at a round table behind you. When he catches your gaze, he smiles, hand already lifting in an eager half wave as his fingers curl into air.

You don’t understand how he can look so happy to see you, as if you're an old friend he’s seeing for the first time in years, every time you meet his eyes. As if you haven’t been traveling together for the last few months. You've never stayed with an individual for longer than a week or two, other than your mother, but you know for sure Vash is strange. An outlier. You don’t understand how he constantly stays happy, upbeat and optimistic. No man is that happy, upbeat and optimistic. It’s suspicious.

The acrid scent of smoke and alcohol enters your nose before anything else, and then a hulking man with a bulbous nose is sidling up close to your side, despite the empty seats next to you. You ignore him as he gives you a long look up and down. The man in front of you mixing your drink gives him a distasteful glance.

A wide, crass grin stretches his face as he licks his lips.

“Yer a pretty thing, ain’t ya?”

You stare ahead. He’s not even worth brandishing your gun for.

He frowns when you don’t respond, trying again. “Whatcha doin’ in here, in this part of town? A lil’ lady like you is going to get eaten by the wolves.” He leans in close, and his breath fans against your cheek. You don’t bother to hide your distaste when he indiscreetly adjusts his pants. “I’ve got a place downtown…”

You’re going to shoot him, you decide.

Your hand goes to your side, but before you can remove your revolver, a blur of red rushes into the sliver of space between the two of you, forcibly separating the man from you. With his back to you, Vash lifts his hands in an act of surrender. The man tries to no avail to move towards you in either direction, but Vash swiftly meets him every time before he can step towards you.

“We—”

“What’s yer deal!?” The man asks angrily, drawing Vash close, hands fisted into his shirt, teeth gritted. Vash is taller than the man, so to see him tuck his knees inwards to be level with the man would be almost comical if you weren’t so annoyed.

A high pitched laugh escapes through his teeth. “Ahaha! About that—”

“She yours or somethin’!?”

Your already short patience stretches thin.

Panic floods his face as he glances at you from the corner of his eye. “Of course n—”

“Then it’s none of yer business anyhow,” he grouses, leaning in close. “Why dontcha butt out, and that way nobody gets hurt.”

“No,” Vash says firmly, unusually solemn, all pretenses of distress fading in a blink. He grabs the man’s arm with a steady hand of his own. “I can’t.”

You step to the side, and point your gun right at the man’s temple, already cocked. The bar quiets, eyes on your standoff. In your peripheral you can see multiple hands on belts, ready for a shootout. Vash’s eyes go wide, mouth agape as he looks at you. Then your gun. Then at you.

“Put him down,” you say plainly. “I’m not going to ask again.”

“Yeah, put him down Eli!” A voice exclaims.

Others voice their agreement.

The man blinks. Then he throws his head back and uproariously laughs, fist loosening on Vash’s shirt, letting him down with a slump. “Playing with guns, little girl? Why don’t you come on over, I’ll teach you the right way—”

You aim down, and pull the trigger.

A single shot rings through the bar. The man shrieks in agony as the bullet goes through his foot, clean. You watch him jump around on one foot, holding his other foot in his hands, crying out for help as blood gets everywhere. What a mess. The bartender only shakes his head as people begin to surround the hollering man. You think he might as well kill himself now. Not a single survival instinct. The last thing he should be doing after a bullet wound is moving around like a headless lizard.

You throw a sack of coins on the bar. The drink you hadn’t even gotten and damages to the floor. You grab Vash by the hood of his red coat and drag him out the bar as he gawks at you. You drop him outside and start towards the town’s caravan stop. In a few seconds, Vash has caught up with you, side by side.

He looks troubled. Lost in thought.

“I didn’t kill him,” you say. Although you probably would have not even three months ago. That would have ensured you wouldn’t be bothered in the town again by a handsy drunk.

You don’t know why you feel the need to explain yourself. You figure you can’t keep silent when he’s looking at you like that , waiting for some kind of explanation that you would usually never entertain.

“Should I have let him all over me?” You ask tonelessly.

The snaps him back to attention. “No! It’s just…” he sounds unsure, almost uneasy. “You were just…protecting yourself.”

You wonder what kind of life he’s led. To be able to be the way he is. A pacifist, in this world. Someone who refuses to pull the trigger on his .45 long colt unless absolutely necessary.

“Not everybody gets to choose to not kill,” you reply, not as curt as you could be. “Some people don’t have a choice.” Not everybody has the strength to protect themselves without violence. Sometimes, it’s just survival. The choice between you or them. Sometimes, it wasn’t anything more than that. No hard feelings. The second your hands had touched your revolver, you had gained your footing in the world. The gun, the great equalizer. And in your hands, death.

You never had a choice. And then you did.

Vash’s face falls. “I…I see.”

You find yourself searching for words, anything at all to wipe the miserable expression on his face away. “I didn’t kill him,” you say slowly. “But I could have.”

He lifts his head, blinking. “You… could have,” he repeats.

You don’t say that had the man come any closer, if he had touched you, you would’ve put a bullet in his head, right through his brain. And then you would’ve let the animals have him.

Vash slowly regains his smile, eyes crinkling at the corners. “But you didn’t.”

Although the smile on his lips often seems more trained than instinctual, a defense tactic, you can’t deny that in the end, a smile suits his face much more.

“I can take care of myself,” you say, fixing your gaze straight ahead.

He hums. “I know.”

You sigh.

“Over here!” Tony exclaims, wildly waving at Vash for a pass.

Vash kicks the ball over, watching as the other children surround the freckled short boy, eager to steal the ball back to their side. They had divided the teams seven to three, the children citing that the team with Vash on their side had the upper hand, therefore it was only fair for the teams to be unevenly divided. Vash had no qualms with it, neither did Tony or Sonya, who had grabbed Vash by the arm (shorter frame pulling him down to her level) and declared that the next victory would be theirs.

He can’t help himself. He looks towards where you’ve been sitting by the benches in front of the town square’s fountain, watching him kick around a ball for the better half of the hour with the town kids, unmoving, except for the small curve of your lips. Vash can tell when your gaze is on him. Some eighth sense that also has him gravitating towards your orbit, unconsciously and consciously. His feet take him to you, wherever you are. Lucky for him, nowadays, he doesn’t need to walk more than a couple steps to reach you.

Usually you’d be gone, taking care of your own business while he explored the town or city, and its inhabitants, before the inevitable bounty hunter or criminal looked a bit too closely to his face, his red jacket, and made the connection. Maybe you’d stop by the sheriff’s office, flashing your identification badge, and then flip through recent wanted posters. Maybe you’d get a bite to eat. Then you’d just follow the bullets and the trail of destruction to easily meet up with him.

He never knew definitively. You had never really answered his curiosity with more than a noncommittal comment or two. It doesn’t matter now though, because now you stay with him.

The sun looks good on you. He doesn’t realize he’s staring at you until a ball hits him smack in the face and drops to the ground, leaving him with a sore, red face and a bruised nose. The kids startle to a stop, gawking at him with wide mouths. There’s silence, and then raucous laughter.

“Vash!”

“Is he okay?”

“C’mon Vash, you lost the ball!”

“It hit him in the face, did you see that?”

“That’s a foul! You did that on purpose Lock!”

“Nu-uh!”

He sees you shake your head, amused, and knows that the warmth he feels isn’t entirely from the sun.

Tony runs towards him, ball held against his chest, breathless. The blue cap he wears is askew. Vash fixes it for straight. “You alright, Vash?”

Vash runs a hand through his hair and laughs. “No harm done,” he says cheerfully. “Guess I wasn’t paying attention, sorry about that!”

Sonya looks concerned. “Don’t worry about that! It’s all Lock’s fault anyway!” She turns around, sticks a finger under her eye, pulling it down, and blows a raspberry. “You’re horrible Lock!”

The older boy returns it with a raspberry of his own, and then crosses his arms. “He should’ve been looking in the first place, instead of at his girlllllfriend!”

Sonya’s eyes are wide as he feels his face go red. He nervously tugs at the collar of his shirt. The kids gathered around him erupt into laughter again. A quick glance in your direction, and he sees the raise of your eyebrow, lips tight in suppressed laughter he wishes he was there to hear.

“Is it true?” She asks him, brown doe eyes wide. “Is she your—” her voice drops conspiratorially “— girlfriend?”

He sticks a hand in the girl’s hair and gives her a good natured ruffle as she giggles. “Something like that,” he says, despite the elation that fills his stomach, to avoid fully answering the question, as if speaking whatever fragile thing the two of you have into existence might permanently alter it.

Girlfriend.

What a mundane word for something as all consuming as the love he feels for you. He feels as if his chest might just burst with it all. But he can say that now, call you his in some way that makes him both terrified of overstepping his bounds and even more terrified of you leaving.

“Hey Vash,” Tony says, insistently tugging on the sleeve of his coat. “There’s a guy chattin’ up your girl!”

You aren’t happy. That he can see clearly. Your expression has shuttered as a man closes into you with a wide smirk, overtaking his view of you. The last thing Vash can see is your thoroughly unamused expression.

He’s not aware of his feet taking him towards you. He doesn’t think. All he sees is how the man rests a hand on the holster of the gun attached to his hip, as if flourishing it, and he’s moving.

“A good ole’ romp in the bed is what you need,” he hears the man remark vulgarly. “Promise, it’ll fix you right up.”

“No,” you reply bluntly.

His cocksure grin fades with a scowl. “Now, don’t be like that. Nobody likes stubborn broads. I’ll be sure to show you a good time.”

An arm reaches out to roughly grab you, but Vash reaches him first, the metal of his left hand wrapping around the man’s wrist, tightening. The man yelps.

Vash blinks at the noise. You stare, looking at him with your head slightly tilted to the side.

He tears his arm back so quickly it gives him whiplash. His hands are automatically raised in a show of harmlessness as he nervously laughs.

He hadn’t meant to grip him that tightly .

Unless… he had.

The man’s face is bright red in anger, looking at his left arm as if it’s the devil. “Who do you think you are!?”

Vash shifts ever so slightly to keep his arm out of view. It’s been a while since he’s been so self conscious. People asked questions, and sometimes they looked at him funny. It used to hurt his feelings, the way he was looked at as an outsider, even though he was. The rest of No Man’s Land wasn’t like the inhabitants of ship No. 3, who knew his origins. His identity as a plant.

Now it’s a constant reminder of it. Of Nai. Of their first of many confrontations a hundred years ago.

He’s not human, not like the man in front of him. Not like you.

You stand, asserting yourself into the space between him and the man. You give him a dismissive look, before grabbing him by the left hand, and turning on your heels, pulling him along. Your fingers squeeze his metallic fingers in a way that shoots sparks up his arm, right to his heart. As you drag him along the kids holler their goodbyes, and all he can do is smile, wave back, and follow. He’d follow you anywhere, he thinks, easily keeping up with your pace. To the ends of No Man’s Lands to space and back.

He wonders if you’re angry. If you’re annoyed at his intervention. He hadn’t meant to be so…forward. His body had moved before he could think.

But…you’re…you’re his now, aren’t you? You kissed him, held his face between your hands, and smiled. You don’t smile a lot, but you smile for him. He thinks that if anything, that means the most. When he told you he wasn’t human you readily accepted it, as if you had been expecting it. Then you asked him if it hurt when Nai had cut off his arm, and when he told you he hadn’t felt much of anything, really, from the shock, because he was a plant, you had frowned and told him to stop lying.

Now, the two of you sleep together. You let Vash hold you in his arms, and he tucks you into the crook of his neck, and you don’t even complain when he locks you in his embrace, even though you could. Even if you could leave. And on nights he can’t fall asleep, terrified that in the morning you’ll have been nothing but a fantasy, he counts your soft slow breaths in his neck until the sun rises, the seconds until you wake up and give him that sleepy smile he likes to think is reserved just for him.

So now Vash stands closer to you than he had ever previously dared. In larger cities with crowds, he’s right at your side in the bustle taking the brunt of the jostling as you lead the way. And when there are no locals to make conversation with, no children to entertain, he trails after you, wherever your whims take you. You like heights. Rooftops. High vantage points from where you can look down. He thinks it makes you feel safer. You’ve always been aware of his presence, even though you never used to acknowledge him. Now you do. Now you let him hold your hand, and he doesn’t feel like Vash the Stampede, whose sins stare back at him every time he catches his face in a reflection, but a man hopelessly in love.

