#it is never too late to repent

[tabernacleheart]

God is looking for you, even if you do not seek it. God loves you, even if you have forgotten Him. God sees beauty in you, even if you think you have squandered all your talents in vain. 

Pope Francis

[goldenlikedayl1ght]

enter sandman - m. murdock

a/n: see me personally? never seeing the pearly gates. never ever. not after this one . enjoy. feedback always appreciated ! <3 warnings: guys... where do i fucking start. SMUT. SMUT!!!! GRAPHIC PORN!!!! no plot!!!! degradation!!! dumbification!!!! praise!!!! oral!!! (m recieving) cursing!!!! nicknames!!!! reader is female and has female parts and she/her pronouns!!!!! matt is cocky, mean!dom!matt, the ending is kind of cute, lots of inappropriate use of matts senses, uhhh guys let me know if i missed any because... wow. word count: 4.2k summary: you have a hard time sleeping. the devil has a few games in mind to tire you out. pairing: matt murdock x fem!reader now playing: enter sandman - metallica "exit light/enter night/take my hand/we're off to never-never land"

You have a horrible habit. Okay, you wouldn’t really consider it to be a habit per say, but you’re not proud of it. You will for it to end.

You can never seem to fall asleep. Staying asleep is easy, but getting there is a problem. Your mind is always racing, which causes you to spiral into a whirlpool of anxieties. You’re too busy thinking about your job, or what you’ll eat tomorrow, or when you’ll be doing your next load of laundry.

But most of all, what keeps you up at night is worrying about the devil. And not in the sense that you’re a holy catholic who wants to repent for her sins, either. Your worry for the devil comes because you’re hopelessly in love with him.

And you worry that one day he will come home damaged beyond repair. Maybe one day he will not come home at all, and you’ll have to hear about it on the news the next morning. It’s a hellish existence, loving the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen, but you make do.

Like tonight—You had baked brownies earlier in the night, and then read your book for the better part of the night. You won’t allow yourself to fall asleep because the possibility of seeing him overwhelms you. But as the hours pass, you begin to lose hope.

And just as you you’re beginning to accept that he won’t be coming to see you and you’re really letting yourself drift, you feel a warm hand on your neck. He’s taken his gloves off tonight. You consider yourself blessed.

“Hi,” You mumble softly, your brain going all fuzzy with even just that bit of contact. You’ve missed him. “Was beginning to think you’d never show.”

But your devil is in no mood for simple pleasantries tonight.

“What have I told you about waiting up for me?”

“Not to?”

“I said,” His hand moves from its gentle place against your neck to grip your chin, “As long as you leave the window open I’ll know to just come in and take what I need.”

Your face flushes, and he grins, because he can tell that he’s making you flustered.

“Stop laughing at me.”

“No one’s laughing at you, sweetheart.” He hums.

“You are.” He shrugs gently. He’s wearing his black suit tonight, and it’s making you feel… a lot of things.

“What’s going on in that pretty little head of yours?” Damn him.

“Nothing!”

He leans forward and kisses you softly, and you lean up to try and kiss him further, but he pulls away, his grip returning to your chin, to keep you just centimeters away. The devil is an expert at reading you, despite his lack of sight. He has developed the habit of studying you, and knows that as of late, you’re not allowing yourself the pleasure of sleeping. He knows it’s because you’re so anxious and worried about every little thing, so tonight.. He intends to fix it. Or at least, maybe come up with a temporary solution.

“Liar.” He whispers and moves away further. “I’m not going to touch you until you tell me.”

Your devil is many things, but he does not bluff. He has this will of steel.

“I prefer it when you wear the black suit,” You tell him, “It’s not very protective, I know. But you look good in it.”

He makes a noise of realization, before moving his hand to slip under the hem of your shirt, resting his hand on your stomach. You shiver a bit, his hand warm against your skin. That’s what you get for wearing a tee shirt and shorts to bed every night, he’d tell you.

“That’s my smart girl.” Your heart flutters. “Mm, you really like that huh?”

“You’re awful.” You always pretend to hate how he reads you, but secretly, although you suspect he knows it, you love that someone knows you so well. He grins and his hands move again, this time picking you up into his arms and carrying you to the bedroom. “Hey! Not cool, we talked about picking up when we have no warning—” You cut yourself off with a grunt when he tosses you onto the bed.

“Shut up.”

He hears no objections.

Just as quickly as you’re thrown on the bed, he is above you, mask still on, kissing your neck.

“Wanna play a game, sweetheart?” He asks, hands on your hips, his fingers creeping up the hem of your shirt. You shiver again, and he just grins “You can answer.”

“Sure. I like games.” Your voice is meek, too busy enjoying all the contact with him. He hums softly.

“I know you do, and you’re just so good at them.” You grin against his skin as he kisses your cheek. “See that? That’s what I want to know.” You’re a bit lost.

“Know what?”

“I want to know what turns you on more— praising you or degrading you.”

What a fun game to play with a human lie detector.

“Okay.”

“Okay?”

“Okay, let’s play.” You confirm. He kisses you quickly.

“Good girl.” You hum softly, but it isn’t quite what he’s looking for. It’s good, don’t get him wrong, but he’s after more. “Tell me about your day, baby.” He continues to plant kisses along your skin. You know this isn’t a request but rather a requirement of the game.

“Well, I had work today, then I had to stop at the grocery store. I made dinner and—” You’re cut off by a kiss to a sensitive spot on your neck, because you can’t help but let out a gasp of pleasure.

“What? A few kisses and you’re already turning dumb for me?” You shudder softly, your heartbeat steadily increasing. The deep cadence of his voice paired with his words make you want to just melt. “Oh, there she is..”

He lets go of your arms for just a moment to slip your shirt off.  Then, your hands are back above your head, held down by his grip. He moves on from your neck and begins to kiss down.

“I like this game.” You manage out, and he chuckles.

“I know you do. You know how?”

You think about it for a moment before you answer. You want to be right.

“You can hear my heartbeat?”

“And I can smell you. You like this a lot. More than you like me?” He continues to kiss down your torso.

You don’t answer for a second. He bites your skin gently, prompting you to answer.

“No.” You answer, “No, I don’t like anything.. anyone more than you.”

He kisses the spot where he bit softly.

“Even smart girls need to be reminded sometimes.” Is all he says before he continues to kiss you. You try to hide it, try to hide your reaction to the words, but he grins against your skin.

“Matt..” you groan out softly because his kisses have stopped.

“What?”

“Why’d you stop?” You whined.

“You’re my smart girl, why don’t you tell me?” You pause, biting your lip. “Is it because you can’t? Do you like being dumb for me, smart girl?” You want to defend yourself, but he bites your skin again.

“Yes!” you respond, and he does the same thing he did before—He kisses where he bit.

“Good girl.” He responds. “I like making you dumb just from a few kisses anyways.” He tells you, finally reaching your stomach with his kisses. “I love my dumb little smart girl.” The cadence he has to his voice makes you whine again. He knows every part of you, even the parts you never wanted to tell him about. He’s just too observant. “I love that despite how well behaved and good you are, you’re dumb enough to be talked down to like this, by some strange man who just crawled through your window.”

You answer before you can think about it. You’re smart enough to know that he’s at least half right.

“You’re not just anyone, you’re my Matt.”

“Your Matt?” He hums. “Your Matt, My ditzy smart girl.” He grins, before placing one last kiss right above the waistline of your shorts.

He moves so he can kiss your lips again, kissing you quick before pulling off his mask so you can see his face. He has a cut on his forehead and a bruise forming on his cheek. It’s clear he had a good night though, or else this wouldn’t be happening.

“Your face..” You frown, concern in your voice.

“Observant and smart?” He teases, kissing your forehead. “What happened to wanting to be dumb for me?”

You’re almost embarrassed of it now.

“You’re being mean.” You say quietly.

“Mean? Me? To my best girl?” He kisses you quickly again. “Never.” He hums. One of his hands goes down to your thigh, his fingertips inching up.

“Never.” You echo.

“What do you say, smart girl?” He asks, “Wanna play a few more games? See just how desperate I can make you?”

You huff at his words, your brain short circuiting to the point where you speak before you can really think.

“I just want you to fuck me!”

He stops just as he’s about to pull off your shorts and slithers back up so the pair of you are face to face.

“First of all,” he places a kiss to your lips gently, “You are not in a position to be making demands, pretty girl. Second,” He kisses you again, “Such a foul mouth for such a dumb baby,” You let off a soft whine, and he has the audacity to mock your whine, “I know, it’s not much of a lecture when you like when I talk to you like this,” He hums. “And third, I know you’re smarter than to be a brat.” He says gently, kissing you again.

“I’m not a brat.” You whine, and again, he mocks you before devolving into a deep chuckle, leaning in to kiss you.

“I love you.” He says, with a grin on his face.

He’s gentle with you for a few moments, softer. You decide that now is your chance, and if you don’t act now, you’ll spend the rest of your night under his thumb. So, you flip over and have him under you, as you sit on his lower stomach. His hands come up to the back of your thighs.

“I’ve got you now, Devil.” You grin, leaning in to kiss him. But before you can, he’s flipping you back over, keeping you pinned by your legs.

“Brat.” he accuses, leaning in to kiss you again. You huff. “Easy, pretty girl, your attitude is getting the best of you.”

You frown and turn your head when he goes to kiss you.

“Tell me I’m not a brat and I’ll kiss you.” You demand, and he grins, but this time it isn’t soft. It’s almost wicked. He grabs your chin roughly and tilts your head towards him, before kissing you roughly.

“What did I tell you?” he asks. “Come on, smart girl, I know you remember.”

“That I was in no position to make demands?”

“That’s right.” He coos, “Now, baby, do you want to hear what I had planned for you tonight?”

You must admit, you’re very curious.

“Sure, Matty.” His grin widens.

“Well, I was planning on playing this little game with you, then eating you out until your thighs are shaking,” You let out a whine, but he just shushes you softly, “Sh, sh, sh… You wanted to hear, so listen.” He hums. “Then, I was going to fuck you until you were full of my cum.” He tells you.

Then, he lets out a disappointed sigh.

“What? What’s wrong?”

“That was what I was planning on, but because you decided to be a brat, I have a new plan.”

“I liked that plan so much though..”

“I know, Sweetheart, me too.. But you’re the one who ruined it.” He reminded, leaning in, and biting your jaw between his fingers. His hand positioning is not exactly choking, but the grip is tight enough to leave marks. He feels you grind your hips up a bit, and chuckles again. “Smart girl, already figuring out what’s next.”

You tilt your head in confusion, but before you know it, he’s repositioning you so you’re in his lap at the edge of the bed. He pats your thigh gently.

“Get up for me, Honey. Then you got to take your shorts off for me.” You do as you’re told, no longer interested in fucking up his plans. Then, he pulls you back onto his lap, and he hums gently. You decide to take a risk and bring your hands up to his jaw, and then up towards his mask.

“Please?” You ask gently. “Wanna see you..” He nods softly, letting you pull off his mask, as his head tilts to the side to kiss your palm.

“You remember who’s in charge, right, sweetheart?”

“You, devil.”

“That’s right, angel.” He praises, “And that’s why you’re going to ride my thigh.” You let out a soft whine, and he shakes his head, “No, no whining from you, sweet girl. You wanted to be a brat, so you gotta reap what you sew.”

He holds your hips as you begin to grind against his thigh, and Matt focuses on the way your breathing hitches as you rub against his thigh. Your hands grip his shoulders as he begins to kiss your neck again.

Your skin burns with need, and your hips roll faster as your breath speeds up, and slowly, minute by minute, you’re edging closer to your release. But he knows you’re close to coming undone not only because of how your skin is hot, and your breath is airy, but because you’re making such a mess.

You’re definitely staining his pant leg with your wetness, because after his insatiable teasing, you’re just desperate for him, and oh so sensitive. The speed of your grinding increases, and then, because he wants to see you break, he starts to bounce his leg up so that in addition to your grinding, it’s overwhelming you.

“Matt,” you say, breathlessly. “Matt, please..”

“Please what, smart girl? What do you want?” He’s really going to make you ask for it. This is all part of his game.

“Please..” You start, resting your head on his shoulder. “Please, can I come?”

“What was that, baby? I didn’t hear you.”

Oh, now he’s being a fucking dick. You know he can hear you, with his damned super senses. Nonetheless, you pick your head up and manage to get it out.

“Please let me come,” You beg, and he laughs.

“You know what’s funny, baby?” You let out a whine. “You’re so smart, always holding the world on your shoulders, and yet.. A little bit of teasing and riding my thigh, and you can barely get a sentence out.. You’re being so good for me, baby. So good at following orders,” He bites your neck. “So, go ahead and come for me, sweet girl.”

As soon as those words leave his lips, you’re letting go, the tight knot in your stomach finally snapping. You moan into his ear, his hands on your side to keep you stable as you come undone. He keeps bouncing his leg to have you ride out your high as your legs begin to shake. You’re making all of these pretty noises for him, and the smell of your juices are overwhelming for him.

“Such a good girl for me,” he hums, kissing you softly. He’s back to being rather gentle with you. But his cock is incredibly hard against his pants, and he needs to feel you clench around him. “Can my pretty baby ride my cock?” You’re shaking but you nod gently.

He knows you’re verging on the edge of being unable to do much else, but he wants to see how far he can push you. So, he pats your leg again and you stand up. His hands come up to undo your bra and pull off your panties.

He holds them in his hands for a moment, breathing in deeply as your scent continues to overwhelm him. He wastes no more time, pulling off his shirt and then starting to unbuckle his black pants. On instinct, you’re on your knees, with this.. primal desire to suck him off.

He takes a deep breath, his hand going to your hair and pushing your hair from your face. You lean into his touch, smiling softly up at him. He knows how much you like just thoughtless sex—You value long, intimate nights too, but after a long week, you need to shut off your brain and he needs to take control.

“Wanna suck my cock first, baby? You’re so good for me..” He says softly, slipping down his boxers.

“Just wanna be good for you,” You hum, eying his glistening hardness. You can’t deny that he looks truly crafted by the hands of God—Most of his body is glistening with sweat, cock glistening with precum. He is heavenly and the only thing you’ll ever want to worship.

“You’re so good for me. My dumb little smart girl.” The name form earlier makes you weak, as you lean in and begin to lick his tip. His hand grips your hair as he inhales sharply. “Careful, sweetheart.” He tells you, beginning to guide you in sucking him dry.

His hand guides you as your head bobs against his cock, the taste of him turning your brain further into mush. He makes sure to guide you at a steady pace, moaning out praise, and occasionally degradation.

“So fucking good for me,” He gasps out, “My good little girl.. Sucking my cock so good—Ah, fuck..” He gasps as you quicken your pace. “Sucking me like the little slut you are..” You moan against cock at that, and he gasps, before it devolves into a low chuckle. “And you like it, too.. Being called my little slut.. Good little slut, just for me.. Got you trained so well..” He holds on for a few more moments before he comes into your mouth, panting softly.

His cum dribbles down your chin as you swallow most of it, so his hand comes up to your chin to gently wipe the dribble off before he slips his thumb into your mouth.

“Every last drop for me, angel.” He requests. You happily suck on his thumb for a few moments while he recovers. Then, he leans down and picks you up, resting you on the bed again. “Now you’re gonna ride me, right, pretty?”

“Mhm..” You smile, and as soon as he lays back on the bed, you’re on top of him. His cock slides against your folds and you whine a bit, just desperate for the feeling of him filling you up. “You know how badly I want your cock..” He grins at this.

“You have it, angel. Just gotta ride me, okay?” You hum in response. You slowly lower yourself down onto his cock, taking a few minutes to adjust to the size of him. But your slow pace is not quick enough for Matt, whose hands find your hips (for the millionth time tonight) and quickly slides his entire length into you.

You moan loudly, a feeling of pain and pleasure blurring together as he hits just the right spot to make you see stars.

“Matt, fuck,” You whine, wanting to take a second to catch your breath.

“Color?” It’s a safe word system—He knows he might have taken it a tad too far, pushing into you like that.

“Green,” You promise.

“Okay, good.” He leans up and kisses your forehead gently, a sign of the gentleness that resides in his demeanor despite just how into his dominate behavior you are. He begins to roll his hips, and revels in the sound of the pretty screams coming out of your mouth as he begins to pound into you. “I’ve got you fucked dumb, baby? Can’t even ride my cock properly?” He asks, pulling you in to kiss your skin.

“No,” You protest, “I can do it,” It comes out whinier than you wanted it to—Much whinier, but you can’t deny that he’s wrong about that first part. Your brain is blurry in the best way. He hums in approval before gently pushing you away from his lips.

“Prove it, then.” He demands, and his hips are no longer bucking into you. Instead, you shakily begin to bounce against his cock, using his moans and gasps as guidance. His hands grip your thighs as you ride him. “There you go, angel. It’s not too much for you, right?” He hums.

“No!” You protest again, “No, Sir, I can take it,” He grins at the slip of the title. He swats the side of your thigh, rubbing it softly after you yelp, but it quickens your pace. His brain is beginning to fog too, so he knows he wants to get a few more comments out.

“Fucking liar,” he laughs, “Even when your.. fuck..” He gasps, the feeling of you clenching around him overwhelming him. “When you’re bouncing on my cock and moaning for me, you’re still lying..” His one hand travels to play with your clit, rubbing small circles into it. “So,” He takes a deep breath, leaning forward to rest his forehead on your shoulder, before picking his head back up. “I’ll ask you again.. Is it too much for you, my ditzy girl?”

Tears prick your eyes, as you will your brain to come up with a comprehensive answer.

“Yes!” You admit, “it’s too much,” You pant, but because you don’t say ‘red’ he keeps going.

“Aw, I know, honey,” He plants a soft kiss to your lips, the hand that isn’t rubbing circles into your clit coming up to brush sweaty hair from your face. “But you can take it. Come on, sweet thing, I know..” He hums. “Come for me, baby..”