You push him up against a wall in an abandoned alley, and he relishes in the close proximity, smiling dumbly when you lean into him. He’s not expecting you to kiss him, but it sure would be nice—

Until he remembers that you might be mad. That he had accidentally hurt that man. The yelp that had been twisted out of him. The smile promptly falls from his face.

“I—uh—”

“Are you okay?” You ask.

“Of course I am,” he says cheerily, but all he can think about is that man reaching for you, the gleam of desire in his eyes (directed towards you ), and his two whole arms (one more arm to hold you with), and there’s a sinking feeling in his stomach, a wretched miserable thing that hovers a bit too close to the surface of his face. “Just fine!”

Your eyes narrow, just imperceptibly, while you scrutinize him in silence. His gaze momentarily darts away, fleeing, and then back, to see that you’re still staring at him, eyebrows furrowed as if you’re trying your best to think of something to say. Words don’t really come easy to you. Vash thinks it’s cute, that thinking silence of yours, where he can almost see the gears in your head turning as you struggle for an empathetic response after years of curt silences and dry one worded responses.

You purse your lips, bottom lip jutting out ever slightly.

Cute.

“Liar.” You glance down at his left arm, and Vash resists the urge to hide the prosthesis behind him.

A shadow falls on your face as you look down. “Is it me?”

“No!” He blurts out. Guilt churns in his gut, and he’s not sure if it’s because he hurt that man or because he isn’t sorry. He wants to say that he didn’t mean to, but that would be another lie. He hadn’t wanted to hurt him badly. Just… enough that he’d leave you alone. That he’d stop looking at you like that as if he wasn’t there. There was already someone by your side.

“I shouldn’t have hurt him,” he says finally. He can’t help himself when he adds, a touch defensively, “But he shouldn’t have been…” Vash feels a rush of heat reach his ears from your discerning gaze. “He…” almost touched you. He would’ve yanked you up, been rough with you, and just because you’re used to it doesn’t mean that it’s okay. Sometimes, he thinks you’re too used to it. Every night he counts the scars on your body with the same tenderness you’ve afforded him, that he doesn’t deserve, and he feels his heart weigh heavier.

Vash would never forgive himself if you got harmed on his watch.

You look up at him. “He…?”

He isn’t…getting ahead of himself is he?

He loves you, and not a night goes by where he doesn’t think it. He’s loved you since the night you pulled him close and kissed him. He’s loved you since the moment he realized that the silence wasn’t so bad, so lonely, when he had someone to share it with.

He had assumed he meant as much to you as you do to him—

Your lips twitch into a small smile, and the sight stops his thoughts. You step closer and bury your face into his neck. His arms automatically wrap around you as he relaxes into your body, smiling at the ground.

“I love you,” you murmur, so soft that even his ears strain to hear it. He doesn’t even have the time to feel giddy before you pull back, reach for his neck, and bring his lips to yours.

He’s eager to reciprocate. The worry that maybe he’s holding you tightly around the waist doesn’t even strike him until a second later, but by then you’re happily exhaling into his mouth, and raking your fingernails down the back of his neck until he’s shuddering into you.

You back him against the wall without a missed beat and he happily follows. One of your hands snakes down to his prosthetic, entwining your fingers together. He gives your hand a squeeze back and when you smile against his lips, he knows that it’s the most lovely sight he’s ever seen. The first time he had ever seen you smile, it had invoked the same amazement and wonder in him as seeing Rem’s red geraniums for the first time.

But you aren’t a flower to be gazed at and plucked by curious onlookers. This smile is just for him. And Vash thinks, once again, for the fifth time in a day that hasn’t ended, that as much as he loves you, he also doesn’t deserve you.

He’ll tell you again tonight. This time, while you’re awake. Not…everything. Not enough that it could scare you away. Just enough, like how he likes gazing at you when the sun hits your bare frame in the scarce mornings the two of you have a bed, or the way your eyes light when they meet his, after a few hours apart. How it makes him feel…

Like a child again. Happy. The world at his fingertips. In the bed he and Nai would share, watching clips of some old earth movie underneath the covers. In Rem’s hugs, his arms wrapped around her neck, clinging to her tightly, as if she might disappear if he opened his eyes. The sound of her laughter in his ears. Lovely and fleeting.

Pressed against him, all the warmth of your body and lips, a breathy moan builds up in his throat as you have your way with him. As selfish as it seems, he wants more. As much as you’re willing to give. As much as he dares to take. He likes the way you say his name, especially when you’re in the throes of pleasure, when you’re looking down at him with so much love that he’s choking on his words, and his chest aches with it.

Someone giggles.

You separate, your lips enticingly spit slicked and swollen, your thumb tracing the underneath of his right eye. You like his beauty mark, have remarked on it more than once, the color of his eyes, and every other part of him that makes him flush from head to toe. He knows he’s not much to look at, but every part of him, except his burdens, belong to you. And if you can find something worthwhile to look at when you look at him other than disgust and horror, then that’s more than enough.

He lets his arms fall from your waist as you step away, and he already misses your closeness.

“Children shouldn’t be eavesdropping,” you say coolly, but not coldly. There’s a glint in your eyes as heads pop up from the crates towards the back of the alley.

“We were just making sure everything was okay!” Tony exclaims, running up to you. He grins knowingly at Vash and attempts a wink.

You raise an eyebrow.

Sonya approaches, dragging Lock with her. “ And Lock wanted apologize for hittin’ Vash in the face!”

“Wha—!?” Lock sputters, looking at the girl in betrayal. “Sonya!” He squints at the ground. “...Sorry.”

Vash kneels down. “Apology accepted,” he says softly, a smile on his lips. He’s a good kid. So are all the kids in this town. Sonya with her ever present glowing smile. Tony and his mischievous wit. The blue cap he doesn’t go without. Lock and his grudges which hide a large, genuine heart. Billy and Mary and Kirk and everyone else.

Vash is almost tempted to stay a couple more nights, but he knows he can’t. Not with Nai having been spotted to the South. Another plant stolen, more fatal casualties. He has to leave before there are more. If he were a better person, he’d leave you behind. He stares at the ground.

He briefly feels the weight of your gaze. You gather the kids’ attention.

“You kids hungry?”

Tony and Sonya and Lock perk up.

“I am!” Tony says.

“You’re always hungry!” Sonya scowls.

“Are you the one with the money?” Lock asks. “Cuz’ Vash is broke.”

That draws a huff of laughter from you as Vash smiles sheepishly, pushing the worries plaguing his mind away for now. Until night falls upon No Man’s Land, and you’re peacefully sleeping in his arms. That’s when he’ll worry about whether or not he deserves to be happy with you.

Sonya reaches up to grab your hand with a big smile. You glance at him.

“Any good pizza places around here?”

#vash the stampede x reader #vash x reader #trigun stampede x reader #trigun x reader #m.trigun #safe house

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aspiring-house-husband · 4 months

Text

There is a temple, deep and hidden away in the mountains. it is well known to the locals and the people whose legends had survived in the area. it is a temple that was extremely difficult to get into, and even more difficult to leave. it belongs to the god of conflict and passion. the god of war. the god of sex.

you and your partner were determined to find it.

you repelled down the rock face of the mountain and slid your way through half-buried arches to get inside, only to be astonished by how clean the temple had been kept. sure, it was mossy, but the stone was smooth and clean and hardly worn by time.

“hello,” says your partner, and you turn to him.

“what?”

“yes, i am,” he says, staring off to nothing.

“are you okay?” finally he turns to you, only briefly.

“shh, can’t you hear that?”

“no, what are you talking about?” he ignores your question again, and speaks away from you.

“no, i would never. i wished to visit, only.”

when he doesn’t speak, there is silence.

“well, i suppose, i-“ he cuts himself off with a gasp, and arches his back. touched by nothing, he begins to levitate off the floor.

“yes, please, god,” he moans, and his clothes fall from his body, cut into ribbons. with his back arching, you are treated to the sight of his hole, glistening with wetness but more notably opening and closing, clenching around nothing. as you watch, gold chains and jewels materialize and drape around his body, while he gains the meaning of super-human: his beauty grows as he writhes midair, his skin gaining color and flush, his hair growing silky. he moans as he clenches and you can’t help but stare at his gorgeous hole, thinking of how it would… how he might feel…

“i accept, yes, yes!” he pants and nearly screams to whatever voice only he is hearing before he cums, his body quivering and fluid dripping down his legs to the floor. his body lowers until he stands on trembling legs, panting, and when he looks at you, his eyes are no longer the color you’re accustomed to, but a fiery orange.

“my friend,” he says, sliding to you and running his fingers up your clothed chest. “do you know what’s happened to me?”

“n-no,” you barely manage to whimper out, trying to ignore how lovely he looks and how close he is and how hard you are.

“i am one with our god,” he answers, sliding those teasing fingers up and under your shirt, tracing delicately up your chest. “soon you will be, too.”

“wait, what? hold on-“

“shh,” he soothes, and without moving you himself you are lifted into the air, suspended on your back. he straddles your hips and splays his hands over your waist, leaning down slow to kiss the skin he’s exposed by pushing up your shirt.

“beautiful,” he says, a sultry smile gracing his lips. when he shifts his hips, he gives you so much friction that you hadn’t been prepared for, and it makes you buck before you can stop yourself.

“ah, good boy,” he teases, and draws his hand over your stomach. the motion seems to be connected to magic, because your clothes fall from you in ribbons, just as his had.

“don’t shiver,” he says with a soft laugh, that same that you’ve heard a hundred times. he leans down over you and kisses down your chest, stopping to suck on your nipple, just to watch you flush.

“you’re mine, aren’t you, handsome?” he says, kissing every spot of skin he can find, pulling at your arms until he can guide your hands to his hips.

“yes,” you answer, and he lifts up to sink down over you. gods, it feels like you glow.

“be one with me,” he says, but it sounds like he speaks with more than just his voice. “be mine in more than just body and heart.” he bounces, even though he has nothing to balance on, gripping you and squeezing around you and moaning to the ceiling.

“i’m yours,” you pant, lifting your neck but not feeling the strain you normally do. you buck up, pulling a near-squeal from him, because it feels like more than just being ridden. gods, it’s like you’re feeling him, too. feeling double the pleasure, his orgasm building beneath his belly button, how it felt to have you inside him, filling him up. it was incredible, like connecting to something beyond yourself.

“mine,” he moans, and pleasure like nothing you had ever known overtook you.

there’s a reason the temple was just as hard to leave as it was to find. how could you even think of leaving? why would you? life there was perfect… under the protection of your god, and wrapped in the silky embrace of your lover. forever.

#with these posted i retreat back into my cave #i crawl from the woodwork to place a story on the floor every six months before disappearing again #eat up #og #story #non monster #hypnosis #ish?#possession #ish

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 6 months

Text

Same as it ever was 6

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as neglect, bullying, manipulation, cheating, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: Between your home life and work, you just can’t catch a break. Especially after you draw the ire of your boss.

Characters: Lloyd Hansen ft. Pete Brenner

Note: have a happy friday.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!)

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

Sunday gives you an excuse to get away. Pete, like a dog with his tail between his legs, doesn't even try to come up with an excuse to 'work'. You take Simone with you to the grocery store, warning the slug that he can handle Malik for a couple hours alone. You notice the pout in his lips but don't acknowledge it.

You don't need much but you take your time. You agree to buy Simone an Archie comic, shrugging off the extra few dollars as you notice her growing restless. You made her leave her book at home. You're happy she loves to read but she can't ignore the world all the time.

"You wanna get lunch?" You ask as you push the cart through the lot.

"Mm, I dunno," she drags her feet, "I'm tired."

"Probably 'cause you need to eat," you judge her with your elbow, "come on, how often is it just the two of us."

She grumbles but you ignore her reluctance. You're in no hurry to get home and you can scrounge enough for a sit down in the diner. It might be the last nice thing you can afford.

You load up the bags on the trunk and drive down the block to the same place you would take Simon when you were still pregnant with Malik. Those days were nice and so far behind you. The memory makes your heart ache.

You open the door ahead of Simone and follow her into the mom and pop shop. You're seated by the window in a booth. You order coffee as your daughter gets an apple juice. You peruse the menu but you're not very hungry.

"Oh, they still have the grilled cheese," you say.

"Yeah…" she continues to read the menu, nonplussed by your suggestion.

You tap your toe and cup your chin as you look out the window. It's a nice day even if you're gloomy inside. You turn back to the table and flip over the menu.

The waitress returns with your drinks. You sip your coffee before you order a mac and cheese and Simone gets chicken fingers. You hand the menus over and smile at your daughter. She's old enough, she'll catch on soon.

"So, what's your latest adventure about?" You ask.

"Uh, well, I just read one about a knight. She's a girl and she goes off to fight an army of trolls…"

You immerse yourself in her retelling of the children's novel. You don't care, it's better than reality. You giggle and smile as she becomes more animated. She can be so monotone but her passion makes you proud.

A figure approaches, breaking your trance, and you look over expecting the waitress. To your chagrin, it's not.

You grip the edge of the table as Simone's voice peters out and she looks at the man with her cool deadpan. You clear your throat, fighting the urge to reach across and shield her. Mr. Hansen smirks down at you as he glances between you and your daughter.

"Funny running into you here," he snickers, "enjoying your weekend."

"Just having lunch," you say crisply, "hope you're having a good Sunday."

You turn straight on the bench and look at Simone as you gesture for her to face you. She frowns as you try to come up with an escape plan. You don't even know what to say and he's not going anywhere.

"Oh I'm having a wonderful weekend. Look at you, how cute, this must be the spawn."

"Spawn?" Simone murmurs, "hey, what's your deal, guy?"

"Sim," you wave her off, "that's good to hear Mr. Hansen. I hate to keep you so–"

"Room for one more?" He winks.

"Ew, no," Simone speaks before you can, "mom, tell him to go away."

"She's mouthy. Not hard to guess why," he scoffs.

You slide off the seat and stand, stepping between him and the table. You arch a brow, pleading with your hands out.

"Please, sir, we're just enjoying a meal out. I'll see you tomorrow. At work."

He watches you, his amusement playing on his face. He's enjoying seeing you squirm, just like before. He always knows the most sensitive spot to hit. Your kids would be top of the list.

"Tomorrow," he winks as he leans back on his heel, "we got a special meeting, don't we?"

"Sir," you hiss.

He chuckles and rolls his eyes, "alright, ladies, enjoy your lunch."

He backs up and struts away. You don't sit until he's out the door. What on earth is he even doing in a place like this? It's not exactly a Michelin star experience.

You settle back in and swallow, turning to watch out the window. He isn't in his usual suit but still dressed nicely. A peach polo peeking out under a teal bomber jacket and canary pants. Tacky if you say so yourself.

"Who was that weirdo?" Simone asks.

"My boss," you lean back, "just saying hi."

"He's strange. Like the villain in the book I was reading," she scowls out the window, "you need a new job."

You laugh despite yourself, "you have no idea. First things first, I'm starving."

🗄️

You get home, exhausted. You put away the groceries and tidy up. Of course Pete couldn't clean up after making a mess of the kitchen for a simple PB and J. You sigh as you finish and look in on the kids in the living room.

Malik colours as Simone creases her brow at her book. You hear Pete outside working on his Corvette. For a brand new car, it sure needs a lot of maintenance.

You tell the kids you'll be upstairs if they need anything. You go to the bedroom and open the closet. You're so anxious about tomorrow, you may as well get ready to face the music.

You pick out an outfit. Nothing special. You don't have anything fashionable. It's not like you need more than a striped blouse and worn black pants. You just don't want to come back up there to grab it all in the morning.

As you come downstairs, you hear Malik giggling. You peek in through the doorway with your armful of clothing. Pete sits on the floor at the coffee table beside the boy and scribbles with a crayon. He meets your eye as you pass and gives a sheepish smile. You shake your head and keep going.

You open the door to the basement and the cool air sweeps around your descent. You put the outfit on the folding table beside the camping cot. Your first few nights have been less than comfortable. As cozy as your own marriage.

You check the dryer and take out the towels, folding them on the top and stacking them there. You hear footsteps on the stairs. You keep your back to the airy space.

"Hey," Pete says. You're not surprised. He keeps trying to corner you. "So…"

"Busy," you grab a basket and set the towels in it.

"Hm," he stops only a few feet from you, "Simone said you ran into someone. Your boss."

"Yup. Nice guy," you utter dryly.

"I thought Mandy was your boss."

You roll your eyes as you lift the basket and turn, "one of many. She's up in York now."

"Ah…" he hangs his head, gripping one hip, "a lot's changed."

"I'm not in the mood to talk so let's not do this."

He huffs and steps into your path. He puts a hand on the basket. He looks you in the face.

"I will be home every day at six–"

"Too late."

"Please, can't I just try? Can't you?"

"Me? I tried, Pete," you snap, "come home at six anyway. The kids will be happy."

"What about you?"

You stare at him grimly. Your eyes tingle and you look away. Your chest rises and falls.

"I haven't been happy in a long time. Don't think I will be again," you shrug and pull the basket away, striding past him, "I didn't make you happy either, did I?"

He huffs and trails after you as you cross to the stairs. As you go to make your ascent and he grabs your arm and spins you back to him. Before you can react, he snatches the basket from your grip and places it on the stack of rubbermaid bins by the wall.

He puts his hands on your arms and pulls you against him. He leans in and you turn your head, his lips crashing into your cheek. You shove on his chest and growl.

"What are you doing?" You pinch by his ribs.

"Baby, please, let me make it up to you–"

"Don't touch me," you push on him, "get off."

"I love you. I mean it–"

"Stop!" You hit his chest again but he doesn't budge, instead wrapping his arms around you, squeezing the breath out of you. How is he still so strong when you only ever got weaker? "Pete…"

"You can't walk away–"

"You already did," you keep your voice down, mindful of the open door above.

"Let me try. I wanna make love to you–"

"Pfft, yeah right. Go get tested and I might even consider letting you hold my hand," you snarl, "get off of me now."

"Wha– I'm clean–"

"Get!" You bring your knee up and feel it collide with his crotch. He releases you and staggers back, cupping his most precious possession. "You're a dirty fucking weasel."

You turn and pick up the basket and stomp up the stairs as you hear him whimpering. Serves him right. You can't help but smile at the ounce of power you feel in that moment.

🗄️

Monday morning both too quickly but not fast enough. You get up with the kids and get them ready for school, filling a thermos of coffee for yourself. You drive them to school and send them off with dread in your chest.

For a moment, you idle outside the school. You miss the days when you only worried about spelling quizzes and dodgeball. You hope at least your kids never end up where you are.

You follow the crawl of traffic out of the school zone and reluctantly steer towards work. You yawn and drain half your thermos before you get to the office. As you shoulder your bag and look up at the corporate facade, you feel the world threaten to crumble around you. No, not the whole world, just yours.

You enter behind a few others and try to find your courage in the elevator. You peek over at your coworkers; you recognise two but the other you don't know. There's not much workplace camaraderie, more of an understanding to get your work down and clock out.

You follow them out and go to your desk. You sit and pop the lid off of your thermos. Just enough to get you through this. You don't unpack your lunch, certain you won't be eating it there.

You turn on your PC and sign in. You're in no hurry to get started on work. Your calendar pops up with the internal schedule reminder. There it is, a meeting in ten minutes. Fuck, fuck, fuck.

You get up and go to the bathroom. You can do this. You dealt with your scoundrel husband, you are still moving, you're not dead in the water.

But how do you survive this? Do you beg? You quit and take the loss? No you can't. You need this job and if you get fired, at least you'll have a hope at severance.

You avoid your reflection. That old woman isn't you. You go out and check your watch, pausing as the shine of your rings gleam in the fluorescent light. You slide them off and put them in your back pocket.

You check the schedule one last time and go to tbe meeting room. There's no one there as you find the door shut. It's clearly empty on the other side of the windowed walls. You lean against the plaster and tap your sole.

"Ah, there she is. How's it goin', toots? You need some chamomile? The chairs sure are comfy, aren't they?" Mr. Hansen struts down with his hands in his pockets.

"Sir," you greet flatly. He's mocking you. Jokes on him, you're always tired.

"Come on," he twists the handle and swings the door open so that it bounces on the hinges, "get moving."

You don't react to his crass tone. You merely step into the room as the light flicks on as the censor picks up your movement. You walk along one side of the table as Hansen shuts the door.

You hover behind a chair as he goes along the wall and tugs each cord to repel the blinds down, blocking out the hallway. Uneasiness bubbles in your stomach as you watch him. You expected him to make your humiliation public.

"Have a seat, honey buns," he faces you, approaching the other side of the table.

You sit and fold your hands on the table top. He has no paperwork, not even a computer. You wonder what exactly is going on.

"Is someone from HR–"

"Look, let's keep the sticklers outta this," he waves you off, kick one foot out as he shifts his weight to one hip, "unless you really want a disciplinary slip. Me, personally, I can't be fucked with that paperwork."

You frown and flatten your hands on the table, trying to keep your anxiety from showing. He looks at the gesture and tilts his head. His cheek dimples and he snorts.

He doesn't comment. Not at first. He paces up and down the table and bites his thumb.

"Alright, let's get to business," he stops at the end, close to the corner, "what are you willing to do to keep this job?"

"Sir?"

"Pretty daughter you got. Probably eats up that paycheck in no time. All those cute shirts and ugh, the growth spurts–"

"Mr. Hansen," you swallow, "please, I don't think my family has anything to do with this."

"They have everything to do with this," he insists, "let's not pretend."

"I'm not– I'm sorry I fell asleep. It won't happen again."

"I gave you an out. All you had to do was put your hands down my pants and you could've napped in the boardroom. No problem. I do it all the time," he snickers, "but no, you're a stubborn little bitch. Makes me wonder what the old man sees in ya. Really, cause a tight ass ain't fun unless you get inside–"

"Mr. Hansen," you exclaim, revolted by his lewd words.

"Whatever he's doing, he's not doing it right. You need to loosen up, toots," he runs his thumb across his mustache, "and that little girl won't be so proud of mommy if she ends up working at Burger King like some stoner teenager–"

You sputter, heat creeping up the nape of your neck and speckling down your body. You shake your head. Did he know or is it a lucky guess? Either way, you don't have the energy for this. You're done being a joke for men.

"Just spit it out. What do I have to do?" You sneer as your hands ball.

His lips slant and he smothers a noise in his throat. He slowly walks closet until he's right beside you. You turn the chair to face him as he leans down and puts his hand on yours. He unfolds your fingers and feels along the indents left by your rings.

"Looks like trouble in paradise," he winks, "well, I'm the good kinda trouble. Trust me."

You stare at him. You're not as naive as you once were. There's no denial here. This is real life, a bitter pill you need to swallow.

"That's it? A hand job and I keep my job?" You squint.

He laughs and cups your chin, "oh, you think that's it?"

You can't help but let your surprise bleed through. Your not some young hot thing. Is he just trying to rub salt in the wound or is he serious?

"I…"

"Hand, mouth, cunt, ass, tits," he pulls away as he lists of each word, "you look in tact for the most part. But most importantly…" he shoots you with a finger gun, "you're desperate. What more could I ask for?"

#lloyd hansen #dark lloyd hansen #dark!lloyd hansen #pete brenner #dark pete brenner #dark!pete brenner #lloyd hansen x reader #pete brenner x reader #fic #dark fic #dark!fic #series #au #same as it ever was #the gray man #pain hustlers

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frenchkisstheabyss · 6 months

Text

✶ Pendulum ✶

✶ Pairing: model!hyunjin x model!chubby!fem!reader

✶ Genre: fluff, angst, smut

✶ Summary: You visit Hyunjin on the night of his big art exhibit intent on closing this chapter of your life but he's not willing to let go that easily.

✶ Word Count: 1.2k-ish

✶ Warnings: Hyunjin's a lil bit possessive, fingering, nibbling, marking, and that's about it my loves

✶ A/N: This is part two of a Hyunjin/Minho love triangle fic that has come to emotionally wreck me but I love it and fingers crossed you will too! 🖤 part three is here 🖤

It’s been three weeks since Paris Fashion Week. Three weeks since you fell in love with Minho. Three weeks of falling asleep on FaceTime and sneaking little moments in with each other between your busy schedules. There was no way to anticipate that you’d come to mean this much to each other, your feelings deepening as the days go on.

Saying yes to that date with Minho opened the door to a new way of being cherished that only he can offer. But there remains a thread tied to the corner of your heart, tugging you back to your past. If you’re to step through the door that lies before you, you must first shut the one that lies behind...