And you do—You come hard, your vision going white for a fraction of a second as you let out these angelic noises. He doesn’t give a damn about noise complaints right now, all he can focus on is the smell of your sweat, your cum, and your pretty little noises.

You continue to rock your hips, wanting to feel his cum fill you up. And after a few more minutes, your wish comes true, as he grips your hip tightly with one hand as he comes deep inside you, as you roll your hips just a few more times, riding the last waves of a euphoric high.

His chest is heaving as you slump down against his chest. The pair of you are sweating, but he still looks so beautiful like this. His cock still fills you, his cum deep within you. His hand gently runs up and down your back,

“How’s my sweet girl doing..?” He’s afraid he went too far with you, hoping his words didn’t push you into a bad headspace. It’s happened before, where you just needed time to come back to reality. But tonight, you’re exhausted in a whole new way. You’re happy that you’ll actually be able to sleep.

“I’m good,” You promise. You’re sweaty, out of breath and completely fucked out of your mind.

He takes your jaw in his hand and tilts your head up so you’re looking in his general direction.

“You know I don’t really think you’re dumb, right?” He just needs to make sure.

“I know,” You giggle, “But it’s pretty hot in the moment. Besides, you took care of me.”

He grins and kisses your forehead.

“I’ll always take care of you.” He promises. You know he means it, too. Your Matty, always taking care of you. “You know you don’t need to worry about everything, right? You don’t have to hold the weight of the world on your shoulders.”

“I know,” You start, “But you’re always so busy with the firm, and being Daredevil, and—” He hushes you softly.

“I am never too busy for you.” He says gently. “I know I can’t do your job for you, but I can be more careful and help with dinner, you know.” He just wants you to be less stressed all the time, the hypocrite.

“Okay.” You say gently. “Thank you, Matt.” He holds you close and places a soft kiss to your head.

“You’re still shaking,” He says gently, “But you need to shower.” He says softly, moving now so that he can carry you to your bathroom. You whine at the feeling of emptiness you’re left with when he slides out of you, and he just laughs. “I know, Baby, I know.”

Matt is just a general fan of taking care of you. Even when you’re fucked out of your mind like you are right now. You love that about him.

You love that the devil is so devoted to you. It stirs something deep inside you that you can’t quite voice. Matt knows it, too.

[rjunswrld]

whatchu doin on the weekend?

mark

masturbation (riding solo), fantasies of reader, nipple play, boob kink, perv mark, switch mark implied but for now sub, broken innocent mark lee

mark would find himself by his bedside on his knees praying for forgiveness almost every night since he met you. those sinful touches lingering on his body touching him all over making him extremely sensitive he couldn't help the chill running down his spine letting you use him for your enjoyment as your hand worked his cock- focus mark, you're literally praying to god right now.

but how could he? how could he subside the memories of you on your knees in the bathroom of the holy church you both attended? not only that but with families outside, both of your families and anyone could walk in. cock deep in your throat as you pushed more and more of him in, the way you moaned around him with your tight throat closing in on him as your glossy eyes shimmered at his. although mark never admitted it to you, he was a boob guy, a huge boob guy any chance he got to ogle at your breast he'd do it and waste no time staring as if his life depended on it.

sitting so pretty in your sundress showing the perfect outline against them and that daring cleavage, he never wanted to shove his face between something so badly; you can only imagine how worked up he got once he was able to look at you from above, imagining all the nasty things he could do to them it never failed to make him cum quick.. he could physically moan at the way you controlled him in the most sacred place of them all.

"god, i feel so dirty." he groaned to himself keeping his eyes shut tightly trying to focus on seeking forgiveness in his repentance, though it wasn't working in his favor his mind couldn't help but travel back to you like a magnet. "forgive me.." he looked up to his ceiling before pushing himself off of his knees to collapse on his bed with a sigh.

he couldn't believe you could creep inside of his mind during his conversation with god, it was unbelievable and quite literally unbearable- unbearable because he couldn't stand the way you made him feel, he loved it, and no matter how exhausted he was he'd always find himself up late hours of the night fisting his cock with only your name falling past his lips. imagining the way you would innocently look at him as you sucked onto his balls, licking up his saliva- coated cock with a devious smile on your face.. you put him on the spot.

how you would kiss his neck making him produce sounds he didn't even know could press out of himself, your lips burning into his skin making him remember exactly where you pampered him, exactly how they felt when you placed them he couldn't help it, he couldn't help that you did this to him and he kept crawling back for more. he closed his eyes imagining you here with him in his room, running your hand lightly over his skin to tease; enough to have him arch his back into it.

unbuttoning his shirt to touch him even more without the thin material keeping you away from what you both wanted, lightly rubbing over his nipples earning a grunt from him— he was sensitive in areas that he didn't even know about until you stepped up and found it out for him, he was a bit embarrassed that he didn't know his own body all too well as you did, maybe this is what made the boy sin even more, cry out for you like you were his new found god.

he slipped his fingers into his mouth as he used the other to play with his nipples just as you would in the stalls of the boy's bathroom, licking them and circling them with your eyes focused on every reaction, every sound, and movement he gave you.

whining as he pinched them to his liking, letting his body move with a mind of it's own as he sucked on his two fingers with his brows furrowed and eyes shut reminiscing on the way you'd kiss down his chest, tummy, and pass his navel to his lower region only to give him more of your sinful kisses; so slow and enjoyable as he'd watch your head go lower and lower like you were enjoying this as much as him- and on a serious note you were! he was your addiction at this point. you broke the innocent obedient little mark who would've found you insane for doing this, praying hard that you'd cut it out and simply find god... but now, he was lost without you.

the stimulation he gave his nipples soon came to a halt as he dragged his hand down his body slowly, feeling his skin under his finger pads as he rolled his hips into the material of his clothing that covered his bottom, "please” subconsciously moaned to himself as his dick twitched in his sweats at the sound of your name coming out of him in such a whiny tone.

he opened his eyes to look down at his hand reaching to grope his clothed cock that wanted to be let free and played with, he sighed feeling himself cup and play with it he tried to drown out the pleas his right mind was screaming at him— wishing he'd do more to relieve the ache but he couldn't. if you were here with the horny boy you'd see how good he was for you, doing what you'd do to him and restraining from cumming so quickly to just enjoy the feeling that overwhelmingly grew over time.

"god-s-sorry."

he corrected as he fell into his touch, staring at how his hand was pleasing him in such a teasing manner; you corrupted him into being a tease, one day if you'd let him he'd get you back for it and show you how well you taught him.

"touch yourself for me mark.."

he let out a muffled groan at the loss of contact once he reached to pull his sweats down along with his boxers feeling his cock slap against his skin, he was so hard and worked up he wanted to swear at you for marking his mind with you.. pitching a camp in his mind filling it with all the dirty things you've done to him and left to imagine more, dick feeling how hard he was against the palm of his hand, using his thumb to swipe his slit making him arch his back beautifully.

he fed into the imagination of you dressed in nothing, exposing your golden brown skin to the boy who watched you approach him with heart eyes at your sultriness. that same devious smirk on your face as you wrapped your hand over his, moving his hand in an up and down motion letting out soft moan staring deep into your eyes.

he sobbed out as he began to pick up the pace of his fist, watching as you reached down to kiss his skin like always- god his imagination was playing tricks on him because he swore he could feel your soft plump lips coming in contact with him. "feels so good.." he whimpered as he threw his head back letting his fingers fall out of his mouth spreading his saliva to the corner of his lips but he didn't care.

"so good for me mark.."

feeling himself twitch with his balls tensing he felt like he was going crazy— no, he was certain he lost his damn mind.

the sound of your voice sounding so real he couldn't even think of stopping his hand from stroking his cock at such a pace, his stomach flexing slightly as he arched his back dramatically at the now sinful thought of your breast now corrupting any of his commonsensical thinking. "i want you s-so bad ___.." tears slipped from his eyes as he could only imagine himself selfishly fucking your breasts to reach his high that was pounding and pumping through his veins.

"fuck!" he whimpered as his thighs shook feeling himself reaching closer and closer to his orgasm, nothing on his mind but you and all parts of your body he desperately needed. the lewd and explicit ways he'd have your body was rushing through his mind- but that was it, it was all because of you.. he gets off at the thought of you in any way he possibly could, and the way mark lees mind works, well that's only for him to know and for you to find out.

"gonna cum f-for you.."

he cried out with his fist clenching down tighter with the image of you now riding his cock so beautifully, how your breast bounced along with you as you moaned his name out in such an alluring way "mark, mark, mark.." you chanted as you groped your breasts with him gasping for air as his face scrunched to show an expression that only were all too capable of seeing. "cum for me mark, cum for me."

"ah fuck, ___”

and as always your name is the last word he'd say once his cock spits out all the cum he could possibly milk out of himself... you really are the fucking devil.

⭐︎

[jjungxkook]

blackout | jjk

⇥ pairing: roommate!jungkook x reader

⇥ genre: best friends to lovers, roommate and college au, fluff, crack, smut

⇥ rating: 18+

⇥ warnings: swearing, he’s just a bit of a fuckboy, bickering, swooning over/thirsting for jk (🤷‍♀️), a manually induced fake blackout? dunno those 2 are odd k, they play uno, a lot of spending time in the darkness, kook has no chill, teasing, consent, dirty talk, fingering, cmnf for a while, sexual tension, oral (both receiving), shower sex, choking, hair pulling, reader cries a bit, jk likes to praise, dry humping?, pussy and tits slapping rip (and some ass ig), making out🙄, manhandling, jk loves her tits and ass and plays with them (a lot), he’s sweet but cocky too, protected sex, dom + big dick kook

⇥ wc: 14.3k

⇥ author’s notes: this is a repost from my old blog!! i may repent for my sins. also i do not know why this is so long, i thought it would be 10k rip please i apologize. anyways, i really hope you like it!! i’m very stoked to find out what you think😶‍🌫️

⇥ summary: Utility bills shooting up like this should be an international crime. Luckily, Jungkook has the perfect idea(s) to save up money and make your night sinfully unforgettable.

–

pt1 || pt2 || pt3

–

The hardness of the bench is tiring out your ass.

It’s incredible to you what tribulations you’re ready to burn through just to keep your best friend happy and satisfied. The blazing noon sun is steaming your scalp, even though in the middle of fall, it really shouldn’t.

Fingers wrapped around the edge of your seat, you lean forward and squint your eyes. You make out the energized individual running across the field immediately. Nevermind that he promised you football but you got soccer instead.

You wouldn’t dare to complain, though. In the summer heat, lopsided beams and big, dark puppy eyes refresh you like the late night Tequila Sunrises you love so much.

“Are you playing or taking a walk?” You yell from where you watch. Childish howling and woahhhhs echo across the field, fists pressed against round mouths and eyebrows skyrocketing.

They strive off anyone’s praises, really, but your unfaltering coaching pushes them forward a good, humongous step. In fact, you only recognize about a handful of the players, though there aren’t that many anyway.

No one running around down there cares much about authentic formations. The game usually played with eleven screaming, pumped members on each side only consists of four per team today.

It’s entertaining: The constant curses that always evolve into dramatic compliments, the loud and ambitious handshakes when they score, and the testosterone dissolving in the air, but only after the scent has wafted straight into your nostrils.

And the verbal invitations Jungkook hands out to you every week with pouting lips might play a role, too, yeah. He doesn’t like to make you wait like he does right now, but he doesn’t necessarily enjoy distance from you much, either.

A buff man in his mid-twenties, attractive beyond Greek gods’ appearance, highly determined and ready to indulge in new hobbies – relies on you, even after years of independence.

Seeing you watch and cheer him on boosts his already steadfast ego, and he’s never failed to let you know that, “It feels different from when other girls scream my name.”

You wish you could take it as a compliment, but the consistent ambiguity in his (bitter)sweet words fatigues your heart. The beat of it is not so consistent.

The crush has been omnipresent since you learned the first steps of stupid algebra, but lately, something in your lower belly has shifted weirdly, too.

Today, the shift shows in the way you clench the edge of your seat.

You hear the boys announce the end of their groundbreaking, world changing match, though you can’t recall who won, and observe the languid steps Jungkook takes toward the bench.

Energy slowly dwindling, he puffs out a deep breath, unaware that something inside you dies when he throws back the damp hair. His white, sleeveless shirt is sticking to his broad, firm chest – the refined pecs, abs and bare arms might not have triggered your embarrassing drooling if the last weeks hadn’t changed your perception of him.

There are, for instance, the filth-riddled noises when he’s fucking one of his occasional flings to the moon. Or how those exact same groans of his repeat when he heaves something that perhaps does not even require this low ass growl.

The sounds when he’s repairing something at your place or stretching after waking up. How you wish you could add to those sounds by delivering your very own, unique version of the female moans you usually hear from his room.

You could blame it on sex deprivation, or you could blame the outrageous line of his jaw, but you think the walls of your pussy have deformed and become dick-shaped. Welcoming a certain something that's definitely better than your beloved toys, according to the sounds at least.

This yearning feels kind of weird.

Jungkook has stopped not too far from you. He lifts his inked, veiny hand to wave and then reaches for his bottle to hydrate. And hydrating he does – in a way so alluring that you think he’s doing it on purpose.

Flashing the jawline of nightmares, he cuts you from afar. Sharp, more hazardous than in his teenage years. A phenomenal bone structure, accentuated by the shine of the tiny sweat drops. Shimmering golden skin.

When he drinks, you see his Adam’s apple bop even from here. His bicep is hard, bangs falling into his eyes, and his pink lips wrap around the bottle so prettily…

Thirst.

You and he both know how it feels.

Your mouth shuts close before he can notice. Instead you cup your hands around your mouth and call out to him.

“You do know we have an appointment today, right?”

“Your dick appointments can wait,” he yells back. When you roll your eyes to the back of your head, mumbling gross, the dork chuckles. “I’ll be done in a sec.”

He wraps stuff up, running back to his friends, and claps his hands before giving everyone a last handshake-bro-five-mix. The fondness you feel watching his social side bloom is blissful torture.

Jungkook grew up as a timid caterpillar, shying away from crowds and public gatherings. Opening up took a while, so you can’t remember when he went through the process of metamorphosis to come out prettier than a Cramer’s Blue Morpho butterfly.

He's still somewhat introverted, but doesn't back away from parties anymore. Red cups fill with intoxication. Bodies sashay past him, some toward him to fall into his grip.

You don’t want to be envious – so you’re proud instead. You enjoy when he’s liked by someone, love how the others grin at him. A likable and soft person like him taking over hearts left and right either platonically or not is kind of attractive to you.

“I’ll wash up,” his voice declares when he’s standing next to you. “And then we go.”

“Aren’t you gonna take a proper shower?”

“Yeah, later tonight. College showers are gross.”

Your conversations are a constant repetition. The way you act around each other, your gazes and your actions were bound to become a routine – if not during your time growing up together, then certainly when you began searching for a place to share.

So his response doesn’t surprise you. Neither does the further waiting on the bleachers, pulling in your knees, draping your arms around them to press your cheek against them. Daydreaming and watching or listening boy after boy leave the field.

Despite the familiarity of everything, you still feel different these days.

–

“After last time, I feel like you’re asking for too much.”

The man, not exactly happy about missing a live match of tennis but not quite grumpy today either, leans against the frame of his door. White, wet tresses peek through his dark mane, an indicator he just showered to enjoy the calm day you interrupted.

Jungkook’s hair was as wet as his when you left the bleachers too, now fully dry as you stand in your old but cozy building.

How could it not be?

Considering the dozen stops between campus and your home, you could possibly dry an entire laundry in that time. Both of you are at fault, though – one of the million things you’re good at doing together is wasting money on stuff you might not necessarily need.

Convenience store, pharmacy and a flower shop to buy yet another succulent for your room. Jungkook pouted and frowned at you for the entirety of the convenience store visit when you told him the landlord thing wasn’t an appointment per se, but that he knew as well as you that you needed to sort things out.

Things being the impossible utility bills that keep you up at night. Things being both your stupidity to still halt in front of shops to acquire things like parsley and cheese.

Remembering just this idiocy and looking at the power your landlord’s eyes hold, you’d rather look at Jungkook than him.

At the shiny hair tips hanging into your friend’s eyes. The oversized gray shirt that could potentially hide the body he sports underneath, but his fingers are holding the strap of his rucksack, and the pull at his shirt is enough to make the lines of his chest visible.

But this afternoon is not about brooding over the edges of his torso. It’s about confronting a landlord who fortunately didn’t meet you in a hazardous mood despite his firm plans for tonight. He doesn’t complain about the weather today or seem elated because he found yet another new hobby, like he usually does.

He looks almost neutral, you think. You can’t read him, actually.

“Yes,” you confirm, exchanging a look with Jungkook. “It does sound like a lot, but you know you can count on us–”

“Dunno. You don’t seem to remember last time.”

The taunting tone riles you up, but the numbers on your bills haunt you enough to keep your calm. This is no time for an argument.

You take a breath and shoot another glance at Jungkook. His eyes are tremendously big and lips pressed together to an innocent, uplifting smile. He seems to sense your irritation, too.

“We do,” you confirm. “But c'mon, that's not fair. We’d just started living on our own back then. You know, no guardians to take care of us and all, so it was bound to happen.”

Not just that. The reason why you asked for postponing rent payment was because the two of you had been too eager and too stubborn to ask anyone for money. Ending up only providing half of the rent for almost three months wasn’t something you did on purpose.

But while you should’ve been more cautious, to some degree, it wasn’t entirely your fault. You had more college debt than you could afford only half a year after moving to this apartment, and Jungkook’s earnings weren’t close to what you needed.

“I really don’t know.” Yeah. The man’s doubts are kind of valid.

“C’mon… You know us, Mister Choi,” Jungkook tries this time.