And that’s what brings you here...

to an upscale art gallery a half hour before Hyunjin’s first exhibit. Crisp autumn leaves dance along the pavement, a ballet of deep reds and vibrant yellows, as you flee the chilly night air for the warmth of the sleek, rustic gallery. Matte black walls combine with polished cherry wood accents to give you the sense that you’re somewhere you can be comfortable. But not too comfortable.

You can already smell his cologne, cedar and spice, coasting through the air to greet you before he appears at the top of the stairs to your left. “You came,” he says, feigning indifference as he takes his time descending the stairs. After he broke your heart you insisted that he no longer held any power over you. The spell had been broken, or so you thought. So you hoped. But no such thing is true.

Hyunjin moves like a gazelle, his limbs long and graceful. He somehow manages to make the simple act of walking feel like a performance art piece. Tonight he’s pulled his hair back into a high ponytail, a few delicate strands left hanging to frame his now smiling face. Standing before you, he extends an arm, his hand patiently at your service. You slip out of your jacket, tossing it over his arm.

“Well, you said you wanted to talk so I’m here.” Hyunjin laughs, finding amusement in the way you’ve turned the tables. Pretending not to care when you both know you wouldn’t be here if you didn’t. “I was going to take your hand—” he starts, his gaze trailing behind you as you journey deeper into the gallery.

You always thought it a shame that people could never seem to get past his physical appearance long enough to see what’s truly special about him. Surrounded by his art, drawings and paintings he’d once only been brave enough to reveal to you, you can’t help but feel proud of him. “Hwang Hyunjin, jack of all trades” you sigh, stopping to get a closer look at a watercolor painting of butterflies whose wings seemingly melt down the canvas.

Hyunjin joins you, ignoring the painting to admire your silk black dress.

“Jack of all trades, master of none, but I’m still, I guess, better than a master of one.”

“Mmm, I don’t know about that. What’s so bad about a master of one? Maybe the master of one just knows where his heart is.”

The back of his hand strokes your arm, sending an electric current through your body. Out of the corner of your eye, you notice that he’s moved closer. Close enough for the sensation of his breath on your neck to give you shivers when he asks, “Where’s yours?” “Where’s my what?” Your head snaps toward him, the accusatory tone of his voice triggering your defenses.

“Your heart. Do you know where it is?”

“You have no right to ask me that. Not when you broke it.” Every fiber of your being is telling you to run away and Hyunjin must sense it because his arms are around you before you can make your grand escape. “Don’t run from me” he pleads, “Just tell me what I can do to fix it.” You’ve never seen Hyunjin cry before but the moisture pooling in the corners of his eyes is a sure sign that you might.

Nothing can erase the pain that he made you feel yet you can’t deny what he’s done since to ease it. Showing up to Paris Fashion Week alone, refusing to arrive with any woman who wasn't you. Admitting where he went wrong when it came to being honest with you. Apologizing in every language he knows and in a few he doesn't. Professing his love for you openly among your social circle without a care for how sensitive they may think he is.

He’s stepped so far outside of his character that occasionally you had to pinch yourself to make sure his efforts weren’t all in your head. To ask more of him feels almost sadistic. “It’s not you” you admit, lifting some of the pressure from his shoulders, “I’m just, I don’t know. Afraid?”

“Afraid? Of what?”

“Of the piece of my heart that’s still here with you.” You love him still. And you can’t outrun it any more than you could the way your heart ached for Minho when he first touched your hand, comforting you before the red carpet all those nights ago. You hate yourself for it, wishing that you could make these feelings disappear, all the while surrendering to Hyunjin’s kiss.

He sweeps you into it without warning, no longer able to control the need to feel your tongue against his. Kissing him is that first bite of your favorite food after you’ve been deprived of it for far too long. Your senses are aflame, moisture creeping between your thighs as he presses your back to the wall. Hyunjin buries his face between your breasts, his tongue lashing and nibbling as they rise and fall with each bated breath you take.

Your fingers tangle with his hair, the tie that keeps his ponytail secure quickly slipping to the floor. “You have to be mine again,” he says, not asking but telling. Demanding. He raises one of your legs to straddle his hip, pushing a hand between you to knead your pillow soft thighs. “He can’t have you. I won’t let him.” Hyunjin kisses you all over, suckling at your sensitive skin to mark his territory.

Pushing his hips further between your legs, he teases the wetness of your panties, your clit already stiff enough to feel through the thin cotton. “Hyunjin, please—” you beg, not quite knowing what you’re begging for. Less? More? The arch of your back as his fingers dive into your core decides it’s ‘more’. He pulls back, his free hand reaching up to cup your cheek, “Say my name again.”

His fingers pick up speed, your walls spasming with each unforgiving twist of his wrist. “Hyunjin” you whine, gripping his shoulders to keep yourself from crumbling to the ground. He missed seeing you this way. Dressed up all pretty, lipstick smeared across your face, moaning his name. Your juices stream down his wrist, leaving tiny drops of your arousal on his sleeve. He welcomes it. Welcomes anything that’ll leave your scent behind for later. “Mine. Always mine” he repeats, circling your clit with his thumb.

You should’ve never come here. You should’ve stayed as far away from this man as possible. But there’s no use crying over spilled milk. The reality is that you didn’t stay away. Hyunjin called and you came now you’re coming around his fingers, allowing yourself to be claimed once more by the lust filled demons of your past. And, oh, what a glorious one he is.

#hyunjin x you #hyunjin x reader #hyunjin smut #hyunjin angst #chubby reader #stray kids x female reader #stray kids x chubby reader #stray kids x you #plus size reader #stray kids x reader #stray kids smut

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bingwriterxo · 11 months

Text

miscommunication

pairing: vada cavell x reader

summary: in which you and vada are really bad at the whole 'talking' thing

warnings: none

word count: 2300+

author's note: this was a request! the end convo might be a little confusing, but it's supposed to be! they have a lot of feelings and unsaid words, ok??

“So, like, what’s the deal with you and Vada?” Nick asked, glancing toward you.

The two of you were at his house, laying in his bed side by side, and talking about whatever came to mind. Usually, there was an energetic, babbling brunette between you, chatting your ears off and barely letting either of you get a single word in, but not this time. No, this time, Vada was at Mia Reed’s house, much to your discontent.

You clenched your jaw. “What’re you talking about?”

He twisted to lay on his side, his elbow digging into the mattress and his hand supporting his head so that he could look down at you. “I’m talking about the fact that you’ve been stewing in…whatever the hell you’re feeling right now…ever since Vada texted saying she can’t make it.”

You scoffed, thinking about the texts that the girl had sent in your group chat half an hour ago.

V ;) (6:47pm): can’t make it

V ;) (6:47pm): going to mias

V ;) (6:47pm): sorry

“I just think it’s rude to cancel on your best friends when you’re literally supposed to be hanging out with them at the time you cancel,” you said.

Nick hummed, pulling his lips tight. “Sure. That’s definitely why you’re upset.”

You sat up, eyes narrowed in suspicion and eyebrows drawn together. “Why are you saying it like that?”

He shrugged. “I just think that, maybe, you’re…jealous.” He said the last word carefully, like it would be the fuse that set off the bomb that was you.

“And why would I be jealous?” you pushed.

“Well, because you and Vada are doing”--he gestured with his hands--“whatever the hell you two are doing--”

“Friends with benefits, Nick,” you interrupted. “It has a name.”

“Yeah. That.” He rolled his eyes. “Whatever. My point is that you obviously have feelings for Vada, and our idiot friend has no idea, so she thinks it’s okay to just fuck around with whoever she wants.”

You chuckled dryly. “First of all, Vada’s not an idiot.” You paused, thought for a moment. “Okay, sometimes she’s an idiot.”

“Yeah, you got that right,” Nick muttered under his breath.

“Secondly…you think she’s fucking around with Mia?” you asked, voice cracking. Tears pricked at your eyes as you waited for him to answer, suddenly feeling too vulnerable.

“I mean, she hasn’t said anything about it, but they’ve been spending a lot of time together.”

You gulped. “Whatever.” Your eyes flitted around the room. “Just because I have feelings for Vada doesn’t mean she can’t fuck around with who she wants.” You shrugged. “It doesn’t feel great, sure, but…our situation isn’t exclusive or anything. If she wants to sleep with…Mia Reed…then she can.” You glanced down at your hands, trying to ignore the hurt building around your heart. “It doesn’t matter to me,” you finished quietly.

“Y/N,” he said softly, drawing your attention back to him. “You can talk to me about this, you know that, right? I’m not gonna run and tell Vada, okay?” He offered you a pitying smile. “I know it hurts you, and I know you don’t want to tell her about your feelings, but you should talk to someone.”

You shut your eyes, hard, and when you opened them again, you shook your head and sighed. “It’s okay, Nick. I’m fine.”

“Y/N--”

“Can we just talk about something else?” You bit your bottom lip. “Please?”

He sighed. “You know, you should try to take your mind off her. Maybe…hook up with someone else?” he suggested. When you glared at him, he said, “Wait, wait. Listen. If you hook up with other people, it’d probably help with your feelings, you know? Maybe you wouldn’t hold Vada in that…godly light you do.”

“It wouldn’t feel right.”

“Well, you said it yourself: you and Vada aren’t exclusive. It’s not like you’d be cheating on her or anything.” You mulled the thought over, and, when you didn’t respond, Nick continued with, “Just think about it, yeah?”

* * *

“Vada?” Mia asked as she opened her front door. “What’re you doing here?”

Instead of offering a response, Vada pushed past her and beelined to her bedroom, leaving the blonde to catch up. When she did, the brunette was pacing around the room, and, for a moment, Mia was positive that she’d end up burning a hole in the floor.

“Dude, what’s wrong?”

Vada turned to her, eyes wide and bottom lip pulled between her teeth. “I’m going through, like, a serious crisis right now.”

“O…kay…” Mia stepped forward, placed a hand on Vada’s shoulder, and guided her toward the bed. She sat her down, but the brunette’s leg wouldn’t stop bouncing, and Mia sighed. “I thought you were supposed to be with Y/N and Nick right now. Why don’t you talk to them about it?”

“Because Y/N is the crisis,” Vada admitted meekly. She glanced at Mia. “Every time I think about her, my heart starts racing, and I can feel my entire body get…oddly warm, and it's like I constantly itch to be around her.”

Mia’s eyes widened, her mouth falling open slightly as she whispered, “Oh.” She smiled softly, excitedly. “You like Y/N.”

Vada shook her head fervently. “No. No, I--I can’t.” She stood and began her pacing again. “I can’t like Y/N because we’re supposed to be best friends…who sleep together, I guess, but that doesn't change the fact that we started off as best friends. And--and, our…benefits thing, it’s supposed to be no strings attached, just fun, so I can’t like her, because she doesn’t like me back. Plus, that’s, like, illegal in the world of friendships.” She took a deep breath in and looked at Mia. “Isn’t it? Tell me it’s illegal, Mia.”

“Vada, it’s okay if you like her,” Mia said. “I feel like that’s bound to happen in this situation. I mean, you’re best friends, and you’re having sex. You’re kind of…basically…a little bit…in a relationship, if you think about it.” She shrugged. “So it makes sense that you’d have feelings for her.”

“No, you don’t get it. Y/N…she doesn’t see me that way. She just…doesn't.”

“How do you know?”

“Because I know her.”

Mia hummed. “Have you asked her?”

Vada groaned and threw her hands over her face. “No, I haven’t asked her!” she whined into her palms. “Why would I ask her? Then she’d pick up on my feelings. Duh!”

“Maybe that’s not a bad thing?” Mia said. “I mean, Y/N could like you back, Vada. It’s not an impossibility.”

“Yes it is!” She peeled her hands away from her face to look at the other girl. “Y/N doesn’t like me. End of story. But”--she sighed--“I do like her. So, what am I supposed to do with that?”

Mia grimaced. “I really think you should talk to her.”

Vada groaned again. “You are no help!”

* * *

“Nick, I really don’t wanna go to this,” you said as the boy parked outside of Mia’s house. Through the windows, you could see flashing lights, the silhouettes of people you were sure were your classmates, and a haze of smoke.

Nick turned to you. “It’ll be fun, Y/N! You can either get drunk out of your mind or…do what we talked about.”

“Nick--”

He raised his hands in surrender. “All I’m saying is that if Brittany from math happens to flirt with you, don’t turn her down, okay? She’s hot, and I know she’s into you.”

You groaned. “Fine. Whatever.”

You climbed out of the car, slammed the door shut, and ignored Nick’s smug grin as the two of you walked to the front door. Just before you were about to push it open, he spun on his heel, and said, “Also, Vada’s gonna be here.”

“Nick!” You hadn’t talked to the girl since she flaked on your plans the other day, and you weren’t exactly keen on seeing her, the idea of her sleeping with Mia floating through your head.

“What?”

“I hate you, you know,” you grumbled.

He grinned. “Sure you do, tiger.”

The entire party was a whirlwind. One moment you were entering the house, the next you were downing your fourth or fifth shot of the night, and the next you were standing in Mia’s kitchen as Brittany from math batted her eyelashes at you and offered you a sly smile.

“I feel like I never see you at these, Y/N,” she said.

You nodded lazily, the alcohol fogging up your mind. “Yeah.”

“Well…” She ran her hand up your arm until it rested on your shoulder. “I’m glad you decided to come tonight.” She flashed you a grin as her eyes ran down your body. “You look really good.”

Nick’s idea was pounding at the front of your mind, and you knew what he’d say if he were there: Just kiss her! However, you hadn’t seen the boy since you first arrived; he had mysteriously disappeared.

“Thanks,” you said, smiling. “You look good, too.”

“You think so?” She was leaning closer to you, her hand tightening on your shoulder.

“Yeah. Yeah, you look…great.”

Her eyes flitted down to your lips. You gulped and dragged your tongue across your bottom one. She seemed to take the nervous action as one of invitation, and suddenly she was a breath away. You could feel her short puffs of air on your lips, but all you could think about was the fact that she wasn’t your brunette best friend, and that she was taller than you instead of shorter, and that her eyes were blue instead of brown. You hated it.

You were pulled out of your thoughts by the sound of a cup hitting the ground and a drink splashing across the floor. When you glanced over Brittany’s shoulder, you spotted Vada standing feet away, her eyes wide and pooling with tears, her mouth agape like she was ready to sob.

She caught your glance and turned away quickly. You watched as one of her arms drew up, hand likely swiping across her face, and your stomach dropped. You glanced back at Brittany, who looked like she was more than ready to pounce on you.

“I’m sorry,” you rushed out before slipping away from her quickly, leaving her no room to argue. You pushed through the crowd, trying to keep your eyes on the head of brown hair that you could see scurrying away. “Vada!” you called desperately. “Vada!”

She didn’t slow down. Instead, she seemed to pick up the pace, and you cursed, finding it more difficult to get past people. You didn’t bother to apologize for any drinks you spilled, or for bumping into couples making out, or for ignoring other people trying to talk to you. You just needed to get to Vada.

Finally, you caught her outside, where she bent over, her hands on her knees, and, at first, you thought she was throwing up. You were quickly proven wrong, however, as you heard her gasping for air, trying to keep her sobs at bay.

You approached her slowly. “V,” you said quietly, placing a hand on her back. She whirled around and took a step back, staring up at you with an expression that could only be described as pure hurt. “Vada…”

“Don’t,” she warned. “It’s fine. I’m fine.”

“You’re not fine, V,” you said, taking a step forward. “Listen, what you saw back there--”

“Is fine,” she interrupted. “We’re just best friends with benefits, and…and you don’t like me, and that’s fine.”

You furrowed your eyebrows, confused. “What…? Why would that matter?”

She scoffed and glanced at her feet. “Yeah, why would that matter?” she repeated sarcastically.

“Vada, I’m being serious.” You took another cautious step forward and ducked down a bit so that you could look her in the eyes. “I understand if you’re upset, okay? I mean, I get it…but, you know, we should probably talk about it?”

“There’s nothing to talk about.”

You huffed. “Fine. If you want to close yourself off like this, then fine. I know how you operate, V, and I know I’m not gonna get anything out of you like this. I just…I want you to be okay.”

She looked at you. “Is that why you were kissing Brittany? Because you want me to be okay?”

“I don’t even know what that’s supposed to mean!” You threw your arms out to the side, let them fall and slap against your legs. “I’m just trying to--to forget about the whole…friends with benefits shit right now and just be your friend, Vada.” You slumped your shoulders. “Can you just talk to me?”

“I like you, okay?!” she shouted suddenly, clenching her eyes shut. “I like you, and you obviously don’t like me back, and that’s fine. I’ll deal.” She ran a hand down her face. “You should probably go back inside to Brittany.”

Silence blanketed you, filling the air as you took in her words.

“You like me?”

Vada bit her bottom lip and sighed in defeat. “Yeah. I do.” She looked at you. “I’m sorry.”

“I thought you were--Are you not sleeping with Mia, too?”

Her face scrunched. “Why would I be sleeping with Mia?”

You shrugged. “I don’t know. You guys have just been spending a lot of time together, and Mia’s, you know, conventionally attractive, and Nick brought it up, and I just…I don’t know. The idea stuck with me, I guess.”

“Well, I’m not sleeping with Mia. I don’t…” She shivered. “I can’t even think of Mia that way.”

“Oh.” You furrowed your eyebrows. “So, you like me?”

“Do I have to say it again?”

You chuckled suddenly, and Vada watched you. “Dude, we’re fucking idiots.”

“W--what?”

“I like you, too, Vada.” You shrugged, looking around sheepishly. “I just didn’t say anything because I thought that you were, you know, not into me like that.”

“But…Brittany?”

“Nick wanted me to try hooking up with someone else to distract myself from you.” You scoffed. “Obviously it didn't work. But, I mean, we didn’t--I didn’t kiss her. I couldn’t stop thinking about you.”

Her eyes widened as the realization hit her, and she laughed. “Oh my god, we are literally so stupid!”

“I know,” you said. You took a step forward, cupped her cheek with your hand. “So, does this mean I can kiss you, then? You know, in a more romantic way than friends with benefits?”

Vada nodded. “Yes please.”

Before you even had the chance to pull her in, she was pressing her lips to yours, melding them together like she never wanted to be separated from you again. And, honestly, you didn’t think that sounded half bad.

bonus: “you know,” mia said as she watched you and vada in the backyard. “we’re pretty good at this whole meddling thing.”

“yeah,” nick agreed. he took a sip from his drink. “we really are.”

#vada cavell x reader #vada cavell #vada x reader #jenna ortega x reader #jenna ortega #jenna x reader #the fallout

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kissitbttr · 2 years

Note

how about mean!cheerleader having her first fight with eddie? i need a little something angsty soooo bad:(

ask and you shall receive baby! this is quite short. hope you don’t mind that<3

eddie and mean!cheerleader have their first fight

the anger that burns inside of her still hasn’t died down and she doesn’t want to do anything she’d regret later, but it’s so difficult when eddie is being a downright prick to her. it’s like he has no idea how to control his choice of words. yet, she’s trying so hard to keep her cool because she doesn’t want him to get hurt.

“oh so now you’re not talking to me? you were having fun chewing my goddamn ear off just earlier!” he sarcastically says, looking at her who refuses to do the same.

“yeah, cause you were being a dick” she mutters, furiously flip through her magazine, trying to shake his rude tone off her mind. “you didn’t get what i mean. so why don’t we just call it.”

he laughs humorlessly, running his hands through his hair frustratedly. “what did i not fucking get, y/n? you were overreacting, there was nothing going on between me and rebecca! her nose was this close to bleeding, thanks to you!”

she slams the magazine down, raising up to her feet so she can now look at him dead in the eye,

“that bitch had her hands all over you, twirling your hair and shit, ignoring me as if i wasn’t there. as if i wasn’t even your girlfriend!” she angrily responds, only to hear him scoff

it’s s good thing that there aren’t a lot of people at the bleachers, or else she would be giving them a show for the third time,

“you didn’t even do anything about it! just laughed and enjoyed the attention she gave you. i tried telling you but you brushed me off! and fuck, do you know how hard it was for me to not knock that bitch out?”

“oh? well why didn’t you, huh princess? it’s what you’re good at right?”

the way he says it… god he makes it sound like she’s a terrible person.

he implies that violence is the only thing she knows how to do in terms of solving things. it hurts her. because she knows damn well that’s not true. she doesn’t like hurting people. that’s not who she is entirely

“no, smartass! not at all! because i have actually been trying to fix that. it’s hard but I’m trying! i just- when it comes to the people that i love, i have to do whatever it takes to not lose them. and i love you, so i got scared okay! I’ve told you million times about this already.”

he’s quick to shake his head, scoffing at her. finding it hard to believe that his girlfriend is trying to find a way to justify her actions. “no-just—you do not get to play that card with me. you almost broke her nose, y/n. if it wasn’t for me, she’d be at the nurse’s office by now.”

“oh, what, you’re her knight in shining armor, now?” she tilts her head curiously, arms crossed. “her fucking prince, is that it? maybe i should’ve broken her nose. or her arm. how about that?”

“god you’re unbelievable” he breathes out a tired sigh, putting his hands on his hips. “i had know fucking idea you’d be like this.”

“be like what?” she pushes, challenging him as she steps closer. his eyes are filled with rage, she can tell. and she dares him to say it. “you can’t even say it, can you?”

“no because it’s not worth it anymore.”

“uhm yes it is! she’s the reason why we have this fight in the first place! because you picked her side over mine!”

“i didn’t pick her side, stop putting words on my mouth!”

“you did!” she argues, “if you didn’t, i wouldn’t call out on your shit! she likes you eddie, why can’t you see that? she wants you, she wants my boyfriend! how the fuck are you so damn clueless?!”

“jesus h christ, y/n! you need to drop this insecure shit you have going on! it’s not cute! just because I’m dating you doesn’t mean that other girls can’t talk to me!” he yells, eyes wide in anger because he can no longer hear anymore of her complains, it’s tiring. “no wonder your exes are fed up”

her body soon freezes momentarily. as he draws a few steps away from her, she feels the beat of her heart begins to slow down, as if there’s no air left for her to breathe.

so many things he had said was just plain wrong and she has no idea where to start.

oh, eddie… why did you have to say that?

“w-what?” she feels small as she chokes out, eyes turning glossy, “insecure?”

when eddie looks back at his girl, he immediately realizes what words were spewed from his mouth. to see her trembling and looking like a kicked puppy just makes him want to punch himself in the stomach.

what has he done?

“wait.. n-no baby i didn’t mean that, i was just-“

“you’re the only person who never calls me that” she then breaks into a full sob before walking away from him. she can’t be in the same room with him now. anywhere but here. she needs to clear her mind,

“y/n, no, princess please I’m-i’m sorry.” he begs, running after her. “i didn’t-“

“don’t!” she immediately stops him. “i don’t want to talk nor see you right now. don’t even bother, eddie.” with that she continues to walk off, wiping her tears away with her palms,

his heart chips away piece by piece when her cold tone appears, especially after hearing her call him by the first name. he’s always been eds, puddin or neddy. it was never a first name. and that’s when he knows he’s fucked. he has hurt her. it pains him to watch her cry like that in front of him. it just kills him. especially since he promised that he’s not going to do it, because he doesn’t want to be like all of her former boyfriends. he promised to treat her better.

but he just feels like he has become one of them. hurting her. his girl.

“f-fuck” he has his hands in the back of his head, hanging low with his eyes shut. “munson you stupid. fucking. freak. what the fuck have you done.”

pt.2

#eddie munson x reader #eddie munson angst #eddie munson blurbs #eddie munson x mean!cheerleader #eddie things

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sister-lucifer · 1 year

Note

Hiya, hope you're having a pog day <3

I wanted to make a request if possible (also if you're comfortable with it, if not, feel free to ignore this ask!! no worries)

nsfw headcanons for Hoodie and Masky with a trans masc s/o (with top surgery scars)

Masky + Hoodie w/ a trans masc partner who has top surgery scars

Masky + Hoodie x Reader (separately)

Genre: Fluff + NSFW, headcanons

Content/warnings: There’s a lot of talk of reader’s body but it’s all positive, Tim is insecure about his scars, chest + tummy kisses, tooth rotting fluff AND some soft romantic NSFW 😌

Like my writing? I take requests! NSFW or SFW for any fandoms in my bio (request rules + masterlist in pinned post)!

Also, please reblog! it’s free, takes two seconds, and really helps me out

Feedback is encouraged and appreciated:)

Not fully proofread! Let me know if you see any errors!