“That’s why–”

“You can…” You suddenly interrupt, only noticing how things might backfire once you’ve already said them. “You could end our lease if we don’t pay you what we owe you this time.”

You think you can quite literally hear Jungkook’s heart stop next to you. At least that’s what his wide eyed, confused stare suggests when he moves his head to you. He’s voicing something in silent hesitation, but Choi most likely doesn’t notice.

Because before Jungkook can throw in his own–probably very unsure–two cents, hand coming up, the landlord sighs. He shrugs his shoulders, mumbling your last names, contemplates for a second longer and then… Agrees.

“Okay,” he says with a not-my-problem-nod. “That’s an idea I can work with. This month’s and at least half of next month’s by the end of the upcoming month, alright?”

You hate the constant repetition of the frightening word month, but on the inside you still jump and clap in joy. Both your and Jungkook’s expressions light up, your feet shifting as though you’re about to jump Choi and tackle-hug him to the ground.

Instead, you only gasp, clearing your throat and cheer, “This is! More than we expected! Thank you so much. Thank you for real for real, seriously, wearesosuperth–”

A palm stops the fast flow of your gratitude, and he only shakes his head and bids you goodbye with a thumbs up before he disappears behind his door. You think you see a fond smile, but your happiness might just be inducing pictures.

But who cares anyway?

Phase One of Saving Money turned out successful.

–

Once you enter your humble apartment, tension releases out of your mouth with your sigh. You slip your bag off your shoulder and into the corner next to the entrance, shoulders dropping. Every second with the landlord took a year from your lifespan.

Jungkook, always happy-go-lucky, isn’t as demotivated and grumpy as you. His steps carry him to your kitchen without a second thought, immediately scavenging the small space for an easy meal.

“What do we do now?” You whine, leaning against the dining table.

The sun is still up and it will remain hanging in the azure blue sky for a few more hours. But you dread the darkness that will descend after – not because it scares you, but because it means you’ll have to light up rooms for ideal navigation.

But lighting them up means raising the numbers on your electricity bill.

Jungkook, however, doesn’t pay much mind to your shattering financial situation right now. He’s humming at the pots and seasoning he’s scattered around on the counter, calm as ever, because worrying about something he can’t change right now is not something he likes to do.

“First, we eat. Am starving,” he decides.

A slight shake of your head suggests frustration, but the grumble of your stomach agrees with him as though to remind you of feeding it. He side eyes you and smirks. “I’m not doing or talking about shit until you’ve eaten something.”

Of course. Caretaker first, friend second. If you’re not on the receiving end, you’re the one giving.

You push your butt off the dining table and choose to introduce Phase Two of your mission, telling him, “I think we’ve candles somewhere.”

The conversation changes at once when you release your suggestion into the air. Although you might argue you’re still stuck on the same issue, given the intention that lies behind your idea.

“Are we– Ouija board stu– again?” You hear Jungkook call from the kitchen, every other word chopped off and eaten by the sounds of pots and dishes.

“I’m not ever doing that with you again,” you exclaim back.

“Huh? Why not?”

“You were moving the planchette!”

Granted, there was kindness in his cheating. The evening drained you out of energy and left you a nervous mess, eager to speak to your favorite late grandaunty and her deceased dog. Neither Jungkook nor you believed in the magic behind the practice, but he made sure to soothe your nerves anyway.

You were pissed when you noticed what was going on – but once the anger subsided and gave way to the realization that he really cared, you fell asleep with a smile after all.

“I swear on my favorite hoodie that I didn’t,” he defends.

“Lying son of a bitch,” you whisper, laughing to yourself as you kneel in front of a cupboard storing a few dozen candles and other shenanigans.

You choose one scented, thick one for each room, and then a few smaller, regular ones that you think must do. With a handful of them, you return to the still bright living room, placing each one where you want it later tonight.

You’re serious about your candles – the tongue poking out, eyes squinting in concentration kind of serious. Arranged in a rational way, you beam at your artwork, impressed by your own idea as if it’s not something human beings used to do all the time.

“Seriously, you’re so easy to excite,” Jungkook always reiterates.

Once you join him in the kitchen, preparing not only a meal but spontaneously baking a treat too, time passes significantly faster. In hindsight, you didn’t do that much today, but somehow it still feels like you sailed the world.

You barely realize when several topics have shifted and the sun has disappeared. The moon hangs bright in the dark sky, the brisk gust blowing in through the open windows. It was a pleasant day of the week, even though you kept freezing at his touch even while cooking, and you’re ready to finish it just as lovely.

Only, it doesn’t end at dinner and the day’s exhaustion.

“Dessert tastes better in bed,” Jungkook tells you once you’ve done the dishes and cleaned the kitchen. Since tidying up, you’ve suddenly become quieter than before and his eyes squint like they’re testing you.

“Okay? Then go and take it with you.”

“And you?”

“What about me?”

He shrugs his shoulders, blowing a raspberry. “You’ll go and sleep already?”

“No, but…” You hum and think. It’s not that late just yet – and you don’t feel like tackling homework or any other taxing task tonight. “I do wanna eat dessert, too. Just thought we might chill in the living room.”

“I mean. Take it as an informal invitation to spend some time with me, but in my room. You don’t wanna?”

“Pervert,” you lightly hit his shoulder with a cloth when he winks. “Is that how you court other ladies?”

“Why, yes. What did you think?” He laughs when you shake your head dramatically, pulling your shirt back and further over your clavicles. “Nah, I was thinking of… Just chilling, really.”

It’s not the first time you’re joking in a way like this. It’d also not be the first time of you hanging out with him in his room, on his bed, giggling about stupid jokes or ridiculous cartoons. Or whatever.

But it’s one of the first times the thought renders you nervous. Like you’re perceiving him as more than your best friend just now, after all those years of harmless platonic cuddles.

When you don’t answer, he delivers another decisive argument. “My room is smaller. Less candles. More to spare for the next time!”

You’re not surprised that he sees through your little idea – rather baffled how easy it is for him to sway you. So you follow him to his minimalistically organized room, not one but two diffusers on his desk. The corner of your lips twitches.

The more you near his bed, the more your heart strikes. His mattress is soft and cozy, and Jungkook’s scent oozes from every inch of it. You feel engulfed in his presence so bad that the emotions of this noon and the last few weeks hit you like a brick.

“Wanna watch something, Pumpkin?” Jungkook asks once you’re draped in the comfort of his duvet.

He might never stop calling you that. Probably hasn’t let a day pass since elementary school when your mom and you decided to dress you as a damn pumpkin for Halloween.

“And waste precious battery life?” You scold with a cocked eyebrow. Your voice is quieter now that you’re cuddled in with him, but you try to maintain your cool.

Turning on the living room TV or light is out of the question anyway. No regular Thursday movie night this time. Blasting Disney’s version of The Sorcerer’s Apprentice for the hundredth time can wait.

With the no-technology-rule you established today, even unplugged devices shall remain for emergencies as long as possible.

“So we’ll act like it’s a full blown blackout, yeah?” He asks before he leans over you, pulling open the second drawer of his bedside cabinet to rummage through its content.

The small action forces your body backward, pushing you against the headboard so tight that your lungs fail. He looks unsuspecting, drenched in the warm light of the candles. You breathe him in unintentionally, and he smells of soap and cologne.

Wrapped in darkness next to him is already strange as it is, but it cannot compare to the oddness of how new his proximity feels.

You barely notice what he’s fished out until he waves it right in front of your frozen expression. An old deck of Uno greets your vision, the packaging as worn out as the cards that he pulls out.

He places them on his large palm before he begins shuffling them – staring at the smoothness he operates with makes you almost miss what he asks.

“Is that good enough, then?”

“Mhm.”

“Cool,” he holds the cards to your face once more. “Are we playing with seven or ten cards?”

“Take it up a notch,” your feeble voice allows. “Make it fifteen just for funsies.”

“Why did I know you’d say that?”

You shrug your shoulders, imperceptibly shifting away from the touch of his arms and hips. “Remember one thing, Jeon.”

“Yeh, yeh,” he taunts, his voice strained. He sounds as though his body is beseeching him to lay down and drift off – but something about the moment seems to be keeping him soberly awake. “I won’t let you win this time.”

Fifteen cards down on your lap, you lift your hands from under the blanket, pulling your set close to your face in utter distrust. You cock an eyebrow at the universe’s choice: Jungkook has either already broken his promise, or the gaming Gods have decided this round’s end already.

With the victory residing in your hands, his vow pretty much slips your mind immediately; it blends out how he still remembers your middle school matches. He really still recalls when you’d fume and burn – disappointed and livid when he’d reveal his picture-perfect deck, unused to accept defeat.

The game doesn’t even properly progress when the first argument of the night pops up. More than half your cards are still in your hands, both your words overlapping.

“Once you lay down a 4+ or color card, you’re not allowed to play again. It’s my turn,” you insist, his wrist in your firm grip as if he couldn’t break out of it whenever.

“I am allowed to play, though.” When he swings his hand, yours moves with him. Both your stances are upright, eyes blown wide and comically riled up. “Especially after a 4+. You're blocked.”

“This doesn’t sound right.”

“Look.” He slaps his cards with the logo upwards into his lap, sifting through the rest of the deck to draw out a yellow stop card. “Would you be able to play on if I hit you with that?”

“No, ‘course not.”

“And 4+ cards work the same way.”

You keep staring at the bright color, lost in thoughts and traveling back to a time when the world around you hadn’t altered every rule of every game you knew. But when no productive result flashes through your mind, you suggest something else.

“Google it, then.”

“You can’t just read the rules? Hold up,” he pulls out the instructions from the package, already fiddling with the paper. “I bet the answer is hidden somewhere in there.”

“Have fun. I can’t read in this darkness for shit.”

Relying on technology for a minute shouldn’t cause a cataclysmic event, so you type in the million dollar question plaguing both your mind, soon striking it rich when a video materializes on the page.

Too lazy to skim yet another amateur post, you decide to trust WikiHow’s explanation clip, hoping for a fruitful result. Jungkook soon gives up the task he bestowed upon himself, cuddling closer to your misery to watch with you.

“Are we serious?” He breathes, laughing off the peculiarity of the moment.

“Watching a video on Uno rules?” You ask, giggling in unison with him. “I fucking know. We’re seriously weird.”

“How long’s it been since we played games together like that?”

You can’t say for sure.

“When we got this place,” you assume. “Didn’t we spend half the night going through board and card games? Because–”

“Because there was nothing else to do. We were sitting on the ground on some shit ass mattress.”

You laugh. It’s been a while – time truly does pass when you’re stuck with someone. You don’t think you’d ever trade the memories you gathered here for anything good in the world. Piggyback rides and cooking mishaps are a delight to store in the depths of memory.

Or moments when you very clearly, very softly realize that you’re falling for your roommate bit by bit; so much deeper than when you were still kids. For him and his touch. His sensuality, even when it’s unintentional.

Like now.

Jungkook grabs his water bottle from his side of the bed as the voice of the narrator chimes. The background is a bright green and the animation weirdly cute, but you blend it out when he reminds you of the plushness of his lips again. Wrapped around the bottle head…

When you reach the wild card moment, both of your ears perk up before you erupt in simultaneous chaos. Jungkook half chokes as he attempts his one-syllable-argument.

“See!” He exclaims.

“See what? He said, if the player can’t play any of their cards, blah blah... Which, in our case, is me.”

“No, but what player? The one who had the wild card? Or the other?”

“Fuck it,” you curse, clicking away without finishing the last minute. “Another video. WikiHow sucks.”

“Why do I feel like we’re both right and wrong?”

You shake your head in defense and with a furrow between your eyebrows, but the dorky grin on his face pulls out your true, playful emotions in the form of a laugh.

The next clip you settle on goes on for longer, seemingly endless – allowing you enough time to peek at the smooth curves of his silhouette.

His lips are jutted and the moving pictures reflect in his eyes. His button nose begs to be booped. A small dimple appears when the tip of his tongue pushes through the seam of his lips to hydrate them.

You don’t think you’re as subtle as you’d like to be, though. Because soon, he’s looking up, causing a sudden flinch. “What’s up?”

“Nothing.”

He blinks at you slowly, one eyebrow briefly twitching. “Oh. Are you bored?”

“No! Why?”

“Are you okay, then?” Your tongue flits along the inside of your cheek, muscles stiffer than before. He eyes you up and down. “You’re so tense.”

“It’s just… Just weird,” you stutter. Hesitancy breaks the flow of your usually confident speech, and you flick your inner self’s forehead for the obvious awkwardness. “Sitting in the dark.”

What?

What the fuck.

You need to get yourself together and come up with a wittier response. If he just let you – because he prods, “Are you scared?”

“Wha– Do I look scared?”

“You don’t look normal, at least.”

“That’s rude,” you scold, letting the device fall onto the blanket. Numerous wrinkles decorate your forehead, hiding your true thoughts behind frisky surface-annoyance.

His next words do not freaking help.

“Girls usually like me in the dark.”

“That’s…” Heat of an exploding star warms your already blistering cheeks. “That’s pretty lewd of you to say. And unnecessary, too.”

You’re pouting like it’s the first day of sex ed. Innocence expands your pupils harder than the lack of light in this room. Jungkook can’t help it – fondness engulfs his heart. You’ve always been endearing to an immeasurable degree.

“You’re so cute,” he drops casually. He’s amused by the side eye you give him, laughing when you exhale and rub the sweat off your hands on the blanket. “But seriously, what’s up with you today?”

He nudges your shoulder as a joke, and you hate that years of friendship couldn’t prepare you for a dark, emotion-altering night like this. Hormones and an adult’s desires are the devil’s advocate as much as Jungkook is himself.

“Nothing!”

“Have I done something weird?”

“You’re always weird.”

His shocked gasp dramatizes the moment, lifting the tension in the air enough to overshadow your inept breathing. Any attempt to keep your chill could turn out futile any moment now.

“Fair,” he laughs. “But also rude.”

His soft palm sets upon your knee and the plea you utter to your mind to calm your nerves falls on deaf ears. At his touch, you flinch just a fraction… And immediately, he pauses.

His gaze skyrockets to your seemingly sinless one. Lips part in confusion before his expression changes – like a bulb has lit up in his mind.

And then, the biggest change in topic occurs.

“Could you give me my phone charger?” Lifting his device, he lights up the screen to show the red, drained battery bar. He points to the bedside cabinet again. “First drawer.”

Right.

Jungkook doesn’t keep his charger plugged in at all times like you do. Scared it might burn off. You didn’t expect less when you decided to move in with your best friend, though: Not from the boy who declared his fear of microwaves and their potential to melt dishes ages ago.

You open and hunt through the drawer, surprised at the half emptiness of it until your fingers graze something you might not have anticipated. And then you realize…

Ah. Oh.

What if…

Perhaps that was the plan all along. Because when you look back at him, he doesn’t seem fazed in the slightest. The calmness in his eyes is telling enough to guess his intentions – but you don’t want to assume for sure yet.

Your touch remains on the little–open–box for a second, one sealed package peeking out. An absolutely fresh condom… One of Jungkook’s no less.

What’s happening today?

“What’s up?” He asks, and you almost huff at the stupid, fabricated innocence in his stupid, soothing voice.

“I think,” you lean back, attempting a laugh. “I just found your most prized possession.”

“Ah?” He waits, and you nod. “Is that weird to you?” A nonchalant shrug of your shoulders spurs him on, the tilt of his head perilous. “It’s not the first time you’re seeing those, right?”

Ugh, yeah. You remember all casual visits to drugstores. The vivid image of Durex’ extra large Excite Me, and true to Jungkook’s dedication dotted for extra stimulation.

He usually cares as much about embarrassment between the both of you as you do when you place pads and tampons between his stuff. Why is it weird, then?

“Yeah. It’s just…” You’re stumbling for words. Fuck. It’s over for you. “Reminds me of some of your escapades lately.”

Jungkook hums. “Mhm. There weren’t that many these days, though.”

“I know. Just made me think of those that did happen, y’know?”

“Okay.” He’s still looking at you like he’s solved every piece of the riddle you are tonight. Not any less shameless, though. “Then… What exactly is it that you’re thinking about those escapades?” Huh… There are too many details you’d need to omit in your answer. But the way his stare is stabbing questions into you as if he already knows what you might say?

Yep. You’re fucked.

“Now?” You ask.

“Right now.”

“Nothing.”

God, even he must be bored of the constant repetition. What does nothing still mean in reality? Everything. That’s how your inner translator interprets it, at least.

This time, Jungkook doesn’t let your response slip. His hand, however, does. Up from your knee… Right to your thigh.

The blanket still lays in between, its fabric pivotal for the moment. If it wasn’t there, you might faint. And something in you says that the experience isn’t far.

“Is that what it is?” Jungkook whispers. His voice is deeper now, and so is your sigh. “That must be what it is.”

“Hm?”

“You’ve been tense ‘cause of that? Since soccer training you’ve been looking at me like I’m suffocating you.” Shit. Of course he’d notice. “And now you suddenly feel weird about being close and about condoms? Do you just…” He digs his index finger into your thigh, his cut nail raking your leg with too many layers in between. “Just miss being touched?”

“By… By you?”

“No, Pumpkin. In general.” You don’t have an answer to his quizzing. Or, you do, but you don’t know where it might lead… Nervousness clogs your throat. “Don’t you…”

“What?” You think you can foresee what he’s going to ask, but you put on a curious act anyway. Then, he drops the bomb.

“Don’t you touch yourself?”

Oh God. Someone tell him to shut up. The little workers in your brain are setting your internal office on fire, handling his lax conversation worse than you.

“I’m…” You pause to breathe in shakily, and then laugh to hide your bewilderment. “Of course I do. Everyone does.” You clear your throat. “That’s a really freaking weird and sudden question, though.”