A/N: Sorry if you wanted like…hardcore nasty NSFW, this is really sweet 😔

Tim Wright/Masky

Although I don’t personally headcanon Tim as trans (though i definitely enjoy trans tim content 👌😋), he certainly has his fair share of scars

They’re mostly on his arms and hands

Some are from fights, others are from miscellaneous accidents, some have been there as long as he can remember and he’s not even sure where they came from

But theres one thing he knows for sure:

He HATES when people point them out

He can’t really explain it, he just hates having attention drawn to them

You may not feel the same way, but even if you say you don’t mind he’ll be careful not to point them out

That’s not to say you won’t catch him staring when he thinks you’re not looking, though

The scars just look so…natural, on you

Like they’ve always been there

He forgets that they’re scars, really

He’s not sure why he feels so different about scars on you than he does on him

The longer he’s with you the less he notices your scars anymore

And the less he notices his own too

Over time he becomes less insecure about them as he watches you not only live with but accept and maybe even embrace your scars

And there’s something he loves about being able to run his hand down your bare chest, the marks on his hand matching with your scars

Especially when he finds you in bed with him, climbing on top of him and straddling his lap

He cant stop himself from reaching out and pulling your shirt off, his large hands splaying out over your torso as he admires you, feeling your heartbeat thump behind your ribs

If your position allows him to see your chest, don’t be surprised if he can’t pull his eyes away

He’s not very talkative during sex, but he’s always sure to remind you how handsome you are

He knows sex can sometimes trigger dysphoria, and he doesn’t want you to forget that you’re his sweet boy, forever and always

You can thank him for the praise by taking one of his scarred hands and pressing a soft kiss to it, a silent reassurance that his feelings about you are not unrequited

Brian Thomas/Hoodie

Brian, on the other hand, is very vocal about how attractive he finds your scars

Although he’s got a few of his own, they’re generally not very noticeable

And even if someone did point them out, he’d simply laugh them off

So he feels comfortable telling you how much he loves your scars

They’re a reminder of how strong you are, he says

It’s not easy embracing your true trans self in this world, and you should wear your scars with pride

He’s got an artistic streak, so don’t be surprised if he asks to draw on them

He may even suggest getting a cool tattoo to emphasize them!

Like barbed wire or a flower chain or something

But if you don’t want that, he’s perfectly content simply being allowed to run his fingers over your scars

He’ll often absentmindedly begin tracing them whenever you’re laying together, sometimes not even realizing he’s doing it

He loves to kiss your chest too

He’s a romantic type, what can I say 🤷

He just loves to give your scars all the gentle attention they deserve, he can’t help it

Don’t be surprised if his hands find your scars as if they have a mind of their own, always wandering to your chest whenever you’re standing at the counter or sitting on the couch with him

And don’t be surprised if those wandering hands lead to more than just gentle touches

If you allow him his way during sex, he’ll always insist on having you on your back

He’ll pay extra attention to your chest, and i don’t just mean your scars (although they certainly aren’t ignored)

He’s much more vocal than Tim, a constant stream of praises and reassurances spilling from his mouth and he drones on and on about how handsome you are and how lucky he is to have such a beautiful boy like you to take care of

You’re an absolute beauty to him, and he’s going to make sure he tells you every chance he gets

Brian Thomas: The Dysphoria Miracle Cure

469 notes · View notes

borathae · 2 years

Text

↳ Index [Day 26 - Lipstick & Photography]

Pairing: Jungkook x f.Reader

Kinks: Switching, red lipstick, kissing, body worship, nippleplay, erotic photography, praise, tears, finger sucking, sexy possessiveness, marking, tattoos & piercings, black leather jackets, rough & passionate sex on the sofa, she rides him, overstimulation (m.receiving), creampie, squirting, the aftercare :(, the sexual tension in this is making me weak, also Jungkook is wet from being in the rain because that deserves a warning

Wordcount: 6.6k

a/n: i want him, need him, crave him. i also wanna state that this story controlled me, i will not apologize for the utter feralness however. enjoy besties ❤

“Kiss me.”

You are on your way home after a date at the cinema. The sky is crying cold rain and the small bus stop barely shields your bodies. The sun has set a long time ago, the wet streets reflect the millions of city lights. Red, greens, whites, oranges and blues. The most beautiful paintings are engraved on the streets, destined to disappear once the world dries up again.

“Kiss me”, Jungkook whispers, eyes glued to your lips and hands on your waist. He is standing by your side, resting his forehead against your temple.

You ignore him not because you want to, but because you feel way too shy to initiate his request. You are never that touchy in public.

“Please kiss me”, he begs, drawing closer until his lips brush against your cheek. They feel warm on your cold skin, forcing a shiver to run down your spine.

“The bus’s coming in two minutes”, you tell him.

“So kiss me in that time”, he says, pulling you closer by twisting a bundle of your coat.

You are so affected by him. If you weren’t still in public, you would have already given in. You have no idea why exactly he was as clingy as he was right now, but you won’t question him. You are so obsessed when he is like this.

“Let’s wait a little”, you say.

“How long?” Jungkook breathes, gazing at your lips. You are wearing red lipstick tonight and it’s been driving him insane. You look so beautiful with red lips.

“Until we’re home.”

“But that’s in twenty minutes.”

“You can do it.”

“No, I can’t.”

You turn your head.

He chases you instantly, eyes half-lidded and lips parted.

You move closer.

Jungkook moans softly, eyes falling closed.

“The bus’s here”, you whisper, breaking away.

Jungkook feels weak, barely getting on the bus.

There were no seats empty so you end up standing by the doors. Jungkook holds the pole above his head while you find your support by holding his waist. The people around you feel miniscule now that you are so close to each other, eyes locked with each other and lips almost touching. The bus begins moving, Jungkook barely sways, keeping you safe. The bus is quiet as people are either too tired to talk, listening to music or alone. Jungkook’s eyes race between yours, the colour of his skin changes with the city lights outside. Red, green, orange, pink, blue. He looks good in every single shade.

The bus stops, the people ebb and flow beside you. Jungkook and you need to draw closer as more people ended up on the bus than left.

Like this your noses are almost touching. Jungkook’s eyes lower, his fingers tighten around the pole. He could kiss you. You are so fucking close that you couldn’t even escape if he tried to. He could get a taste of you, feel your soft lips tremble as you lose yourself in his kiss. He would just have to tilt his head.

The bus stops again. People come and go. The density stops, but you don’t draw back. Jungkook twists his hands on the poles back and forth, arms tensing as he holds both of you when the bus drives off again. Your eyes are racing between his’, your fingers squeeze his waist.

Jungkook leans in not to kiss you but to whisper against your ear.

“I wanna do the worst things to you”, he rasps, making sure to brush his lips against the shell of your ear.

You shiver, twisting the fabric of his coat.

“If we were alone, I’d already be kissing you until you’re dizzy”, he continues.

The bus stops again. People pass you as they leave and come. You lift your head, making your noses brush against each other.

Jungkook is carrying a nonchalant expression to other people, but to you it is soaked in a desire. Eyes darkened and lips glistening in temptation. You want him and he wants you, it is so obvious to you and him.

The bus drives off. You hold onto Jungkook tightly, using the moment to press yourself closer. Jungkook purrs softly, lips curling into a cocky smirk.

“It’s okay, hold onto me”, he whispers, tensing his arms to the point where the black leather of his jacket is stretching around his big arms.

Two more stops and then you can finally leave. Two more stops. It sounds like too much. And it is. You want him. Want him like lungs want air and plants want water.

The bus stops. A group of teens enters the bus, placing themselves around you and making you and him draw even closer together. Jungkook lets go of the pole with his left hand, wrapping his arm around your waist instead to press you against him. His fingers are gripping your side strongly, massaging you now that bodies shield you from the rest of the bus.

You are thankful for his strong grip because without it, you probably would have already fainted. He is way too sexy right now. What did you do to get him into such a state?

“The other people”, you whisper.

“What about them?” he retorts.

“Your hand.”

He squeezes your waist, sending heat straight to your pussy with it.

“I’m just making sure that you don’t fall”, he answers you nonchalantly.

“Fuck”, you press out, looking to the side because you can’t bear his eye contact anymore.

“Don’t”, he rasps, stubbing you with his nose.

“What?” you turn, almost touching lips.

He gazes at them then locks eyes with you. His pupils are dilated.

“Don’t look away.”

Holy fuck, you want him.

Jungkook squeezes your waist.

You gulp, looking at his lips.

The bus stops.

“It’s our stop”, you croak out and press yourself past him to leave the bus.

Jungkook leaves a little after you, stumbling because he had to fight his way outside.

You are walking just a few steps down the sidewalk, arms wrapped around your body and head lowered because of the rain.

“Baby”, Jungkook calls out and jogs after you.

You stop and turn.

His hair is already soaked, the rain is running down his face.

Jungkook arrives by your side, holding his hand over your head to shield you from the rain.

“Why did you run?” he asks.

“I didn’t. You’re messing with me.”

“I’m messing with you?”

Your eyes flit to his lips.

Jungkook’s eyes flit to your lips.

He steps closer, hopeful and naïve.

“Yeah”, you say, leaving him hanging by turning around and walking off.

“Fuck baby”, Jungkook laughs, chasing you. He wraps his fingers around your wrist, but doesn’t tug, “why are you playing so hard to get?”

“It’s raining.”

“Yeah, it’s not like you’re not already wet.”

You stop in shock, whipping around and almost making Jungkook collide with you. He draws closer, sneaking his hand to your lower back. Your hips touch.

There is a streetlamp above your heads. It soaks his skin in deep oranges and makes the water in his hair appear like a fiery sundown.

“Admit it”, he says, “your clothes aren’t the only thing soaked.”

He isn’t wrong.

“You’re fucking ridiculous”, you throw back.

Jungkook smirks, tilting his head to get to you better.

“Kiss me”, he breathes.

“Keep dreaming.”

“Kiss me please.”

“The rain’s getting worse.”

“I fucking want you.”

“We need to get home.”

“You drive me insane.”

You moan as he tugs you close.

Jungkook growls and claims your lips.

“Fuck.”

His lips are hot, the rain is cold. His body is burning up, your clothes feel ice cold. His hands knead your hips, while yours twist his soaked hair.

You should get out of this rain. You’ll catch a cold if you don’t. The weather’s too bad.

You pull him closer. Jungkook cups the nape of your neck.

People can see you. There is a group of people watching you out of a convenience store window. You should get out of this rain.

Your tongues tangle with each other. Your senses are blurry except for how it feels to kiss.

You should get out of this rain.

You step closer, pulling him down to you. He stumbles, arms wrapping around your middle to press you into him. You stumble, back arching. He chases you, holds you against him, kisses you passionately.

You should really get out of this fucking rain. The traffic has stopped next to you. Red light. People are staring. The windows of their cars are tinted, but their looks burn right through you.

“We should get outta this rain”, you tell him.

“You’re breaking my heart”, he rasps, gripping you desperately.

“You’ll survive.”

“Barely.”

“Go. It’s not that far.”

Your apartment is just down the block and up a small incline. The pathway is dark, but Jungkook is here to protect you. You realised that bad people don’t dare to come close to you when you are out with him at night. Dark hair, leather jacket and tattoos on his sculpted arms. He is keeping the bad away from you, giving it to you so fucking bad later in return.

He swears that much as he watches you unlock your apartment, eyes focused on the smudged lipstick on your lips. It got all messy when he kissed you, now covering parts of your chin and cheeks as well.

“Fuck, hurry up”, he stresses you, drawing closer by connecting his lips with your neck. They leave smudged lipstick stains all over your skin, but more than stains, they leave you with an unbearable ache between your legs. Jungkook sucks on your favourite spot, breaking away with a moan to whisper against your ear, “need you so bad, baby.”

“Fucking hell, Kook”, you get out and finally manage to open the door.

You stumble inside, Jungkook follows. He grabs your shoulders and twirls you, pressing you against the door.

“Thank fucking finally”, he says, leaning in to kiss you like he has never kissed you before.

“Kook”, you moan, falling into the sensation with all you have to offer. Thank fucking finally indeed. Holding back was almost impossible. You wrap your leg around his waist, Jungkook rocks his hips into you as if he was already making the roughest love to you. The lipstick smudges more and more. The floor is covered in rainwater continuously dripping from your bodies.

You should get a mop. Get out those shoes. Take off your wet clothes. You’ll catch a cold.

You pull him closer, taking his lip piercing between your teeth to tug on it roughly.

“Fuck baby”, Jungkook growls, knees buckling from the sensation.