“Not that weird considering how you’ve been acting today. Thought it’s PMS, but you just called in sick ‘cause of your period last week.” Damn, Sherlock. Of course he’d remember – your whining wasn’t subtle after all. And he was the one serving you every meal all day. “So I’m guessing… It’s been a while and things are just worse tonight?”

“Dunno.”

You’re blinking at him. He’s built a Chinese-Wall-strong barrier at the front of his mind, and you can’t peek through it to understand what he’s thinking. Or what he wants. What he wants you to say or want.

It’s incredibly suspicious to you… And kind of tempting.

“Not gonna lie,” Jungkook’s voice drops to a low whisper, his confession worse than you expected. “I think I heard you a few nights before.”

You rip your eyes open in surprise. Your heart runs up to your throat to start hammering against your vocal cords, and for a few syllables, you can’t do much other than stutter and gasp.

“You fucking creep!” You then blurt out, calling yourself a hypocrite internally in the same breath. It’s not like you listened away during his adventures, legs pressed together to create friction.

“I’m sorry,” he lifts his hands in defense. “But you weren’t exactly being quiet. Plus, our walls aren’t that thin.”

You know… Hell, you know.

But how is he initiating the conversation just like that? God, the absolute courage…

“Fuck, Jungkook,” you curse. You bring your fingers to your eyes, rubbing them rather than hiding your entire face. “That’s fucking embarrassing.”

But Jungkook softly brings your hand down again – then speaks to reassure you. Only, anything he says tonight makes matters worse.

“Would it help if I told you it wasn’t embarrassing for me?”

“What the hell’s that supposed to mean?”

“It just sounded…”

He procrastinates, his expressions calm but his eyes dangerous. Hooded.

“Bad?” You dig.

“No. It sounded hot.”

No. No, your heart and body can’t handle this. You might die if you don’t push his admissions into the most disbelieving corner of your brain.

Jungkook finds you hot? The sounds you couldn’t hide, he likes them? He means it?

“Shut the fuck up, I’m–” You begin, but he replaces your rebukes with a deep inhale and stiff muscles when he moves closer.

Your back presses against the bedside cabinet. Now that the flickering candle is melting down, its light is getting dimmer and the room darker. Bright enough to still make out his silhouette and most alluring features.

The phone has long fallen from between your fingers, hiding in the blanket and the video long over. Somehow, you’re glad you disabled autoplay – it doesn’t disturb the moment that’s clearly progressing to something dangerous.

But at the same time, you’re surprised as hell. Asking yourself silently over and over again, whatsgoingonwhatsgoingon.

“What are you doing?” You whisper.

“I’m just wondering.” His body is tilted, one hand still on your thigh. “When you do stuff to yourself… Is there something specific you think of?”

You shift a little, not answering. When he sees the surprise in your eyes and confuses it with fear, however, he backs away again and clicks his tongue. “My bad. Sorry for being like that.”

But you’re not letting him retreat now… Things have come too far. You place a hand on his arm and tug him closer subtly. His already big eyes look humongous now, positively delighted, even when you keep struggling with words.

“No, I just…” You try but fail as soon as you start.

“Why are you stuttering like that? That’s not you.”

You wish he was wrong. You’re more confident than this in any other moment. Crazy what one Jeon Jungkook’s touch can do.

You swallow hard, delivering a mental slap before pieces of your courage resurface again.

“This is new to me,” you tell him.

“What is?”

“The way we’re talking to each other. It’s not nothing…” You look down to seek the emoji on his middle finger, barely recognizable in the darkness. “And you’re… You’re good looking, Jungkook.”

“Yeah,” he agrees cockily, but you know his humility enough to understand he doesn’t mean it. Those are shameless teases, nothing more. “And?”

“You’ve always been good looking. And on top of that, I can always hear how you sound when you…”

Should you really go there? What if it damages something? Then again, it’s too late now anyway.

“When I…?” He tries.

“I kinda don’t wanna say it, and I know you know what I mean.”

“Ah, right,” Jungkook casually confirms, like he’s just realized what you might be pointing at. “When I fuck someone’s brain out.”

You suck in a breath.

“Don’t say it like that!”

“How do you want me to say it?” Jungkook taps his chin with his finger. He looks like a sly anime college crush. “I kindly empty their thoughts.”

“Shut up.”

“And rearrange their guts–”

“Oh my God, I’ll–”

Do what? Your own guts are pleading for a good, nasty and disrespectful mess. Wobbly pudding on his bed, your body is already melting at the mere thought… So you can’t imagine what actual ferity could do if he unleashed it.

Unknowing what to say, you look away, moving back like a proper idiot. But suddenly, pressure wraps around your wrist, fingers pulling you into him. You look at him speechlessly, parting your lips when he looks down at them.

“Is there something you want me to do?” He asks.

There’s a myriad of things you want him to do. But there’s slight doubt knocking against the walls of your brain and – ugh…

“Is it okay for us to do such a thing?” You question back.

“I don’t know,” he confesses quietly, his breath pleasant against your lips. “Say no just once and I promise I’ll back away.”

“And… And if I don’t?”

“Answer first.” He tilts his head, big eyes too pure and sweet for the conversation going on. “Or… Well, don’t.”

You remain silent. Hot blood turns your face as warm as a grill, and you look at him and his smile. Your heart rebels in your throat, but your thoughts are sober. So once he sees the clearness in your stare, he understands.

“Alright.”

It’s the last word he whispers before his hand wanders up your pajama pants. He fiddles with the neat knot holding your pajama around your waist, playing with it for a moment until patience runs out.

Soft fingertips tug at the end of the strings until the hem of the pants loosens around you. His eyes shoot up to yours, hiding menacingly behind his bangs. You don’t know what for–perhaps for permission–but you nod.

“Can you lift a bit for me?” His voice is soothing, calm and lovely when he utters his demand as a question. If you listen closely, you hear the desire, though.

You raise your ass, letting him slip the pajama down your thighs. When your body presses back into the mattress, your hands move to his face, making him look at you. The front of his tongue darts out, trapped between his teeth and his eyes are dark and starry. Lost in you.

His teeth let his tongue go, sliding it across his lower lip… Goddammit, you want to taste it.

When he skims over your panties and now bare thighs, your eyes blink close. He watches and adores your reaction; skims your dampness below. Jungkook acts as fuel, even though you’re already incredibly flammable.

The hums that accompany your slight wiggle are gentle, contrasting the losing of your mind going on in your head.

“More?” He wants to know.

“Mhmmm.”

“Okay. Good, Pumpkin.”

You’d smile at the ridiculous childhood endearment if the moment wasn’t so sinful. If he wasn’t grazing your pelvis, causing goosebump as he goes, pulling at the thin fabric until you lift once again.

He chuckles, a sound that reaches deep within your chest. “Good girl. Learning fast.”

Is he serious?

He can’t just drop a good girl like that as if he’s announcing a brief walk through a nearby park. What the fuck.

“Stop it,” you mutter, unaware why exactly.

“Want me to stop? We’re just starting,” he chants, his pout playfully childish and cute.

But the fingers. Oh the fingers rounding the skin right over the sensitive nub. Playing with you like you’re his own personal doll, wrapping you around his skillful, strong and incredibly beautiful fingers.

His touch drops deeper when you whisper an inaudible wish; whatever it is, he thinks he knows what you want. Featherlightly, he presses down on your clit, and you cry out quietly.

You fall back against the headboard again, your hands in his hair and tugging at the strands at the nape of his neck. One blink of his eyes passes and he’s snaking an arm under you, pulling you down and flat onto your back.

“You alright, yeah?” Jungkook makes sure, elated when you nod enthusiastically. “Good. Very good.”

His face is close to yours but doesn’t remain there: As he caresses your clit, shaking up your lower belly, his mouth dives in and finds home between your tits. He breathes you in before he presses a kiss against the shirt hiding your skin.

“Jungkook…”

“Mmmh.” He looks up at your chin, your head thrown back. “Say, Pumpkin…” He blows at your left nipple, well aware that you never wear a bra at home, and watches it perk under the shirt. Then, his teeth catch the material before he lets go and speaks on. “May I see those pretty tits of yours?”

“Nnnh,” is all you can give back. “Yes.”

Happily, the unoccupied hand lifts the white tee until he touches the underside of your boobs; his touch covers something you reckon he might enjoy. With his face hovering over yours, you wonder how long it will take him to notice.

Nothing yet at least.

His hand pauses there and then lifts the shirt over your mounds. He palms one of them, relishing your mewls. The sigh lets his voice fall some more, enticing when his mind numbing talk continues, “Hello there, girls.”

Jesus fucking Christ…

Why is this so hot to you?

His hair tickles your clavicles before his tongue does the same to your hard nubs. Wrapping his lips around your nipple, he pulls at it, then releases it to repeat it all. All while his fingers float down to your hole.

And then…

Palms pushing your thighs apart under the crumbled up blanket, he doesn’t wait another second before he drops to his side next to you and dips his middle finger inside. Slowly at first, easing you into the process, but it does nothing to avoid the sudden term that falls out of you.

“Fuck, baby, this is–”

You realize your mistake–mistake?–when his finger halts mid action. But once he proceeds, lifting his head to kiss your jaw, you don’t see a single trace of embarrassment or shame. No, he rather jumps onto the train with you.

“Easy, kitten.”

The new nickname forces your head to fall sideways to face him – your lips come to touch, but he doesn’t take it a step further. His eyelids fall half close, mouth not moving against yours; but you can’t really kiss anyway with the way he urges moan after moan out of you.

His finger starts pumping in and out of you, your walls contracting around him. There’s thought in his actions. He doesn’t just push in and pull out like a wildling – no, the curve of his digit, the tempo he chooses and the patch he massages inside you must be calculated.

Adding a second finger does nothing but amplify this feeling.

In his hold, you’re a little less squirmy than you might be without his touch. He keeps you grounded, controlling the wiggle of your body, allowing you to bite into your fist until he grabs your wrist and pushes it against the mattress.

“Nuh-uh,” he warns. Your eyes crack open a slit. “Stop muffling your sounds. Why would you?”

“I’m just…” You shake your head. “Self-conscious… Okay?” God, words are hard. “Y’don’t see me naked… Every day.”

“Absolutely outrageous if you ask me,” he breathes, knuckles deep inside you. There, he remains, merely moving his fingers inside without pulling out anymore. You hide half your face in the pillow. “Fuck, look at me.”

The danger and irritation in his voice sober up a piece of your mind, but the sudden emptiness when his fingers vanish shake you awake with a snap. An utterly wet touch trails along your thigh and then up your sides. He doesn’t give a fuck about the state of his blanket.

Letting go of your wrist, he pushes aside the fallen phone that his ass touches, and stops with everything altogether. Reaches behind him and then shoves the device to a far top corner of the bed.

“That’s good,” Jungkook whispers once he’s cozy with you again. Watching your breathing, dizzy form. “We don’t have to charge the phone and waste electricity that way, right?”

“Shut up…” is all your brain and tongue allow.

He clicks his tongue. “Alright, you killjoy.” A sudden slap to your overflowing pussy renders you speechless. But not him. “I’ll use my mouth elsewhere then, k?”

You’re still a mess in disbelief. Can’t comprehend that he’s actually saying those words in this exact constellation. You might think you’re dreaming if the squeezes of his hands and the dampness of his tongue didn’t prove you otherwise.

Crawling down your body, he makes sure to ruin every patch of your skin. He licks along your collarbones and gently bites at your tits. His palms love the feeling of your chest, nails digging in… And he only stops when he reaches a very particular something.

You feel his movements freeze clearly. He smacks his lips, and when you look at him, he looks surprised. Delightfully so.

“What’s that?”

There it is.

He watches your lips curl to a satisfied smile and your eyelids shut as he brushes his finger over the spot under your tits. Squinting, he removes more of the blanket, hoping the dim light of the candle might allow him a deeper look.

The black color isn’t as faded as the ink on his hand or arm, so it must be a recent sin you went for. You hum in innocence, opening your eyes again to barely catch the shake of his head as he repeats his question.

“What is that, huh?” He exhales the last word, breathing against you. Then kisses the skin underneath the tattoo. “You weren’t even gonna tell me about it?”

“Figured you might find out one day…”

He laughs quietly, hiding his fascination. But you know he’s still mesmerized, staring at the little thing, distracted even when he responds. “Is that so? You tease.”

Dipping down, an open mouthed kiss lands on top of your tattoo. His hands push your tits together, his mouth working on worshiping the tiny piece of skin that has captured him. His kiss is greedy to the touch, his breaths cold against the saliva he left once he lifts his face again.

“A crown, yeah? That what it is, isn’t it?”

The pleasant satisfaction in his voice is apparent, but you think you even hear bits of irritation – like he’s annoyed that you didn’t tell him about this. Like he’d dove into you earlier if you had.

“Hey, a lil feeling of royalty is never…” You stop when he pecks your tummy. His lips run along your stomach until they reach your pelvis. “Ohhhfff… You’re close.”

“I’ll keep going, alright?”

You let out more incoherent sounds, something between a moan and a hum. The anticipation is unbearable, but the fact that Jungkook is still fully dressed and his cock yet aching to be discovered by you might be worse.

With the blanket fully off of you, his lips explore your body, so close to where you want him. His right hand still lingers where the tattoo is eternalized in your skin, and according to his next words, his mind isn’t less hung up on it, either.

“Your tattoo matches mine, y’know?” He informs you as if you haven’t seen the crown on his index finger a few million times. The digit that’s digging into your hungry cunt again, along with another finger showcasing an emoji that must be looking like you right now. “We can both be royalty, don’t you think, princess?”

“My God, shut up,” you order. Your insides cringe, even though you’re sure you wouldn’t be opposed to him calling you that godforsaken nickname once again.

His giggle is Jungkook-ish sweet, but the hands that pry your legs open are not. Less even when he pushes them down onto the mattress as much as your joints allow, distracting you from the pull of your muscles when his nose nuzzles your pelvis.

The tip of his tongue touches your sacred part first. It’s just a slight dip, testing the waters. But your ocean is wild and its waves crash against the pit of your stomach.

“Didn’t think you’d be responsive right away,” he admits, only pausing to place a gentle kiss on your clit. “Then again, I haven’t seen a dude at our place in ages.”

“Asshole,” you curse, eliciting another deep snicker that vibrates right against your cunt.

Then, the jokes end and his stance changes. He takes a deep breath and then lowers his head once and for all. Leaving a trace of kisses riles you up enough, though things only get worse once his tongue darts out, starting a gentle dance in a captivating pattern.

He collects spit on the muscle in his mouth, pulling out the fingers out of you to spread your folds. Watching your pussy shimmer and leak, he laps up the arousal meant for just him. His cock stretches his favorite joggers, and he moves his hips against the bed for relief.

Buried deep, he moves to your clit to close his lips around it for a moment before he french kisses your pussy. Then, he repeats it all – only this time, the tip of his tongue moves in a perfect circle around your sensitive nub for a bit longer.

Slowly, softly, and then he stops.

“Wait…” you interrupt, blindly grabbing a patch of his hair. “Do that again. Please.”

The hushed desperation in your voice makes his sweatpants strain impossibly. His balls already ache.

“Like that?”

“Yeah… Yep.”

You arch your back and let your mouth fall open when his fingers return inside you, tongue imitating the motions from before. For a while, your moans and uncontrolled, quiet, peaceful sounds motivate and inflame him.

But once he begins yearning for your taste again, he swaps. His curved digits pull out of you, thumb taking his mouth’s place and vice versa. Which feels… Just as dangerous.

His tongue presses into you, a hand shoving up your right, closing leg. Your thigh stiffens when it feels his fingers deep in your flesh, and when it relaxes again, it falls over his shoulder and onto his back softly.

Zealously, you plant your heel against his shirt, trying not to think about the muscles of his back too hard. Yet, drowning in fervor, you can’t help but push his shirt up, irritated that he’s still wearing so damn much when you’ve already exposed the last of your being to him.

He either doesn’t notice or doesn’t acknowledge your hints yet. Because his focus is still somewhere else – understandably so.

“I knew you’d taste like that,” he confesses when he surfaces to take a breath.

He knew?

You’re panting more than him. Speaking comes to you harder than to him. “Like what?”

“Like absolute heaven,” he exhales at your waterfall-sex, hot and shiver inducing. “Pussy gifted by the angels.”

Oh, you bet he says that to everyone…

“Please don’t treat me like one, though,” you beg.

“Like an angel? Don’t worry. I fear you’re far filthier than I might expect.”

When his words collide with his repeated actions, your eyes water. You whine at the onslaught on your pussy, squirming, and shake your head when your insides somersault.

“I… I don’t think I can anymore,” you foolishly say.

Your ears seem to block out any sound, your body revolting. The pressure in your stomach is intense, to say the least. Your fingers and toys surely don’t feel that way.

“It feels like that because you can. I promise,” Jungkook, however, assures.

“This is the… I’ve never…”

It’s true. You’ve never had a build up or an orgasm like this before. Of course not: How could you if he’s drinking in every drop of the arousal dribbling out of you while rendering you wetter at the same time?

He sounds so goddamn lewd when he makes out with your cunt like that. Too filthy… You wonder how his lips will feel against yours if he’s able to do such magic down below already.

“It’s gonna be good… Okay?”

He’s wrong. Good is an absolute understatement.

The force with which your orgasm hits is worse than being run over by a truck. You internally slap everyone in your past who missed to make you feel that way.

You implode and explode, a swarm of cacophonic sounds oozing out of your mouth. You grab his sheets and his blanket so hard that the thoughts in the back of your head fear you might rip something.

Jungkook groans and moans along with you, his mouth and fingers attached to you no matter how much you move. A single tear flees between your shut eyelids, arousal not stopping to trickle out of you.

You’re still calling his name once the high comes down… Still holding the sheet, your vision still blurry. He licks and rides you through the end of the blast for a few more seconds. And when he’s done and you look at him, he’s covered in a shimmer.