You let go of it with a throaty giggle, claiming his lips in a sloppy kiss. Jungkook thrusts into you harshly, shaking the door and forcing a trembling moan out of you. He thrusts again, clothed boner rubbing right against your clothed clit. He is angry fucking you. You know that he is. He doesn’t even need to be inside you to let you know how deeply affected the attention to his piercing left him.

You break away, keeping him close with your hand tightly around a bundle of his black hair.

“Take your fucking clothes off and fuck me properly”, you rasp.

Jungkook growls, grinding his cock into your pussy.

“You drive me insane, fucking insane”, he rasps.

“Do it now. I hate waiting.”

“Fuck.”

Jungkook steps back and rips the jacket off his body, exposing the drenched turtleneck to your eyes. His nipples are rockhard under the material, his waist looks so small while his tits look so huge. His lower face is covered in your lipstick stains, his wet hair is hanging into his face in messy strands.

“You’re so fucking hot”, you tell him and rip your own coat off your body, dropping it on the ruined floor.

Jungkook stares at your tits then your lips. The red lipstick is almost gone. He wonders how ruined his face looks.

Next shoes. Heavy boots and big sneakers. They get discarded on the rug.

You step closer and push at his chest.

“Walk.”

“Where to?”

“Living room.”

The pants leave your bodies in the kitchen. Your shirts follow in the hallway to the living room. You stumble into the room lost in a kiss, hot bodies pressed against each other and lips busy with a desperate kiss. You lead the way, then Jungkook does, then you again. The TV almost gets knocked down, Jungkook catches it before it can happen, pulling you close to him as you squeal in surprise.

“Fuck, that was close”, he says, giving you a cute look, “sorry.”

“It’s fine, nothing happened”, you assure him.

“True”, he agrees and pulls you back into a kiss.

He wants to pull you on top of his lap as he falls on the couch. You stop him by pulling him back up by his briefs, breaking the kiss. Jungkook moans from the pressure on his balls, gripping your shoulders strongly.

“Take your boxers off. I’m not getting my couch wet”, you tell him.

“I’ll get it wet either way”, he throws back, knowing very well that you are aware what he means by that.

“You’re such a fucking-“, you stop, tugging his briefs down roughly.

“Shit, baby”, he gasps, hard cock springing free.

“Out. Now.”

“You’re so fucking hot.”

You wait for him until he stepped out of briefs, connecting your hand with his chest to push him onto the couch.

Jungkook falls with a moan, head slacking against the backrest and thighs spreading cockily. His hard cock slaps against his abs, filling your ears with the sound of it.

You take his cheeks between your fingers, placing your knee right between his thighs. Jungkook moans, eyes glued to your lips and hands gripping your hips.

“Do you finally wanna tell me why you’re acting the way you are?” you ask him.

“Your lipstick”, he says, drawing closer, “I wanna fucking eat you.”

“My lipstick?”

“I’ve got a thing for red lips, they drive me insane”, he says and licks his lips, “just look at my fucking cock. That’s how good you get me.”

You release his face, looking down at his cock.

“So hard.”

“So fucking hard.”

“Mhm”, you ruffle his wet hair, “stay here.”

“Where are you going?”

“Stay and don’t touch.”

You leave the living room without giving him a real answer.

“Fuck”, Jungkook presses out, gripping his own thighs as he lets his head fall back. He’s so fucking needy for you. Stripped and soaking wet. Lips throbbing from kissing and cock aching for a touch. He needs you to come back soon or else he’ll actually start fucking the pillows just to get some sort of relief.

You release him of his agony when you return to him five minutes later, dressed in a new set of panties but no bra and with fresh lipstick on your lips. You kept the smudged part.

"Holy fuck", Jungkook chokes out, hands gripping his inner thighs, "you look so fucking sexy."

"I know", you say, walking to him with swaying hips.

You claim the space atop his lap, making Jungkook straighten up just so he can be closer to you.

"You drive me insane", he rasps, hands on your ass and eyes racing over your lips.

"Mhhm", you hum, leaning down.

Jungkook thinks you'll kiss him but you end up tugging at his lip ring again, eliciting the throatiest moan from him. You release it, watching in delight as his lips pops back into shape. He licks them, eyes filled with yearning.

"Who are you, Kookie?" you ask him.

"Fucking yours", he rasps.

"Exactly, mine", you say, grabbing a bundle of his hair to tilt his head back.

Jungkook allows it with his eyes falling closed, revealing his thick neck to your eyes.

"My pretty boy", you rasp, connecting your red lips with his throat to mark it. His moan tickles your lips, motivating you to mark another part of his neck. From his throat all the way up to his ear. The kiss marks lose in opacity as the path continues.

Jungkook is panting, heart racing under your lips. His breath hitches when you take his ear piercing between your teeth to tug on it gently.

"My sexy", you whisper, sending shivers down his spine.

You sit back, keeping your unoccupied hand on his chest as you reapply the lipstick. Jungkook watches you, feeling short of breath.

"You're so hot", he whispers, gasping when you finish with a smack of your lips.

You give him a flirty smirk, lowering your lips to his chest. Jungkook inhales deeply, exhaling in a tremble.

"You've got the best tits", you say, "so strong and muscular."

You leave your lipstick marks everywhere but his nipples, riling him up to the point where he arches into your kiss. His skin prickles like crazy, his cock’s the hardest it has ever been.

You lift yourself again, showing him your smudged lips. There is barely any lipstick left, now covering his chest instead.

You lift your lipstick, giving him a playful smile.

Jungkook eyes it, then your face, gulping heavily.

You don’t place it against your lips, instead you connect it with his chest to frame his left nipple in a heart.

"Oh god baby, I’m so fucking hard. Why are you so sexy?" he groans, nipple feeling hypersensitive even without getting it touched.

"I don’t know", you say in a smirk.

You place the lipstick against his other pec, repeating the heart. Your artwork needs to be symmetrical, it looks prettier like that.

"I'm going insane, seriously insane", he pants, cock throbbing against his stomach.

You finish off the heart with a flick, closing the lipstick again. You place your hands right under his framed nipples, massaging his muscles slowly.

"You're so handsome", you praise, "your nipples are so pretty like this."

Jungkook tries to sit up to kiss you, but you push him back down again.

"Stay still, let me take a picture first", you say, pulling out your phone.

"Where did you even store that?" he asks, tensing his pecs for you.

"Up my ass", you joke, cracking him up.

You chuckle, snapping the prettiest pictures of his marked chest and framed nipples.

"Fuck, you’re so funny", he says, allowing you to roll his head to the side so you can snap a pic of his neck as well. He even tilts his head back, showing off his marks proudly.

"You are seriously so pretty Kookie. How come you’re so pretty?" you coo, lowering your phone.

Jungkook turns his head to you, giving you a droopy smile.

"You think so?" he asks

"Yeah, you are", you say, "now hold this."

You hand him the lipstick. Jungkook holds it with shaking fingers.

"Cover my lips", you say, puckering them just for him to use the lipstick on.

Jungkook however covers his own lips, never once breaking eye contact. You watch his gesture hungrily.

"What are you doing?" you ask, eyes following his fingers as they close the lipstick.

Jungkook cups your cheek and pulls you in for a passionate kiss. You chase him instantly, pussy dripping all over his thigh and fingers dimpling his tits. So that’s how he'll cover your lips.

Fuck.

Jungkook breaks the kiss when you are both breathless, lips pulsating and eyes barely wanting to open.

"Done", he rasps.

“You’re so fucking sexy, holy fuck”, you growl, pulling him into another kiss. The kind which knocks the air out of his lungs and which turns his legs into puddy even while sitting down. He is trying to tug you closer to his cock as you kiss, whimpering and moaning desperately while his tattooed hands grope your ass needily.

There is nothing better in the world than making out with you naked and wet from rain.

You break the kiss in need for air, releasing his lower lip from nibbling on it roughly. Jungkook is gasping for air, eyes barely staying open.

“Fuck”, he presses out, chasing you by rubbing his nose up and down your own.

“Yeah”, you agree, giving his cheeks a soft squeeze, “shit Kookie, I wanna eat you whole.”

You shimmy yourself down from his lap, connecting your lips with his upper tummy. You hold his waist for it, massaging it gently.

"Wanna eat you. Wanna nom on you", you chant between your kisses.

Jungkook sucks in air through his teeth, looking down at you with a racing heart. He knows exactly what that position means. You’ve been between his legs a hundred times before, licking and sucking his cock as if it was your only purpose.

“You’re the best, baby. The goddamn best”, he says.

“No. You are”, you throw back, outlining the ridges of his abs with hungry lips. He tastes so good, his skin feels so soft, “you’re so handsome. I love your stomach, love it so much.”

“Feels so good”, Jungkook sighs, closing his eyes and letting his head fall against the backrest. He parts his legs, skin tingling when you touch them with your left hand while your right continues holding his waist. He is so excited to get his cock sucked. So goddamn ready.

But it doesn’t come instantly. You kiss every inch of his stomach first, reapplying lipstick at least twice to make sure he knows you love him so much. Jungkook’s stomach is incredibly sensitive, so getting so much attention to it, left his cock dripping when it was finally time for you to take it in.

Jungkook moans, feeling your lips radiate warmth as they linger over his tip. He doesn’t dare to look down, loving the surprise of when you finally take him in.

“So pretty”, the words swirl against his cock, “you’re so handsome. I can’t get enough of you”, you add and move away.

Jungkook looks down, eyes burning in desperate tears.

You are buried in his left inner thigh, kissing and biting it lovingly.

“Fuck please”, he whispers under his breath, dropping his head back against the sofa cushion. He is so desperate. All he needs is for his cock to be touched. It hurts so much.

But it doesn’t come. Of course it doesn’t. First you cover every single inch of his muscular thighs with your lipstick marks and love bites. Jungkook swears he can’t decide if getting his stomach kissed was more torturous than getting his thighs kissed. Every inch of him feels so sensitive by now. Everything feels so good. Oh god, Jungkook feels like crying. It feels so good while his cock aches so much.

Your lips finally leave his thighs and yet his cock stays untouched.

“Please”, Jungkook begs, looking down at you with heavy eyes.

You look up from your phone, eyes looking oh so innocent and lips all smudged sexily.

“What?” you ask him, “I’m just taking some pictures. Your thighs are so sexy.”

“You’re such a tease”, he whines, head falling against the cushions in defeat.

“Why?”

He hears the camera click, cock throbbing in reaction. He loves being so exposed and naked for you and knowing that you are capturing his marked state for all eternity turns him on so much.

“Do you not like being my muse, mhm?” you ask him, moving the camera so you can capture his marked stomach.

Jungkook watches you with half-lidded eyes, tensing his abs for you. He wants to look his best on those pics. He wants you to get wet instantly whenever you look at them (you will).

“I love being your muse”, he says.

“Yeah? You’re the best muse. You’re so handsome, I don’t wanna stop taking pics of you”, you say and giggle so innocently that it almost sounds taunting to him.

“Fuck baby please hurry up”, he whines, giving you the biggest pout in the history of pouts.

You merely chuckle, “you’re cute.”

You drop back onto your knees, placing the phone aside for now to run your hands up and down your marked thighs. You make sure that every now and then your fingertips brush against his balls, resulting in Jungkook moaning each and every time.

“You’re my love”, you say, eyes burning in deep adoration, “my most handsome love.”

“Stop”, he whispers, lowering his eyes shyly.

“Why?” you laugh.

“Because…” he touches the side of his neck, “…just so.”

“You’re so cute”, you say, leaning in to kiss the most sensitive spot on his thigh.

He exhales shakily, heart fluttering not only from love but also from excitement. You are so close to his cock again.

“Please”, he tries with his voice barely audible.

“Mhhm, baby”, you mumble, biting him softly, “so yummy. You’ve got the juiciest thighs.”

“Babyyy”, he whines, squirming desperately, “please.”

“Please what?”

“Touch me…”

“But I am touching you.”

“More”, he whimpers, bucking his hips up.

“Cute”, you gush, gazing at his leaking cock, “your cock’s so wet.”

“Wanna be touched please” he begs, parting his legs.

“You’re seriously so cute. What the hell?” you gush, “why are you so cute, Kookie? Mhm?” you say, shaking his thighs as you gaze up at him.

Jungkook hides his face behind his hands, “please just…fucking touch me”, he whines, burning up in giddiness.

“Cute.”