Such a pretty boy.

“Hey,” he whispers joyfully once he comes up. “Hello.”

“Hey. You, jail,” you breathe.

You don’t waste a moment before you take off his shirt, eager and hungry. He laughs, cocking an eyebrow. “Why jail? Did I give you a bombastic orgasm or what?” He moves to lay half on top of you and licks his lips. “Shouldn’t I get free lap dances or something?”

“Jail for not doing this earlier.”

“Ah. Apologies. I’ll be at your service whenever from now on.”

The vow makes your tummy flutter. From now on? So he wants to do that again?

Nah. You must be dreaming. A fall night's fever dream.

“Good,” you mutter before you close the distance mutually.

He cages you in, beginning the kiss softly but urgently. His tongue doesn’t hesitate to seek out yours, and he tilts his head to deepen the gesture. Both your hands wander to the other’s face and hair, lips eating up each and every thrum.

His chest is warm against yours, hard pecs pressing against your nipples. It feels good, feeling him so close and intimate with you. No layers separating your upper bodies, melting into one… And that kiss…

As he pours all passion into it, you think you taste a bit of you on him, but said taste mingles with a lot of other things. The spices of dinner. The lingering sweetness of dessert. His thirst. The ardency that refuses to leave his motions.

“Hey,” he mumbles when he breaks the kiss. “I…”

“Hmm?”

“I really want you. So, so bad.”

The carnal desire is hidden in the moment for sure. But right now, listening to the softness in his voice, all you can and want to hear is unbridled longing.

Insatiable, you nod. “I want you, too. Please?”

“You… You don’t need to beg for it, Pumpkin.” His hips move against yours and you wrap your legs around him tighter. “Seriously, no need–”

His joggers are rough against your swollen pussy, but their harshness doesn’t compare to the thick bulge pushing into you. Moving down your wandering fingers, you push at the remaining clothing, shoving until you feel the bare, firm, muscular ass under your palms.

Hell, there’s so much you want to do. Like, slap it.

Lifting a little, he lets you free his cock, his sweatpants and underwear somewhere a little over his knees now. You’re ready to let him fuck you unconscious and into another universe before you realize you might not be all that ready just yet.

Because the throbbing, hot length falls heavy against your stomach. It’s thick and big and entirely unexpected. Not that he’s never boasted about it before or ran around without underwear beneath his pajamas. But fuck, you thought it’s the usual shit men say.

You didn’t think he was actually hiding something this… Generous.

“Wow, I–” You begin, but to no avail. Your screaming pussy distracts you.

“Huh? Yeah, what is it?” Jungkook purrs against your neck.

“Just. Can I…”

Your hand prowls from his ass to his cock, and you begin to guide it to your pussy slowly, opening up your legs more. Okay. You’re ready. You are. You are.

Only, Jungkook is not.

He shakes his head immediately, then nods towards the drawer inhabiting the condoms. You understand and roll your eyes, scoffing. “I wasn’t gonna do it anyways. But I’m… I am on the pill.”

“Yes. But you also forget to take it a lot.”

“Fair.” God, you just want him to drill you. Why’s starting so hard? “But I’m fine.”

“I am, too.” He groans when he moves over you, reaching to the drawer. “Still.”

You watch as he takes the package out, the foil carefully held between his fingertips. And in those brief seconds, you think.

His last hook up wasn’t so long ago. You wonder if he ever goes in raw with other girls… Wonder why he doesn’t with you but insists on protection. Less like he doesn’t trust you but more like he doesn’t trust himself.

You don’t ponder on your bumbling thoughts for too long before he smiles and sidetracks. “Hey, have you showered?”

“No. Why?” You answer, certain that the furrow of your eyebrows lays your confusion bare.

“You said you needed to.”

“And?”

“It’s gotten warm inside.” Aha… You think you know where this is going. But just for fun’s sake, you play dumb. “I still need my proper shower, too, by the way.”

“Okay… But we’re saving up on water, right?” You stare up at him in innocence. Godgodgodgod. He’s really doing that.

Jungkook slaps your ass, and you yelp. “Don’t play stupid. You know what I’m saying.”

“Kook–”

“What? We clean up together… Save water. I don’t have to shower again in the morning and can sleep in. It sounds like an amazing idea, if you ask me.”

You contemplate his idea. In all honesty, you know that he’s aware of your teasing and fake hesitation – but you think he likes the act. If it was up to him, he’d probably want you tapping your chin and all, cartoonesque.

“You do shower long…” You then conclude.

“Yeah. And so do you.”

“So…”

“So what do you say, Pumpkin Pie?”

“Mmmh. Okay.”

His eyes blow wide. “Really?”

You grimace at him. He’s adorable. After all he’s said and done, he’s still astonished at your response? An actual dork. But you still nod.

“Oomph,” he says. “Imagining you under the shower.” He’s talking more to himself than anything. “Might be just a bit more insane than imagining you naked in general.”

More than a decade of being friends and a couple of years of living together should’ve suggested at least once that thoughts can’t stay pure 24/7. Especially when hormones raged and you grew a pair of tits, you should’ve known his mind derailed a little on at least one occasion.

Still, you’re surprised.

“Did you imagine me naked before?” You wonder.

“Are you kidding me?”

The answer shoots out of him like a bullet, almost as fast as he lifts his body to come to a stand. You don’t bother about an answer when he grabs the condom and something else, then offers you a hand, pulling you up butt naked before guiding you to the bathroom.

“Calm down,” you joke. One hand covers your nipples, even though you’re not sure why. What’s done is done already, and you can’t and don’t want to burn the image of you exposed from his mind.

“Too late.” Once in front of the bathroom, he stops, lifting a finger. It’s funny how casual your conversation is and how naked you are. “Wait here.”

Twenty seconds pass, and he returns with two candles in his hands, planting and lighting them up on the washing machine. This idea better not backfire.

The small room is cooler than his own, and the porcelain sink he pushes you against when you enter, placing the condom and the small bottle he brought at the edge of it, is even worse.

You shiver and hiss before his fingers grip your chin. He pulls your face to his own, bringing your hand to his crotch as his kiss catches your breath.

His warm, towering cock twitches in your palm, making you moan into his mouth. You attempt to unify your bodies, shifting closer, but he keeps pushing you backwards. Your back arches over the sink, and the kiss stops, his lips opening yours, suffocating against you.

“You’re so fucking hot, you know?” He maffles, stepping back but not without pulling you along.

You can’t wait to step back into his room later to investigate where your discarded clothes lay.

For now, you smile, delighted when his lopsided smirk matches yours. He kisses the tip of your nose before he draws a deep breath. Brings the both of you into the shower and then lets hot water rain down on you.

The liquid burns hot on your shoulder first, and Jungkook exclaims something incomprehensible as he regulates the temperature pouring out of the faucet. The procedure remains calm and quiet, unusual for a bickering pair like you.

But once he gets soaked under the water, shaking his hair out of his eyes just to push it back with his hands… You can’t keep your mouth shut anymore.

“Jungkook,” you whisper.

He puts a hand on your waist and the other on your cheek, stepping closer carefully. For a second, you think he looks at you like nothing else in the universe matters.

Your stomach bubbles… Your heart pounds.

“Hmm… Yeah?”

“I imagined you,” you tell him. “Us… Like that before, too.”

“Really? How?” He whispers back. Your vision is blurry – you don’t know if it’s the water’s or the moment’s craze’s fault.

All you know is that you want to remember his touch on your face, the shower warming your chest, trickling into your soul.

He keeps brushing back your drenched tresses lovingly and softly. You almost forget how to act purely horny, enabling tenderness and feelings until your nipples press against his torso and his cock moves against you again.

“I feel like you’d enjoy,” you near his ear, breathing, “sucking on my tits as much as I would.”

He grins.

“I’m more of an ass guy, though.”

On cue, he grabs a handful of your rear, pulling out a weird sound out of you that you regret immediately. He doesn’t bother as much as you. He’s busy staring at your lips and getting familiar with your ass.

“Right,” you say, distracted by the (intentional?) movements of his cock. You want to… You really want to… “Can I– can I suck you, ass guy?”

The embrace around you loosens up. According to his expression, he probably didn’t predict your question; but you think a man with a dick like his should expect that everyone wants to suck him dry.

But anyways–

Perhaps his surprise is a good thing, because the way his mouth drops open when you bring your hand to his shaft is priceless.

“Wow,” he expresses under his breath. “I’d be fucking stupid to say no, right?”

“Yes. I’m pretty good at this.”

You wrap your fingers and palm around his hardness, twisting your hand and alternating the pace. Your thumb runs over his slit, tempted to taste what already leaks out. One smile is all he gets before you choose to drop to your knees instead. Sacrificing their flawless state.

He shifts to the wall until his back hits its coolness, speechless when you look up at him, trying your hardest not to ogle at the delicious cock angry in front of you, and then stretch out your tongue.

You press it to the underside of his cock, making sure he feels you breathing, and then you shove his member into your mouth before it can slap back against his stomach.

Holy fuck, he really is hard.

“I believe you…” He says, his breaths rigid. “Barely doing anything, but it’s…”

So good.

First, you focus on the head. Swirling your tongue around it, you hum, hearing him hiss above you. You do your best, but you don’t know just how much you actually affect him.

Because from above, Jungkook’s point of view is something he doesn’t think he could even dream of. The sounds of you quietly gagging and slurping, constantly moaning and vibrating around him rile him up. The fact that you’re struggling to control your breathing, because you’re too immersed, apprehensive to stop.

And your lips, God, your lips, they wrap around him perfectly. He wonders what it’d look like if you were wearing lipstick, or how your non-waterproof mascara would run down your cheeks if he fucked your mouth.

You pull him out to catch a breath, using the pause to stroke him lightly. Leaning closer, you take a moment to rub the tip against your nipple – he seems to like it, because the bite of his lip is firm.

Then, you move your gentle touch to his balls and speak. “Is that alright?”

“I… alright?” He croaks, furrowing his eyebrows. “How about you suck me dry every fucking day, huh?”

“If I’m allowed to.”

You laugh a little, inhaling through your nose before you dive in again. This time, you let him in as much as you can take. Small fireworks explode on your tongue when his precum touches it, his cock twitching more between your lips as you suck harder.

“You are… Fuck, of course you are…” He permits, throwing back his head. Tattooed digits sneak into your hair, and when he pulls your head back, you disconnect from his cock with a plop sound. “But pause for now, k? Wanna fu–”

He can’t speak, so you guess you succeeded. But you get it… You’d rather he fucked you too instead of coming in your mouth.

A hand wrapped around your neck gently pulls you up to your feet. His jaw is clenched and sharp, and his eyes are piercing. He looks so fucking hot wet like that, drawing out his tongue to run it between his lips.

His mouth lures you in automatically, your gaze frozen on it and already imagining his taste. But he’s a step ahead–though in another twisted way–when he turns you around without a warning.

He pins your tits against the wall and tugs at your hips until you’re angled just right for him. Then, he leans in to voice one single order. “Stay like that.”

His wish is your command, anytime.

Panting, you let the water pour onto you, waiting. The small bottle he brought, undoubtedly lube, is placed in the shower caddy next to you, and before you can blink twice, you hear a package ripping open.

“Hurry,” you beg, recognizing the amused chuckle you definitely expected.

“Chill,” he says. “Gimme just a moment, princess.”

“Stop.”

Another sneer, more apparent complications, but in the meantime he distracts you with words that leave you unstable. “Fuck, I wish I could go in just like that.”

You want to say he can. But you don’t want to risk another rejection like before… Your heart and ego can only take this much.

For now, you push the thoughts aside, only focusing on the fact that you’ll be railed by Jeon fucking Jungkook. That he’s turned you around to finally weaken your knees, to batter your pussy, that you’ll actually be having sex with him in no time.

Or whenever he figures out a solution to his problem.

He turns away the showerhead and curses at the condom or whatever, and you laugh, still bent in an uncomfortable position.

“Harder than you thought, huh?” You joke.

As a response, he exhales, then grabs your waist as he delivers a verbal answer. “My dick or putting this shit on? Because yeah.”

Apparently, dealing with the condom wasn’t too impossible after all. Because once it’s done, his hands are on you again, one pulling you in further by your hip while the other spreads your pussy folds.

Then, his fingers disappear, grabbing the bottle of lube to fiddle with the liquid and placing it back in no time. You can hear the sounds that smearing it onto his dick causes.

And then you hear it even worse when he brings those exact digits back to your cunt. He contributes the rest of the lube by rolling his fingertips around your entrance and then pumping into you a couple of times. You moan out, and impatience grows faster.

“Okay,” he says, his voice still steady. “You tell me to stop if it ever hurts, alright?”

You nod, and he whispers, “Perfect.”

And then, it happens.

And it takes ages.

Not really due to hesitation or anything like that, but more because the cock intruding your walls just doesn’t stop. The shaft, rich in thickness and length, penetrates you deep, already overwhelming, and you’re sure he isn’t even halfway through.

“That enough?” He asks.

You shake your head. No. You don’t think anything will ever be enough, no matter how intense and mind numbing things become. More, you want all of him.

“More,” you repeat, speaking out loud.

“Seriously…?”

Yeah. You’re as much in disbelief as him. But your body – it knows what it’s pleading for, what signals it’s sending to your brain and then to your tongue.

“Please,” you beg. “I’ll tell you if I feel uncomfortable. I promise.”

A groan. A deeper push. He fills you to the brink, engulfed by you perfectly. The ideal lock to his key… Everything inside you tingles and aches.

When he’s bottomed out, he shifts and you feel the movement inside you. Mewling, you whisper his name, his ears perking up as his already drained voice calls back to you.

“Move?” He wants to know, his entire sentence abandoned.

“Move.”

So he does.

Long, slow, languid and careful strokes. He pants behind you. The shower water is still a bit too hot, but it doesn’t compare to whatever the fuck he’s kindling inside you.

Whenever he returns back deep, you lose your mind a bit more. And whenever he notices, his pace fastens by a tiny, tiny fraction. Until restraint becomes a foreign concept.

“Fuck, I wish I could…” His sentence breaks as much as you do when his hips meet yours. “Wish I could keep the imprints of your hands on the wall forever.” He thrusts into you hard once, hands pushing up your ass. “Wish I could see you pressed against it.”

He leans forward, his wet chest touching your soaked back. Kissing your cheek and neck, you slip into the craze only he can call forth. Fucked by him in the flickering candlelight, romantic for a fly on the wall, but sickeningly filthy in reality.

You’re a fool, because the thought of romance rests in the back of your mind right now – so you add to the already established sins when his hand brushes your neck.

“Jungkook…” You purr.

His movements slow down at the call of his name. You reach out an arm and turn the stream of water off – after all, you’re here to save the environment and yourself. That you’ve barely been focusing on showering is neither your fault.

Jungkook doesn’t question whatever you do. You don’t think he cares much about his surroundings anyway, everything around him is blurred but you. His lips still roam your shoulder when he shoves himself inside you balls deep and then pauses there.

You whisper his name again, drawing out another deep hum right next to his ear, and then spit it out.

“Choke me.”

You wonder. If you hadn’t turned off the water, would it have frozen to ice, too?

Because the wall and the room suddenly cool down and you swear he’s stopped breathing. You press your underarms and your forehead to the wall, eyes closing and asking yourself whether you made a mistake.

But… But maybe not.

In the next moment, Jungkook suddenly laughs a little, quiet but enticing enough to make your scalp tingle. He pushes the hair out of your face and your neck, slowly tracing your skin downward until he touches the spot over your vocal cords.

His fingers lift your head, breaking the contact to the wall. Gently rubbing your jaw with his thumb, he starts wrapping a huge hand around your neck… Silently at first before he finally answers.

“Shit, you’re so much dirtier than the good girl I know.”

No matter how simple the sentence, something in it awakens ambiguity in you. The realization that you’ve successfully surprised him. And at the same time, the urge to remain his good girl.

You want to be all of it for him; want to be the only object of affection for him.

“Can tell you the s-same.” You gasp when he squeezes the sides of your neck, just below your jawline. “This isn’t–” Biting your lip, you pause, distracted by his palm. “Not what puppy eyed boys should be doing.”

He lifts your body wordlessly, only laughing at your words in delight. Still sunken inside you, he straightens your posture just a bit, careful to not apply any kind of pressure to your windpipe. He knows what he’s doing – sex couldn’t be safer with anyone else.

At least that’s what you know, judging the choking experiences you’ve gathered with other men or women so far.

He leans into you, kissing your temple as he hammers into you again. The squeezes around your neck differ: His motions follow a varying pattern; your veins pulsate.

You imagine his clenched jaw or his furrowed eyebrows. The furious look on his face that doesn’t really suggest anger but blissful pleasure. You imagine his teeth trapping his lower lip, dimples on his cheeks, wet dark hair restricting his vision.

All that combined with all the godless things he says.

“I can’t believe we haven’t done this before… But…”

A sharp thrust pushes you forward, and one of your hands reaches behind you to grip his hip. Good God, he’s so fucking large. Human anatomy and logic aside, he must be battering your guts along with your pussy.

“But I knew I’d fuck you one day.”

Oh.

He has no remorse. He’s either too trapped in you to notice what he’s doing to you or he knows exactly what he’s doing to you. Either way, your faltering soul can barely still handle him.

“You fucking devil,” you only respond.

And the devil has the audacity to leave your neck to slap your tits. How dare.

You yelp and your sound continues when he pinches your nipples, soft at first before his nips become harder. Defenseless in his grip, your knees almost buckle, especially when he talks to you again.

“My God, you’re letting me do fucking anything I want.”

“It’s… It’s the dick,” you tell him, already embarrassed. “Too good.”

“Ah? Thanks.” Letting his hands drop from your sensitive tits, he finds your clit again – you think you might cry. “Little reward for being so good for me?”

You want him to elaborate, but you soon learn what that reward consists of anyway.

He caresses your clit slowly and gently, accompanied by occasional light slaps. No rest for the wicked seems to be his motto today, not that you can complain.

Because a minute later, his fingers combined with the reckless, now fast paced plunges throw your world into chaos once more. You scream out his name, barely able to breathe. “Kook, I’m… I–”

“I know. Let go for me, Pumpkin. You’re all good, okay?”

His promises and soft reassurances make you fall harder into the fondness you already feel for him. If there was ever a point of return, he’s annihilated it once and for all now.

Who are you to doubt him? So you let another mind blowing orgasm wash over you. It rolls in hard, showing in your broken moans and curling fingers. He holds you up on your melting legs, an arm around your tummy.

“Hold on for me,” he snarls against your cheek, and you try. You really try your best, but your body’s giving up, trembling at the peak’s intensity that’s shaking up your insides. “Gonna cum, too…”

One more. You can afford one more indecent idea.

“Cum on my ass, Kook.”

“Fucking hell, baby.”

That’s all. That’s all he needs.

No hesitation in sight, he steps back and out of you, angling your body again by pulling your ass back as much as possible. The condom falls somewhere next to you – you see it from the corner of your eyes before you hear the way Jeon Jungkook climaxes.

Which is: With extra guttural groans, a quivering breath, fingers digging deep into the flesh of your butt and–what you realize when you look back at him–with super uncontrolled pumps of his cock.

“Fuuuuck,” he moans when his seed shoots hot onto your bottom.

It takes a few seconds for him to empty himself completely, and he keeps swearing, keeps saying something you barely understand.

But what you do understand, even though you’re absentmindedly focusing on his fingers spreading the cum on your back, is, “Gonna punish you for being so fucking hot one day.”

“That a promise?” You ask, still breathless.

He laughs. “Brat.”

The whole affair ends almost the way it started: Carefully and slowly, bickering thrown in here and there. But aside from the obvious fact you’re showering together, still so, so naked, there are more differences you notice when he lets the water run again to clean you up properly.

Like, his look. A smile you haven’t seen before, you think.

Very soft touches along your cheeks, fingers combing through your hair like you’re something fragile.

Questions such as, “Are you okay? Was that okay? Do you feel good, Pumpkin?”

Also… The hecking forehead kiss when you smile and nod.

The mood has shifted, albeit to something pleasant, once everything’s said and done. He puffs out a breath, discarding the neglected condom. Before he wraps you in a towel, his thumb brushes over your tattoo once more – his eyes look fascinated and affectionate, but he doesn’t comment on it again.

He doesn’t guide you back to your room but to his, drying you up thoroughly and affectionately.

He lets you leave for just a moment, telling you that you need to come back once you’ve found stuff to sleep in. His behavior is odd, but instead of questioning it, you indulge in his tender care.

But in the end, he only lets you wear your fresh pair of underwear and your shorts, snatching your shirt to throw it onto his desk. He rummages through his closet silently and only speaks once he’s handed you one of his cotton shirts.

“Take this?”

His tone is different from how he sounded the rest of the night. Not demanding, but kind of questioning. His teeth nibble at his lip and then he says, “I think you’d look good in it… Just if you’re up to it.”

He doesn’t stutter or hesitate. Like he dreamed of this for ages.

“Okay,” you mutter.

Taking a seat at the edge of the bed, he waits until you’re done, incredibly ecstatic when you smoothen the fabric over your body. He praises you, “Knew it. Beautiful.”

Then, his mouth falls shut. The joy melts into something softer. His eyes drink you in from head to toe, and he lifts both arms to tangle his fingers with yours.

You oblige, letting him pull you closer softly. Tilting your head, you speak up. “What’s up?”

But he doesn’t elaborate. “Nothing,” he only tells you with a smile.

“Okay.”

“But–”

You knew it. There’s something he’s thinking of profusely and he doesn’t want to keep it hidden. Thank God.

“Yeah?” You spur him on.

“Um… Stay here tonight.”

…Oh. Oh–

After all the things that went down tonight, his offer still strikes you like lightning. There’s a dull thump behind your chest and a growing ache in your stomach. You don’t know what it is and don’t understand why your body reacts that way.

You should be swarmed with butterflies. But instead, a ball of something strange forms inside you.

Maybe because he asks like your room isn't right next to his. Or as though you’d be gone and out of reach for miles if you stepped over the threshold of his bedroom now.

But… You’d be insane to resist.

So you let him drape the blanket over the both of you, crawling next to him.

“Lemme–” He says. You don’t get the opportunity to lay against his heartbeat, because he does it first. An arm holds your body close, his cheek pressed against your chest. “Like that. Feels good.”

He tangles his legs with yours, sighing in extreme satisfaction. You’re sure he’s dozing off when you interrupt by joking, “We didn’t save that much water after all.”

His voice is just a mumble when he speaks. “You did turn it off, though…” You chuckle quietly, and he pulls you closer to him. “I’ll use the college shower for a few days, okay?”

The things he’s ready to do for you…

In hindsight, you don’t think it’s the physical attraction you’ve been feeling for weeks that led to tonight’s fiasco. It’s not hormones or his jawline. Thinking, your emotions might date back to a time you can barely remember.

Because those subtle sacrifices he makes, the caring statements, the love he carries for you that shows in tiny, tiny things. Platonic or not, a bond like yours was bound to make you fall as hard as you did.

You think you remember what occurred that set you on fire so much hotter recently. Just right now… It might not be the time to speak about it yet, so you stuff the secret memory back into your mind.

Zeroing in on the mention of college, you stretch sideways, telling him to hold on a moment.

“Hm?” He mumbles.

“Setting an alarm.” The phone screen lights up your face and you squint one eye shut. “We’re still college students, Jungkook.”

“Mmmh,” he groans in displeasure. “Do we need to go?”

“I mean, do you wanna graduate?”

“I don’t know. I could strip for money.”

You laugh, holding him closer to you than before. Fondness seeps into him, and you notice when he digs his ear harder into your chest.

“Saw you naked, so speaking out of experience,” you support, “I think people would like that.”

He hums again. You feel his lips graze the shirt he gave you. “Would you be my manager?”

“If I get free shows.”

Nodding, he assures, “Of course. You can count on me, mon capitaine.”

“Oohhh,” you praise, tapping his bare bicep. “You can’t just quote The Beauty and the Beast and expect me to stay solid.”

He breathes out a throaty laugh, sounding right from his chest. “Stay solid?”

“Yeah. Look.” You palm his soft cheek, ignoring the way he leans into your touch. Ignoring what it does to you. And he’s smiling, too. “Do you feel me melting?”

“You’re so damn funny, you know?” He tells you.

Your face warms at his compliment, and you think you could fall asleep in satisfaction after all. That is. If there wasn’t what he says next of course. Out of fucking nowhere.

“Hey…” He begins and hesitates. His voice is quiet and drowsy, ready to drift off. “All that happened won’t change anything, right? Between us? Because I’m… I’m sorry if it makes things weird.”

Your heart skips a beat… He might have heard it.

That’s what he wants? To not change shit?

To remain platonic, friendly, close but not close enough. It won’t change anything? Because you thought it would.

But what are you supposed to say? Here, with him in your arms. You can’t start an argument or disrupt the evening you gifted each other. The preciousness of it can’t fade…

“No,” is what you say for that reason. “Of course not.”

“Good. Good, that’s important.” You don’t think he’s aware of what he’s saying. He sounds so tired, worn out after all the things he did today. The way he bids tonight goodbye is proof of that. “Night, Pumpkin.”

“Good night, Kook.”

Why did things happen the way they did? How did you let your guard fall? When did he decide it’d be okay to take a step further in his bed, in the bathroom, in the shower, only to go back to ground zero?

All those questions could plague your mind as you begin slumbering away. But they don’t.

Not yet.

–

pt1 || pt2 || pt3

–

author’s note: I am! sorry for the ending🥴 if you made it to the end of my very first real fic, thank you sowww much! did you enjoy it? let me know what you think--send an ask or reblog if you’d like, i’m really excited to know what you have to say bc feedback and support means everything💕

[samodivaa]

┊Impure Thoughts┊2

《Part 1┊Reader x Bucky Barnes

Bucky is getting more comfortable with going out without the prosthetic. You are getting a little too comfortable with the idea of using it...as a pleasure tool.

Warnings - smut, fingering, fisting, oral (f receiving)

Words - 2250

⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄

Every secret of your mind is rendered up—from this new and intimate perspective, you have no choice, but to speak

“Lust,” you keep your voice pitched low “Lust is a deadly sin” 

“And fucking yourself with my arm” His lips twitch, almost imperceptibly.

“I think that falls under lust” you whisper, sultry.

You catch yourself staring at the sensual curve of his lips, the impressive cut of his jaw, devouring every part of him with eyes.

“I think it should have its own category” he responds sweetly, allowing a shade of mockery to infect his tone.

He is looking at you with amused suspicion—you have to acknowledge this tame remark about the whole situation sounds way too perverse. You try to remain cordial and calm. You don’t want to give him the impression you are overbearing in fear he would judge you.

“Bucky-”

His jacket then goes to the floor, followed by his trousers, shirt until he is only in his boxers. His eyes dart over the surface of your face, exploring you from a distance with his unspoken desire and an innocent and mesmerizing smile.

“Jesus, snezinka…you are so filthy”(snowflake)

you hear a mute moan of human tenderness— his soul actually hanging around your naked body and is ready to repent. There is a pleasant sinking sensation in Bucky’s stomach as he contemplates how deliciously it would be to do it himself.

Your eyes widen at his choice of words and, much to your shock, you find that you love his dirty talk.

You are on your back—legs spread—the metal fingers still in you.

A little bit of kink is one of the most delicious of erotic pleasures

He stumbles forward to the bed and your body suddenly surges with the heat of concentrated humiliation—you feel disgusted—tired of the lust, but it's so hard to refuse it now.

He doesn’t speak, his expression doesn’t soften. But he is hard.

“The scent of your arousal is so-so sweet”

He speaks and you have a difficult time tearing your gaze away from his pelvis to meet his eyes.

His blue eyes almost glow, his voice lowered, husky. The scent of you, the scent of—pure filth.

Those scents lay around Bucky now, tempting him, drawing him.

Your thighs tighten, legs tremble at the sight of him coming closer to the bed. You hear him swear under his breath and reach down to squeeze tightly the imprint of his cock through the boxers—he senses your gaze now as he grips his cock over the fabric, the friction is absolutely delicious.

“Keep them open, it is too late for shame, baby”

He has never before felt so overwhelmed—nor experienced such appetite—such impatience for the night to begin.

He licks his lips, panting hard as you spread your legs further, his eyes barely glancing over the moisture glazed flesh.

He groans, the thought of his head between those silky thighs, his tongue lapping the sweet moisture that produced that intriguing scent is nearly more than he could bear.

Bucky licks his lips and bits back an oath.

When he climbs onto the bed, the bed cracking under his weight—as he crawls towards you—you close your eyes, take a deliberate deep inhale through your nose, hold it for a few seconds before forcing the trapped air out through pursed lips, attempting to calm down your accelerating heart rate.

And an affliction more than describes it.

Your feet fevered, skin sensitive, ready for his touch. It is unlike anything you have ever experienced. It is unlike anything you ever wanted to know, feel.

Bucky touches the back of your thigh, fingers grazing lightly down to the back of your knee, grasping it and lifting your leg carefully over his shoulder.

Through the fog of dizzying pleasure you open your eyes—a hitch of breath when his fingers slip in and out of you really quickly

—this bastard has reattached his arm.

He observes your face; your eyelids have dropped low over your eyes, bottom lip caught between your teeth. He squeezes your thigh, keeping your leg over his shoulder, his thumb gently tracing your skin and another low sigh leaves you.

You feel him withdrawing his fingers from your dripping centre. Then, one finger traces down your slit and starts to play with your tight rosebud.

You shudder from the pleasure that he is giving you. Feeling the pressure building up—your breathing becomes more labored. He keeps circling his finger in just the way that you love it and you can feel the beginning of the orgasm, when he pulls away.

Your gazes meet, he can see your eyes beseeching him to give you the release that you urgently needed.

“No, this is not what you have planned”

There is no fulfillment that is not made sweeter for the prolonging of desire

Two fingers glisten with the frothy cream of your body. After swishing his saliva around, he manages to clear his palate enough before bringing the fingers to his lips and sucking them slowly, his mouth watering from the irresistible tangy, almost metallic taste

—he has never tasted vibranium before.

You whimper as he takes them into his mouth, his eyes darkening on a sigh of both ecstasy and sin as he tastes you on his own fingers. His lashes lowered, becoming heavy with sexuality, his face is tense, tight with the needs that surges through his body as well.

“You always taste good—even better like that”

Bucky smiles, the curve of his lips tight.

He says as he runs the metal index finger along your slit, gathering some of the arousal, then circling it around your clit before dipping the digit insidе. Slowly he pumps, sending your hips bucking under his hand.

He adds another finger into her tightness and you mewls.

“Oh yes” The shocking words erupting from your mouth do little to dim the haze of need for more “Please. Oh please—” you are making little gasping sounds, Bucky looks down to watch his whole fist sinking in slowly, but surely.

“What the…how…” he murmurs.

The anticipation and confusion he feels at seeing his hand disappearing into you, also a kind of sensual pleasure, and surrounding it, like an embrace, a general elation—it is terribly inconvenient, no good might come of it, but he finds out for himself that he enjoys it, and it thrills him.

Your eyes lit up in glee, seeing his grimace of pleasure, the raw lust that transforms his face—as you finally get what you wanted.

Since he has done that for you, you suppose it was only fair that he wants it too.

“Fuck...please” you struggle to get out, overcome by what he has just done.

“Need to suck your tits”

He says, removing your leg from his shoulder, he leans downward to press a small kiss to the side of your neck and you gasp, head arching back as that rough, rasping tongue strokes over your neck. Slowly, he places open mouthed kisses up the of your neck, letting his tongue slip out occasionally to taste your skin.

His breathing increases in pace, coming out in a deep and fast rhythm, as he kisses his way across your throat to give the other side of the neck the same treatment and he registers that you have upped the volume as well, with quiet moans accompanying your sighs.

Oh, this will be so good.

Real good.

Hot, with a gentle abrasion that has you panting as he moves slowly to your breasts. He lavishes your tits with attention, his lips nibbling sporadically, which only adds to the arousal coursing through your veins.

The satisfaction of hearing your ardor-filled voice uttering his name with such need is indescribable. It fills him with such yearning that he could barely contain himself.

His cock aches to escape and fuck you—but is all about you tonight.

Bucky can only sigh, grinding a bit into the air, he makes himself elicit a growl against your skin in response, scraping his teeth lightly over the nipple. He groans, fisting into you harder now, hitting your cervix as your eyes, water up at the sensation of being so stuffed as he gives you more and more—him hand fucking you like that flips your brain inside out and turns your cunt to pudding.

You are mindless now. You can feel the sensations building—everywhere.

The wet squelches of your pussy make it clear that you are incredibly turned on. Bucky plays with your body expertly and if he keeps going you are going to come apart all over his hand. Your breathing speeds up and becomes ragged, broken moans interspersed between the gasps for air.

He meets your eyes as he pulls back and thrust his hand into you again. You are just blinking up at him, eyes wide as he bites his lip, trying to maintain a steady pace instead of pounding into you the way he wants.

Of course, you notice his reluctance—you shamelessly whisper—

“Faster”

“Tell me if it hunts, baby” he slurs the words as if inebriated.

He speeds up his pace, he’s panting, because he wants to fuck you so much—he feels the build of pleasure low in his abdomen as he slams his hand into you, the cool heat of your orgasm builds with each thrust—you clenching around him—shuddering against him.

It is not the easiest for the pace but the feeling of both your cunt getting filled by his metal hand and his mouth on your nipple have you coming, screaming out—his hand having slowed down to extend your pleasure—he feels you clench your inner muscles hard and your whole body starts to seize up, as the orgasm washes over. Lost to your pleasure, you ramble nonsensically; a combination of his name, pleas for more and thanking him for doing this.

He slowly removes his fingers from your cunt, giving the clit a small caress before raising his hand to lick off your slick.

“Different—” you try to catch your breath.

Shame is a soul eating emotion

“—different position”

Why drown in shame when you can have so much fun swimming in lust?

Oh, sweet fucking Jesus—Bucky wants to say, but stays wordless.

You are not ashamed of your needs—it overlays his heart with lust, too.

He immediately understands you and moves you like a rag doll—he maneuvers your legs so that you end up straddling him, your cunt is right over his head.

Bucky’s tongue rasps through the slit of your lips from bottom to top. You buck against him, greedily using his mouth and nose for your pleasure, compressing his face underneath your weight.

Slow, erotically rough and so hot you feel your flesh melting. His human hand grips your thigh, holding you down to his mouth—he slips his metal fingers inside of you, twisting and curling as he tirelessly works. 

“Mmmm” his low moans of pleasure vibrates against your clit. You gasp for breath as he licks you, his tongue swirling around, gathering more and more of the taste as he groans in satisfaction merely from being suffocated, used—your enthusiasm, hoping the vibrations would likewise be your undoing.

Those sweet lips. Oh my, he could kiss those lips all night long.

He smiles mentally and continues the pleasurable torture, not playing on stopping until you finish. Bucky has to consciously remind both his hand and mouth to keep moving, concentrating the movements—your melodic sounds are way so distracting to his mind.

He raises his head for the last time and licks up the delicious slit, savoring the flavor, before focusing on your pleasure bud once again, his whole fuckin hand in your depths, fisting you, making you clench around the metal, your orgasm building.

Arousal is more potent than any drug on the planet as Bucky drowns, drinks you in as you start to tremble—endearing that you want to finish so badly, breasts sway as you choke, rapidly approaching your orgasm.