You finally grip his cock, making him moan and fuck your fist like a madman. Rough thrusts, sloppy and desperate. You let him move for five hard strokes and then you slam his hips back into the sofa, knocking a desperate grunt out of him

“Stay still”, you order him, squeezing his cock painfully.

Jungkook whimpers, “fuck you’re so cruel”, he croaks, looking at you with pleading eyes. They widen just seconds later as he can watch you lower your lipstick to his cock, “what are you- ah baby? What? Hah.”

He tenses his thighs, gripping the edge of the couch. You are scribbling on his cock. It tickles so much. It’s heaven. He can’t see what you are creating, but the sensation is fucking amazing.

“There we go”, you say, admiring your work with a playful smirk, “you look like such a pretty boy now.”

“What did you do? I wanna see”, he begs, tensing his thighs desperately.

You replace the lipstick with your phone.

“Hold still”, you order, focusing right on his cock. You hold it between your fingers, showing your art piece to the camera.

“You’re so fucking hot”, Jungkook whines, wetting his cockhead with spurts of precum. It turns him on so much to be your pretty little model. He really hopes that his cock looks good on pictures (it does).

“Yes, that’s it. You’re so wet. It comes out great, baby. Such a wet, pretty cock”, you praise, snapping another picture with his precum running all through your artwork.

You lower your phone, gazing at the picture with big heart eyes.

“So pretty”, you whisper.

“Show me please”, he begs, squirming needily.

You flip the phone.

“No”, Jungkook croaks, eyes filling with desperate tears, “baby, you’re fucking killing me.”

You wrote MINE on his cock. It sticks to his skin in deep red letters, marking him as your pretty property.

“Do you like it? I think it fits you”, you taunt.

“Fuck me please. Please I’m fucking begging you, fuck me”, he pleads, voice trembling in desperation.

“But Kookie the lipstick’s gonna smudge”, you taunt, giving him a faux pout.

“I don’t care, please please fuck me. Please.”

“You’re such a delight”, you say, dropping your phone in order to take off your panties. You make yourself comfortable on top of his lap, running your hands along his sculpted arms and shoulders.

Jungkook touches your hips instantly, holding them strongly. His eyes are gazing up at you, his chest is heaving up and down quickly.

“I’m so hard”, he croaks.

“I know”, you whisper, wiping his tears, “don’t cry baby. I’ve got you.”

“I want you so much.”

“Me too.”

“You drive me insane.”

“I know.”

“Baby please.”

“Hush, I’ve got you remember?”

“Yeah…”

You position yourself over his cock, riling him up when this makes your juices drip right onto his burning tip. He whimpers, biting down on his lower lip in concentration. He shouldn’t beg anymore. it comes off as desperate. You wouldn’t mind, you love him desperate, but Jungkook is too competitive for that.

You sink down, embracing him in your soaked pussy.

“Ah”, he lets out, closing his eyes.

“No”, you slip off of him again, forcing Jungkook to whimper, “open your eyes.”

He obeys, showing you his pleading eyes.

“Close them again and you can fuck your own fist tonight, understood?”

He nods his head.

“Say it.”

“Yes, understood.”

“Good”, you say, rewarding him by sinking down on him again.

Jungkook wants to make a sound but ends up blowing out air instead, eyelids fluttering and brows furrowing. It’s so difficult not to close his eyes. You’ve teased his cock for so long that the pussy you give him right now feels a hundred times more intense.

“Your cock’s the fucking best”, you say, bottoming out.

Jungkook whimpers, kicking the ground as he squirms underneath you. He tugs you closer easily, showing you just a quick glimpse of his true strength. He’s holding back for you, you know that he is. It turns you on so much. Your strong man, all puddy in your hands. You rock your hips slowly, caressing his shoulders while you get lost in his eyes.

“Isn’t that so much nicer when we can look at each other?” you taunt.

“It’s so hard”, he croaks, fluttering his lashes at you.

“I know, I know, but you’re a good boy aren’t you?”

“No”, he whimpers, “I’m a bad boy. Please can I close my eyes?” he begs.

“Uuuh….no”, you say, giving him no mercy as you begin bouncing on him.

Jungkook groans for as long as there is air in his lungs, looking at you with his eyes just slightly crossed. His fingers are dimpling your hips, his thighs are shaking. His lower face is all covered in smudged lipstick, the kiss marks on his neck and torso are starting to melt away from his burning up body.

“You look so fucking sexy baby”, you rasp, chasing the addicting electricity only his cock can send through your pussy, “don’t wanna have to miss out on those pretty eyes going all cross because of me.”

The position allows you to grind your clit against his pubic bone, adding just a whole other layer of pleasure to the ride. You speed up, chasing the friction and the girth of his cock. You must admit, you are just as desperate as Jungkook. Worshipping his body has reduced you to a sensitive mess. You can barely handle his cock, fighting your own urges to close your eyes.

“Please can I close my eyes?” he begs, spilling tears, “it’s so hard.”

“Fine. Good god, close your eyes”, you allow him, rolling your eyes.

“Thank you”, Jungkook closes them by rolling them back, arching his back afterwards, “ah! Holy fuck! Ah”, he moans loudly, hands slipping to your ass to squeeze it roughly. He’s falling and he doesn’t want to stop.

“That’s it. Moan for me, let me hear your slutty little voice”, you encourage him, writing your name to make sure that he remembers who fucks him like that. The lipstick mark may long be rubbed away from your ruthless fucking, but you will make sure that Jungkook remembers who owns that dick.

Jungkook moans louder, ending it with a disbelieved laugh and his body dropping back into the pillows. His thighs part, jiggling roughly each time you slam your ass down on him. His cock throbs, his balls feel like bursting.

“This feels so fucking good”, he laughs, arching his back again, “I feel fucking dizzy.”

“Yeah Kookie, feels like heaven. You’ve got the best dick. I’ve hit the jackpot.��

“Baby”, he croaks, opening his eyes just to spill his tears for you.

“Yeah I did Kookie baby. I’ve hit the motherfucking jackpot”, you taunt.

“Urgh gooood”, he groans, eyes rolling back and closing slowly.

“Tell me that I’m lucky”, you order him, squeezing his shoulders.

“What, what?” he barely brings out, eyes squeezed shut tightly.

You grab his chin, forcing him to look into your eyes. Jungkook gulps. you are so close all of a sudden, lips almost touching and breaths mixing.

“Tell me that I’m fucking lucky”, you whisper, hips stuttering on his cock.

“You’re…you’re lucky”, he stutters, body trembling.

You smirk, caressing his cheek with the back of your hand, “yeah I am. I’m the luckiest girl, Kookie baby.”

Jungkook finally understands what you wanted him to realise, eyes spilling tears of grateful pleasure.

“You’re lucky”, he squeaks out, gripping your hips bruisingly strong.

“Yeah I am. I’m so goddamn lucky”, you moan, smiling down at him with all the calm in the world while Jungkook feels like crumbling into a million pieces.

He sobs, “you’re fucking lucky!” he wails, throwing his head back, “I’m cumming”, he confesses and unable to wait for your permission, his body breaks under your aggressive bounces. He screams, voice bouncing off the walls and sounding like honey to your ears.

It wasn’t planned, but you still love it. Who knew that praise can get him that good.

“That’s it. That’s fucking it. Cum for me”, you encourage him, helping him ride out his high with angry rolls of your hips.

“Oh god, oh god, please slow”, he begs, shaking like crazy while it all feels like too much.

“No, take it. Take the fuck baby. You’re supposed to take it", you order, clenching around his squirting cock.

“Holy fuck! It’s so much”, he gets out and then sobs desperately, “please baby please.”

“Almost there, baby”, you say, pressing yourself close to him. Your clit is throbbing like crazy, your entire body aches from tensing it so much. Your thighs can barely keep up with your movements, begging for a break. But you can’t stop now, you have to overstimulate your handsome man while making yourself cum in the process.

“Hurts”, he croaks, “oh god please”, he begs, writhing underneath you. He fucking loves this just as much as he hates this.

“Look at me”, you order.

Jungkook can barely open his eyes, looking at you through a thick fog of complete ruin. You press your fingers against his lips. Jungkook opens up and lets you feed him two of them.

“Be quiet and take it”, you rasp, lulling your words.

He whimpers.

“Suck.”

He obeys, sucking on your fingers while spilling the hottest tears. His nose is all rosy and snotty, his wet hair is sticking to his face, his eyes are sparkling so much now that he is crying so much.

“There we go. See? It’s not that hard now, is it?”

He shakes his head, cock throbbing inside you. It burns so much, your every movement makes him want to pass out. It’s so good. He doesn’t want to stop even if his body screams at him to stop. He wraps his fingers around your wrist, squeezing it tightly, just so he can force your fingers deeper.

“Fuck baby, you’re gonna make me cum. You’re so sexy like this”, you growl, hips barely keeping up the rhythm.

Jungkook sucks harder, tensing his stomach just for you. He knows you’re getting off on his abs. It’s what’s been slowly driving insane too, next to all the other sexy shit you’re doing.

“Fuck, okay. I’m close”, you confess, eye contact faltering as your lids fight gravity, “Kookie baby.”

Jungkook slips off your fingers. They are covered in his lipstick and spit.

“Cum for me. Love that pussy when she cums”, he says, taking your fingers back inside to suck them off harshly.

“Shit. Baby”, you get out and then you fall into him as you fall into your high. The position is a little awkward as your fingers never truly leave his mouth and he ends up with you tugging down his jaw. Jungkook doesn’t mind, on the contrary, it’s so hot to get his mouth forced open by you as your pussy spasms around his cock. You whimper like crazy, shaking against his chest while your face is buried in his shoulder.

"Harder", you get out and Jungkook knows it's his time to act. He grabs your ass and broadens his stance to begin rutting up into your pussy. Going hard and rough.

“Aaah”, you wail, convulsing as he turns your orgasm from amazing to otherworldly.

Your fingers finally slip out of his mouth as you grab the edge of the backrest instead.

“You’re so sexy. So fucking sexy. Love that pussy. You’ve got the tightest pussy. Fuck, you’re cumming so hard”, he chants whatever comes into his mind, talking you through your high as his hips keep slamming into you.

And even after that, he keeps on fucking you. He fucks you until he fulfilled his promise of getting your couch wet, telling you the dirtiest things while you feel like the weakest, sex dumbest woman ever existing. You may be the queen of pussy game but Jungkook plays that stroke game like no other.

When he finally slows down and your bodies both finally stop spasming, you can hear your heartbeat in your head and feel it in your pussy.

Jungkook drops you back onto his thighs from holding you up, forcing his cock to bury itself into you one last time.

“Fuck”, you croak, tensing around him.

“Yeah”, he agrees, running his hands up and down your back to calm you down.

“What’s genuinely wrong with you?” you ask him, cracking him up.

“I told you that I wanna do the worst things to do you, didn’t I?”

“Yeah, but did you really have to go through with it?” you say, lifting your head to send him a look.

Sweat is running down your face and your tits are all covered from the lipstick transferring between your bodies. Jungkook is mirroring your state, sporting the dirtiest smirk ever.

“Course I did. You’ve been driving me crazy all day. You gotta learn what that gets you”, he says.

“I gotta learn?” you snort, nudging his chest, “keep talking like that and I’ll teach you a lesson in what your cocky tongue gets you.”

“Hopefully your pussy. Wet and creampied”, he throws back.

You gulp, eyes widening.

Jungkook laughs, letting his head fall against the couch.

“Just kidding, I gotta have at least an hour of rest now because phew”, he says, closing his eyes.

You rest against him, cradling his head in your left arm so you can play with his wet hair. You feel so content.

“We should shower”, you say.

“We should.”

“Also some tea would be nice. I swear to god, the rain’s gonna give us colds.”

“Tea it is.”

Jungkook runs his hands back to your ass, kneading it slowly but without any ulterior motive other than that he loves holding it when you calm down together.

“This also isn’t over.”

“Good. I’m counting on it. I’m staying overnight.”

“Obviously. You’re not gonna sleep though.”

“I wasn’t planning to.”

“Good. What do you want for breakfast?”

“Is your pussy an option?”

“That’s the mandatory starter.”

Jungkook laughs.

You chuckle.

“Then I’ll take eggs for the main course.”

“I can do that.”

The rain’s picking up outside. A harsh wind throws it against your windows. You left the curtains open. You can see the tall radio tower of your district in the distance. The red light at the top is distorted because of the rain.

You close your eyes.

You can't ever look at the colour red the same way.

Not after tonight.

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