You cry out as tremors take hold of you, her body jerking and nearly slithering away—but the flesh fingers have you locked, his arm around your thigh, holding you in place. He keeps going until he can’t breathe anymore—you’ve managed to nudge him into the mattress, but he doesn't mind—he doesn’t mind at all.

He lets go of you and you tumble to his side. Bucky can’t help but grin as he turns his head to face you—his sultry lips and seductive—covered in your wetness.

Love is that condition in which the happiness of another person is essential to your own. All Bucky wants is for you to feel good—you are, and always have been, his dream.

“Bucky?” you ask against your better judgment. “How do you—do you want me—“ you clear your throat. “Do you want to fuck me or—something else?”

You are confused and you are trying to catch your breath when you hear a dark chuckle—you meet his eyes then, all wide pupils and rich blue irises.

Darker than you’ve seen before

“Do you think that my dick will be enough after all that?” he asks, quietly.

“What about your dick and your hand in my—” you manage to whimper.

Bucky is amused. Or speechless. Maybe something in between there.

⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄

Fics like that arrive all the same. And now it's here. Or should I say, I AM >:)

Tag list :

@wilsons-striped-ties @12345sebby @rabbitrabbit12321 @buggy14 @femefetalelevelingup @8crazy-freak8 @emily-roberts @francesca-the-1st @somewereinthegalaxi @princezzjasmine @erica2024 @vicmc624

[ataraxiaspainting]

Banquet of Massacre.

Yan Geto x F Reader.

Synopsis: The days are blending into each other, and you just want some sort of change. But soon, you realize you have to be far more careful about what you wish for.

Warnings: Yandere themes, kidnapping, not SFW implications, takes place five or so years before JJK 0, and violence.

Continuation of Presentiment of Massacre.

Word Count: 800.

*~*~*~*

The green obi gently tightening with each passing second stops at your words, but after a chuckle resumes, the slight anger in Geto’s voice is smaller than the width of a hair.

He continues with the loose, wide red sodes. You focus so much on your anxiety, about what the rest of your life will be, that you don’t notice the small golden details of koi on the red sleeves. You don’t even pay attention to the silk that ties your wrists together, a consequence of you attempting to squirm your way out of dinner again. Not that dinner was anything special this evening.

“You know,” His voice rises and falls like the wind. “Perhaps there are some things you shouldn’t say to the only reason you are still alive.”

With that, he pulls, much harder than before, on the ends of the sash, causing you to gasp for air for a moment or two. 

“I could still feed you to one of my curses you know, or all of them at the same time, they would love to get a taste of you.”

At your desperate whines, as you attempt to claw at the ceiling with restrained hands, he lets go, and with his action, your vision blurs no longer.

He spins you around and he licks his lips.

“I-I’m sorry, Master Geto.” You might be uncertain if you mean your apology, but perhaps Geto has the answer.

Just as you are not sure if Geto forgives you, but he knows the answer for sure.

The woman sitting next to both of you on the floor holds a golden hairpin in her ragged, scarred hands. She holds the hairpin just like she held the underlayer, obi string, socks, obi, and sash. She held and currently holds them all so delicately because she did not want to lose her hands. She was your handmaiden, according to Geto, and although the two of you had never exchanged words, you knew her first name was Sookee, but her last name was of no relevance if it even existed. 

Even though she was around your age, Sookee looked much older than she was because of her premature wrinkles and little white hairs sticking out of her bangs, clear signs of all the stress Geto and the rest of the people here put her through. She was an indentured servant of sorts, from what you were told, and she, like you, is often tormented by the people who live here.

You feel bad for her, whenever you hear her screams and cries, whenever she trips and breaks a porcelain teapot and gets beaten for it, or when she is too late to dress you for supper, which always causes Geto to summon a curse that is so ugly and follows her for the rest of the day and makes crude comments toward her.

There was one time that it actually bit her, and after an hour’s worth of begging, Sookee earned the right to bandage herself up.

“Monkey,” The word is bitter on his tongue and lingers in the air for far longer than either Sookee or you would have liked. “Pin.”

Although you sympathize with Sookee, your instinct urges you to prioritize your well-being before her.

“Since you are so ungrateful for the life I have given you, maybe it would be better to make you like Sookee. Would you like that, princess? To be lesser than a pauper?”

You deeply repent for uttering a single word, which emerges from your lips with complete despair. Meanwhile, Geto wears a smile as he delicately places the luxurious golden hairpin, worth more than your two kidneys combined, into your hair. With a dismissive gesture and a piercing look, he sends Sookee away, and she quietly shuts the door behind her.

You don’t stop him from pushing you onto the bed, large enough for at least five people to rest on, because really is there anything you can do? “You’re so pretty. The loveliest one, the only one worthy of what I am about to do.”

You are trapped here, forever bound by him. The door is guarded by a terrifying curse that ensures your confinement, although Geto's power makes it unnecessary. You find yourself in this place, adorned in the kimono he compelled you to wear, lying in his bed, with the makeup Sookee was forced to apply on you. And here you are, hearing his whispered words of affection as he lies upon you.

“Since you are so ungrateful for what you already have, I will give you more and more, my love, until you regret ever wishing for a life outside of this one.”

[tabernacleheart]

The [post-sacrificial] address of the Lord to Cain-- expressed here perhaps only in its substance-- is fraught with the most powerful motives that can bear on the mind of man. It holds out acceptance to the wrong-doer, if he will come with a broken heart and a corresponding expression of repentance before God, in the full faith that He can and will secure the ends of justice so that He can have mercy on the penitent. At the same time it points out-- with all clearness and faithfulness, to a soul yet unpractised in the depths of iniquity-- the insidious nature of sin, the proneness of a selfish heart to sin with a high hand, the tendency of one sinful temper, if persisted in, to engender a growing habit of aggravated crime which ends in the everlasting destruction of the soul. Nothing more than this can be done by argument or reason for the warning of a wrong-doer. From the mouth of the Almighty, these words must have come with all the evidence and force they were capable of receiving.

Albert Barnes; Commentary on Genesis 4:6

[jujutsukgojo]

The Fourth Leg

chrollo lucilfer x reader

Summary: No matter how fast you ran, the Spider's leg cannot get far. No matter how long you hid, you were bound to be found, dear number four. WARNING: toxic relationships, mentions of murder and torture, bullying, murder plot, smut, idk what else? yandere? 18+ Smut scene is based on Fear (1996). I saw it and it crept up on me

You’ll always be able spot the blond haired boy from a mile away. His blond locks are longer now, and his eyes are colder. They aren’t the same light grey they used to be when he was around. A small smile comes across your face when you look to see what your boy is wearing: his traditional Kurta attire.  

  When the massacre happened and you had run into Sheila, she informed you of everything there was to know about the Kurta. So, while he was housed by you, you made those clothes for him. And now that he’s a little older, he still wears the clothes you send him.  

  Kurapika left home to get his hunter’s license. He was determined and able. Just like you shaped him to be. Alas, there is something there that you once again failed to save. Just like before, like always.  

  That rageful bloodlust that confuses the host for justice and vengeance when it is neither one. It is darkness that lurks into them and finally settles into their souls.  

He is falling for the same trick as you and your dearest friends had. They entered a place and left every smidge of hope they had. What was supposed to be for justice, protection, and Sarasa, resulted in a numbness that is too disgusting to handle. It’s too brutal and vile. Bloody without a thought of washing their hands with repentance.

No matter, the tightness of your chest has you think of one thing: is it too late to save Kurapika?  

  You go back inside and wash the dishes that you dirtied from cooking his favorites. He had let you know he was coming. It is such a rarity to even be able to contact Kurapika. He’s just so busy lately. That, and he acts like he has never worked a phone before in his life. The little shit.  

  Thunder and lightning strike, shaking the ground beneath you. A slight rumble under your bare feet. You look out the window again and see a ghost from your past. Tall, silver haired, and just as beefy as before: Silva Zodlyck. You haven’t seen him since he killed you.  

  If he spots you, it will be a brawl. Another side of you that you have buried, not exorcised, all these years are calling out for his blood. To wreak havoc once more and see the fear in his eyes again. The bad thing about that is, is that you are a non combatant. An exorcist, a priestess of sorts. Not at all suited for the front lines. You can defend yourself and fight, but not on the level of him or the others.  

Hell, maybe not even Kurapika now, and you wiped that boy’s tears and snot.  

What you can do now is remain low. As much as you want to see that little brat and talk to him, to find out how he’s been, to fuss over him and see if he’s eaten yet, right now you can’t even consider that. Not when he is close to finding out. Besides, he can take care of himself for a bit. As it appears, Silva isn’t after him.  

  Breathe in, breathe out. Focus on me, trust in me.  

Your breath hitches. That smooth voice is in your head. One you haven’t heard of in years. With all the power inside, you tried to push it out. To wipe their faces from your memories.   

  You see the trash can and can only think of Little. Oh, how you tortured that boy. Putting him in trashcans and sitting on the lids and gave him noogies. Little would always retaliate but had to be held back when that one showed up to protect you. God, why are you thinking of this? There is a beast of a man who almost ended you and your dumbass is reminiscing of your bullying days.  

  Had you not pulled that one trick up your sleeve, you truly would have died by the hands of Zoldyck. It has been years since you’ve fought seriously. You trained Kurapika, but you never went full throttle. Nothing but rust is on your nen and hand-to-hand combat.

  Just sit back, don’t hide your presence or anything. That's what he’s looking for. Any kind of blip in the atmosphere. Hell, he may not even remember you!  

_____________

  You know what you have to do. There is no hope here. No compassion for others at all. The Kurta clan, Sarasa, you, no one. It is now or never.  

  You jump at the bolder of a man. Crosses paint themselves on your palms as a holy prayer escapes your lips. Your veins line with the brightest blue and the rubble around you lift off the ground from your aura. Directly, your hands clasp onto Silva’s. He looks confused and the most surprising of all, scared.

He lets go of his hatsu. In the back, there is a bloody scream. A roar that a lion can never compare itself to. A bloodlust from the roar that made Silva’s eyes widen. It is too late, the hatsu hit you straight on. Two balls of electricity and power collide with your fragile body.  

   When you came to, by pure nen, you could vaguely see your dearest. His eyes watery, voice hoarse, blood trinkling on his face. Silva is not in sight, not a single thing left behind. Did he kill him? 

  “No, no, no, damn it! Fuck!” He shakes you ever so slightly as you lay in his arms. “Heal yourself, please...”  

  You have to leave. He has no regard for you or anyone but himself. Chrollo, the boy who is only a few years older than you, yet you still bullied him, is gone. He didn’t care that you’re a non combatant. He was willing to sacrifice your life and his for his ego.  

  He only wants your ability, positively. Chrollo is gone. It is only the spider left. You have always hated spiders anyway.  

________________

Nah, Silva remembers you. He almost died too. How can he forget that he was sent to kill the man responsible for the annihilation of an entire clan? It's hard to forget a case like that considering the brutality of the deaths.   

  And if Kurapika finds out that you are Number Four, the lost spider, he’ll lose it. He'll demand to see the tattoo, no doubt. You can’t show him that. Especially since you lost a bet with Machi and Paku and put it on a place that he just has no business looking at.   

  As long as you remain calm and blend in, no one will notice. If Kurapika comes in with Silva, you’ll leave before. Pretend that you are out of town or something. Actually, that’s a good idea. You quickly write a note telling your boy that you had to rush out and that you’d call him later. To help himself to the food and make sure to rest.  

  There is another rumble under your feet. It feels different. The screams are louder, the air more ominous by the second. What is this? It touches you like a familiar hand. Something cold and clammy. Is that...Nobunaga?  

  Don't panic, don’t panic. It's been years since you faked your death and abandoned them. They probably don’t remember you, right?  

 Nah, you pantsed Nobunaga in the middle of a dubbing. He was wearing the ranger’s underwear. He always vowed to get revenge, but he was stopped by Chrollo, of course. You’ve known these people for years and fought with them side by side. You saved him several times and healed him. He will remember you.  

  There is a deathly silence. Your skin raises goosebumps all over. You can feel him. Your old friend knows or is at least trying to figure out what’s going on. You take a deep breath and remain calm. It has always been easy to trick him. How many times did you do such a thing and lead him to embarrassing situations?   And how many times did Chrollo get you out? Every. Single. Time.  

You sure were spoiled rotten by Chrollo in every way. It drove people nuts. When you were dropped off in Meteor City at the age of five, you were a terror due to pain and heartbreak. There was only so much a child could take and you weren’t able to express it properly.  

  The priest held onto patience as much as he could, but no one could ever hold a candle to Chrollo’s patience. It is as if he is a saint. You'd bite, kick, and talk over him. When they dubbed the tapes, you would always turn the tv off just because it wasn’t what you wanted to watch. Uvogin was so close to beating you so many times, but Chrollo intervened and explained to them what empathy was.   

  However, he went overboard and spoiled you rotten. In the Troupe you got part of Chrollo’s shares including what was actually yours. He made sure that you were the most taken care of out of them all. He always helped you up and protected you the most. You weren’t able to go on a mission by yourself and had to have at least two people with you, just like him.  

He always held a soft spot for you, you think. Even before you shared special moments. Until he stopped caring and went somewhere where you can’t follow.  

Now that you have abandoned the Spider, Lord only knows what’ll happen. Will he spare you for old time’s sake? Or will Feitan, also known as “Little”, finally get his revenge because of the trash cans?  

  Or Machi’s cut up clothes, and Paku’s shaved head, or Uvo’s wedgies and bites, Phinks’s eyebrows that never grew back, Shalnark’s broken nose and the tack in his sho-  

Oof, you’re going to die. And that was all done when you were like, six? There were plenty more years that you were just onery. Chrollo...that poor guy. The hell he went through before and after the Troupe...the patience of a saint.  

Spoiled, spoiled, spoiled, rotten.    

You were ungoverned and got away with things that the rest couldn’t. But this, rejecting the Spider, rejecting him, sheltering the last Kurta descendant...you’ll die.  

  Or be in a lot of pain.  

Suddenly, you feel a sharpness crawling up your arm. They're coming.  Another rumble occurs right when you back away from the sink. In the distance is a large body flying in the air with a trail of red following it. What?  

With a gross thud that you swear everyone heard, lands Silva. Beaten, bloody, gone.  

   Well, there goes that problem. On to the next, which is Nobunaga. You're caught in his en somehow. Or whatever the hell that's called. Anyway, never did you think he’d grow and be able to stretch it out this far. 

  You start to leave calmly so he doesn’t suspect anything. Just a calm person that his en is confusing for someone else! Finally, you hear the even more terrible commotion. You know Kurapika is okay if the rumors of the powerful chain user are true. And he seemed to have a lot of help. Once you shake the Nobunaga off, you’ll make your way to Pika.  

  He doesn’t know that in your past you were one of the Spider’s legs. The fourth one, to be exact. The one who died by the hands of Silva Zoldyck, years ago. Soon after the Kurta’s extinction and after the fight with the Spider’s leader, the devil himself.

You lock the backdoor and head to the woods where there is a safe spot that Kurapika used to train. As you pass by the branches and the shady trees, you are blinded by the harsh memories of your dear friend, Sarasa. She and the Troupe are a few years older than you. They spent more time with her than you did but the memories of her, those precious moments that you wanted to last for years to come, that innocence, was stripped from you. You hold onto the specks of what was left of your childhood, before the truth of hell appeared.  

   A trash bag, a child inside, the Troupe, and Chrollo who faced it first and has never recovered.  

You weren’t there to find her. It was broken down to you because of your youth and denial, you were staunch in the belief that it was a lie and that she was alive. The only one who had patience for you was Chrollo. The tantrums were the tipping point to the realization that she had suffered in her last moments.   

  When it hit you, he held you as you remained in shock. He catered to your every whim to fill in the shoes of the missing people in your life. And you left him.  

How could you not? He left you first, abandoned you for a darkness that you couldn’t shine a light through. Chrollo believed that he was a messiah to the city and to his friends. They follow blindly when you can’t. You are a thief, not a heartless killer. The Kurta didn’t deserve their fate.  

 You push past a couple of thick bushes to be startled. 

  “Come here, now.” His voice is as smooth as you remember, just a little deeper now and more commanding. Although you know him and his quirks, the atmosphere is off. A creepy feeling of nothing in the air. You can’t sense him of his anger at all. Only a chill and a hair-raising sensation that doesn’t match anyone you know. Perhaps, this is fear.  

   You walk to him as you spot him in a clearing. “Chrollie.”   

“A dead spider, huh.” He stands tall but casually with his hands in his pockets. His hair is slicked back and the tattoo on his forehead is more prominent. He’s shirtless and wears an odd coat. His style choice is different now than it was back then. Before, he would throw on normal Meteor City clothing, which consisted of whatever was around. Looking back, his favorite was a white shirt and plain black jeans. Now, he looks like he wears designer. 

  “Here I thought that you were squashed,” he looks you up and down, eyes narrowing. You feel vulnerable under his gaze. “All along you were here. Raising a devil that killed two of your own.”  

You know about Uvogin and Pakunoda. Kurapika felt so guilty, after the events he vented to you. He sounded as young as he did when you took him in. Of course, you were hurt and cried when Kurapika wasn't looking. You mourned them as anyone would. 

  “I know about that-”  

“And you still didn’t come back?” Chrollo is shaking, desperate to calm down. His fists are clenched so hard, you think they’ll bleed. This, you think, is the most anger he's ever shown. And it's toward you.  “Could I? You would’ve killed me!”  

“I would have accepted you with open arms, Number Four.” Would have.   

Number Four. He didn’t even call you by your real name. “No, you would react just as badly as you are now.”  

“Oh, my darling spider, you have no idea. All you had to do is trust me.” He shakes his head in disappointment. 

_____________

“I’m not joining, Chrollie. I’m not calling you Boss, either.” You were disappointed that they actually went through with this. Years ago, you came across their little meeting. Chrollie looked at you and asked if you wanted to join but you called them all stupid.  

“Why not? I'm the leader.” You roll your eyes. “No, you’re a theater nerd.”  

You jump and sit on the desk. He comes up to you, only inches apart. Chrollie gently cradles your face. “That part of me is gone, darling.”  

“Darling? Pretending to be all manly now? A gentleman? That's what 'darling' reminds me of. Those books you read.” You acknowledge that he’s grown up. He broader and stronger. His hands no longer smooth but are calloused and bigger than your own.  

He erases how gentle he was caressing your face and replaces it with a commanding and firm touch on your cheeks. “Join me.”  

  “No.” You answer as well as you can with your cheeks squished. Suddenly, his lips touch yours. It is your first kiss. It sends shocks to your special place. He parts from you. Embarrassingly, you follow in his direction.  

  Quickly, you snap out of the trance of your first kiss. You shake your head in defiance. “I want to travel! I want to get out of this city and experience the highs. I've already touched the lows. I don’t want to get deeper.”

"You think we’re lower than you?” There’s an edge in his tone. One that tells you to tread carefully. However, you’re not shy when it comes to Chrollie.  

“No. But I worry that you will be.” He tilts his head and asks, “Because you think I can’t take you to the there?”  

  He grabs your hand that is so much larger than yours. It's weird now. You are used to him leading you places but now you just realize the difference between you two. He’s...a man now. It’s all so new. You'll never admit that he makes you feel some type of way.  

“Let me show you.”  

Just like in the movies, you see a roller coaster for the first time. There are lights everywhere and smiling and laughing people. And not at you! Just the joys of life without worrying where the next meal is coming from. You spot the balloons in various animal shapes and see the fluffy candy. The pretzels are soft, and the fried dough the size of your head is to die for. You have never witnessed such freedom. The last time you have seen an inkling of joy was when you were a child and Chrollie was dubbing tapes. 

   The two of you get on the back of the ride. You cling onto his arm. “Scared?”  

“No!” In truth, you were. Never in your life did you ever see one of these in person. Only on the videos Chrollo would pick up. It showed the ride going fast and high with screaming people. There were twists and sharp turns on the tape. And now, you get to be one of those people to experience it.

The ride starts. He wraps his right arm around you. The roller coaster shoots out causing you to flinch.  

“I got you, trust me.” You curl into him as the ride takes a sharp turn. Right after it happened, you feel tracing between your legs. You look down and see Chrollie’s fingers rubbing against you.   

  It's...feeling really good. Your breaths become quicker as his fingers do figure eights through your underwear. You let out a little shriek when he pulls them down. Now, there’s nothing blocking him from you. The ride takes a sudden left. 

  You don’t know how it happened, how it led to this. What exactly did you say to him that incited him to massage your bud and insert a single finger inside you. Slowly coaxing moans that blend in with the screaming of everyone else. Never have you been so grateful for that. He places a kiss on your head. “Join me, swear to me.”  

   Another finger enters you. His palm rubs and presses against you. How are his fingers so long? Why are they bigger than yours and feel so much better?  

  You start to really moan as he goes faster. You lift up slightly to follow his motions with your hips. Chrollie bites and sucks on the spot under your ear. The ride starts to go up.   

“Holy sh-oh God...” You breathily cry. He growls in your ear at the sound. “I’ll take you there, to the highs. So high you’ll never see the ground.”  

You grab his wrist and move furiously, spreading your legs a little more to give him as much room as possible. You want more, need more. There is a feeling there that is about to pop. One that he can take.  

   “Swear to me.” You watch as the stars get closer. People make noises of excitement different than yours, but it blends. “Do you want me to stop?”  

“N-no! I trust you!” You grab onto anything in reach as you give up trying to keep up with him. He's cradling you, his dominant hand relentless and lips sinful. A goose bump raising feeling starts. It's cold and is making you shake even more. Chrollo feels it too.  

He's smiling when you gasp and your head goes back.  

  Everything is happening at once. Two different sensations, both caused by the boss, by Chrollo Lucilfer. And he knows it, he’s waited for it.  

  “Swear to me, trust me!” You grab his leg and squeeze it. “Let me take you there.” He whispers in your ear.  

As the ride reaches the peak, so do you. Loudly, you swear to him. To the spider and his name. His hands and whatever energy is rushing to you, cause your eyes to go back. The squelching sound is loud, but your euphoric moans of his name are louder.   

From what you gather in this state, the ride was supposed to stop. Supposed to stay on the rails rather than bounce a little. You didn't even notice that your aura was the cause for the ride's disruption.

When your high leaves you, you’re in a daze and glowing. He withdraws himself and sucks on his fingers. You gasp at the sight. It is pornographic, the hungry look in his eyes. The grey that you have known for years has become so dark and just by a lick. He grabs your hand gently and leads you away to finish what he started. Your legs shake along the way and for the rest of the night when the two of you are satisfied. The way he licked and sucked and swirled his tongue on the most delicate of places and thrusted himself inside had him gain the scratches on his back.   

The two of you created a memory that neither of you would ever forget.  

It wasn’t until you learn about the nodes do you hold a slight bitterness towards him. He caused yours to open wide because of this. Your aura nodes and a nen pact that binds you together. For the Spider.  

____________

You swallow at the memory and plenty more of similar situations with your former boss. For years you trusted him fully. But somewhere along the way, he had lost it. “Chrollie, please understand. I just didn’t agree with it anymore.”  

“Really?” He scoffs. He knows you are hiding the words to describe how it really was, how it is. You rub your eyes with the palms of your hands.   

“When you killed that entire clan...tortured them, mutilated them...I couldn’t do it anymore. You wouldn’t listen to me. You only thought of yourself.”  

“Excuse me?” His voice is low, and his eyebrows are raised. He's gotten so intimidating now. Before, he was someone you pushed over even when he was your boss. It has always been that way. You admit, you are spoiled. Undisciplined and rebellious to the Spider.  

To Chrollo Lucilfer.  

   If you are going to die today, you are leaving with giving him a piece of your mind. A dose of reality that he no longer has.  

“You completely lost yourself. How can you make dumb decisions like that?”  

“Their eyes gave Meteor City a profit that helped millions. I did it for our city.”   You shake your head no. “No, you did it for yourself. As some kind of sick powerplay! And everyone follows you blindly, and to do it without a thought. You guys kill for no reason. It didn’t use to be that way.”  

 Your lip wobbles at the memory of that day. You had gone up to Chrollo and went against the mission. It was stupid to you. It didn’t make any sense. They were going to kill these people because he wanted their eyes? You understand that he is greedy and increasingly vicious. But not cruel, not before the end. 

  He didn’t yell at you, but he did put you in your place with a stern yet calm voice. It was scary. Just as scary as he is now. You still couldn’t do it though. The thought of it made you cry.

So, he commanded you to keep watch and capture any stragglers. There were none. You ran away from the screams and ran into a boy with blond hair and blue clothing. A Kurta. The last one, to be exact. You begged him not to go over there. Afraid of his fate or him seeing the gruesome crime.  

  The Troupe were not there, only corpses. Eyes gouged out, bruises and bloody. Even the children. Lucilfer had become the devil himself.  

  You, without thought, took the boy in. You found a little village not too far away and raised him in a cottage. Unfortunately, you weren’t there every single day because of your “job”. One he knew nothing about.  

   Until your last day. You and Chrollo had been walking in Meteor City when Silva Zoldyck came. Someone called for him to eliminate the Troupe. Your dearest didn’t care that you aren’t really suited for fighting. Especially a Zoldyck.   

   That was your chance! So, when Silva had hit you with his Hatsu, you hid inside your energy and faked your death. It looked so real, felt like it too. It took a lot of healing and purifying to survive.  

  You had to do it. Your friends had lost their way. You couldn’t go along with it anymore.   

“You left.” You whimper. 

“Are you kidding me? I believe the one who abandoned the Spider, your friends, me, is you. My spoiled little brat .” He takes a few steps closer to your standing frame.   

“You went to a place where I couldn’t follow. It was no longer about finding Sarasa’s killers or protecting the city. The Spider turned evil. I knew it was happening but I didn’t face it until years later when you committed a pointless massacre.” He ignored you and talked over you.  

“You swore. And here I find you healthy, alive. While we are dying. We needed you and you left!” That ended with a powerful yell.   

“You didn’t care about me either. I was no match for Silva yet you were willing to sacrifice me. You went to a place I just couldn’t -can’t- follow.”  

  A tear drips down your face. His face is furious and slicked back hair is coming undone by him running his hand through it. He stops when he sees your tear. Instinct takes over and he wipes it.   

“Uvo, Paku, Shalnark, Korotopi. All gone and you could have stopped it. I was cursed by that boy to never talk to the Troupe again. We had to find an exorcist in Greed Island of all places because you decided we were trash.” His voice deceptively hushed and smooth. You shake your head no.  

“Not trash. Just bad leadership.”   

Chrollo’s eyes widen. This is the first time anyone has insulted his leadership. He immediately pulls your hair. You yelp and try to get out of his hold.  

“And yet you do not complain of the riches I gave your greedy ass.” He growls.  

“You are a profitable leader. A good provider. An excellent one. I hadn’t a need or want in the world,”  

You struggle to get out of his grip. It loosens as you speak. “But you aren’t a true leader. A true one would never endanger his people like you have. Never would view them as replaceable.”  

  He tosses you on the ground. You accidentally land on your wrist. Chrollo paces back and forth. “Replaceable? Bad leader-ha! Oh, love you are something.”  

   He grabs your arms roughly. You try to yank your arm out of his grasp. “You’ve already replaced me!”  

  Chrollo shakes his head no. “I could never.”  

“I’m sorry, Chrollie. I just-you-,” You take a deep breath. “Everything went downhill. We stopped looking for the killers like you promised. We weren’t Robin Hood anymore, either. Remember that story you read me? Take from the rich and give to the poor?”  

“I remember.”  

“It wasn’t that anymore. What was left was coldness and blood. And a boy whose life and childhood were taken from him. Just like ours. It wasn’t fair.”  

  “We support and provide for our home, not some random people.”  

Frustrated, you retort, “You like to listen to the sound of your own voice too much. That's why you don’t listen! You don’t realize actions have consequences until shit like Uvo and Paku happen.”  

  He raises his hand. You flinch to brace for it. This is the first time he will strike you.   

  Time is frozen as you wait for the pain. You open your eyes and see what’s the hold up. Chrollo stands frozen with his hand still in the air still. His face is no longer hardened, but shocked. His mouth is slightly open and eyes have widened. He stares at his open palm as if it had a mind of its own, and he couldn't believe it. 

Then he clears up once again to return to his previous deadly expression. Rather than striking you on your face, he lands his hand on your ass. You yelp at the impact. 

  “ Ow!” You rub the cheek he hit. “Why? Of all things?” Like him hitting your ass was supposed to be better than your face? It's demeaning! 

  He grabs your face with one hand and kisses you harshly, passionately. A confession, a return. Stupidly, you get lost in him like always.  

_______

“No! You play this instead.”  

“But I want to dub Cleanup Rangers...” Chrollo rubs his arm as he looks down at the nine year old. You were dropped off at the front doorstep of the church about a couple of years ago. Ever since then you’ve been a little terror. Always picking on people, on the priest, the entire city.   

  You are a tiny bully pushing everyone around because you’re hurt. Only Sarasa could fully calm you. While everyone else just visited the church from time to time, you were a child that had to live in it because no one liked you. You never got a nanny or substitute siblings. All you had was yourself and a priest who was often at his wits end. You had to follow him around and practice his teachings and study them. You were often times bored and thus angry at everything. 

Sarasa was a God send in his eyes and yours. Chrollo was someone who tried to follow in Sarasa’s footsteps with you but lacked the ability to tell you no. He was a patient and caring boy, but one you walk over.  

  “I don’t care! This one!” You stomp your feet.  

“Don’t let her push you around like that, Chrollo.” Uvogin recently hit a growth spurt, so he towered over you two completely.   

  “No! What I say goes. This one!” You show Uvogin the tape. “Do you even know what’s on it?”  

“No. But I want to see.”  

 Chrollo hums and places the tape inside. It turns out, it was blank. You pouted as Uvogin teased you. His smile is wide and practically glows. The laugh is boisterous and bounces off the walls. Immediately, you hit him in his most sensitive spot, causing him to buckle and groan.  

You scream at the top of your lungs. “Stop laughing at me!”   

  Laughter and a smile like that remind you too much of your parent when they dropped you off in this God forsaken, dirty, and polluted place. You hate it. “It’s okay. Here, we’ll do the Clean up Rangers and you can help if you want!”  

  Chrollo took out the blank tape and put it aside. He picked you up and placed you on the desk closest to him. Uvo hisses and glares at you. You frown and stick out your tongue.  

“Listen, you can play the-”  

“No. I'm scared of that.” He knows good and damn well you don’t listen. He looks at you confused until he deduces the problem. “Stage fright?”  

Confused, you ask, “What’s that?”  

 Uvogin groans in the background with every dirty word he can muster. He curses Chrollo for being so gentle with you and a “pushover”. You quickly tell him to shut up or you’ll hurt him even worse.  

  “It’s when you get scared to talk in front of a bunch of people.” You sat in front of him and nodded. “Okay, how about you have a front row seat then! Make sure you cheer us on, alright?”  

   You're still pouting. He rubs your cheek. You want to play with the rest of them too! They never let you play normal things. He hugs you and rubs your back to console you.  

“Trust me. It'll be fun!”  

___________

You wrap your arms around his neck, gently tugging at his hair. What was a proclamation of dominance, turned into an embrace of passion. You part from him slightly. You rub his chest and ask, “Why did you lose your way? Killing all of those people?”  

“Why did you stop trusting me?”  

“You are willing to sacrifice everyone, even me.”  That day with Silva Zoldyck was proof of your accusation, of your observation.  He sucks on your neck with the intent of a mark. You give him a gasp. Slightly muffled, “Why do you doubt me? Do you honestly think I would have? You stopped trusting me.”  

He nibbles on your ear. You try to pull away before you are totally caught in him. “The Kurta-”  

 “Are responsible for Sarasa’s death and for some of the trafficking of children. Getting rid of them was necessary. Do you understand?” He continues to kiss down your neck, making sure to suck on the best places. He holds you a little closer. 

You want to believe there was a deeper reason for the extermination of the Kurta. “You barely remember it, so it can’t be true. Hell, how can I believe you when you don’t care about anyone?” He slaps your ass again. You are this close to smacking the shit out of him. You rub your bum in hopes to stop the stinging.  

 “Stop that! That’s not funny!” You pull away to see an indifferent face for a split second.  Chrollo grabs the back of your hair and pulls you in once again. His personality flips like a switch. The sweetness is gone and back is the bloodlust and anger. Honestly, it never left. It was just hidden to trick you.  He's a good actor like that.

____________

“What are you guys doing?” Phinks groans at the sight of you. Recently, he had to pull Feitan out of the trashcan again. Next to him is Feitan saying words in his native tongue that would have made a sailor blush. You blow a kiss to them both just to antagonize them. 

“Enough, she’s part of the Spider now.” Chrollo, right on his forehead, has a cross tattoo that kind of resembles a web. You don't know where he got it done at. 

“Her? What can she do?” Machi crosses her arms. You always wondered if she liked Chrollie. If she knew what the two of you did last night, she’d scream.  

You’re still a little sore and flustered. But happy and satisfied. Never have you felt so good. At first it was so sweet and dare you say, loving. Then as the night went on it became animalistic.  

Rather than sit around him, waiting to hang on to his every word, you sit next to him, chomping on some chips you found. You hear some groans and mumbles about how you are and how you’re going to get away with everything. Again.  

You stick your tongue out and say, “That’s why I ain’t sharing...bitch ass.” Phinks crosses his arms. “Damn it...”  

“Enough,” He stares down at you. “Like I said, she is a leg. And an exorcist.”   

You feel his eyes on you again. You look up to see his eyes. “The fourth leg.”  

________

“You are coming home, now.” He drags you by the back of your neck.   

“Wait, stop!”   

“Shut the ever living fuck up.” He squeezes you harder. Wasn't he just loving on you like two seconds ago? You have always wondered if he was all there. He seemed genuine when he was a kid but seeing the man he's become, you may never know. 

  “Hold on! You said the Kurta killed Sarasa. How do you know?”   

“Sheila told us.”  

  You see the rest of the legs. They look unbothered until they see you. Shock is painted on their faces so vibrantly.   

“I thought...I thought she hadn’t seen you in years?”  You have a sense of confusion and suddenly, dread. 

____

Sheila limps to a cave. You see her as you run away from the Troupe and their horrific actions. This happened right before you would spot a blond boy. “Sheila?”   

“Oh my God!” She hugs you tightly. Her leg has always been messed up since she was a child.   

  You feel like crying at the sight of her. It has been you and the Spider for so long now, you were forgetting what Sheila was like. She was the closest thing you had to Sarasa. You had your own way of loving someone, but Sarasa seemed the most natural. A big sister, a mother even. A girl who always shared stickers with you and sang you to sleep.  

  “What’s going on?” She asks as you hug return her hug. “T-they’re killing them!”  

  “Who? Who’s dying?”   

“The Kurta!” Sheila gasps. “I was just with them. Oh no, did I-”  

You sniffle and wipe your eyes. “No, no. This is on them.”  

“And the Kurta were so nice too. Harmless, peaceful.”  

____

Why did she say that if she knew they killed Sarasa? When did her and Chrollo talk? You were with Chrollo the whole time, so it couldn’t have been that day.   

  You see Sheila in the background. She is looking down at the ground, then looks up with the most wicked smile and gleam. What? You stare back with horror. Never has she had that smile. It is foreign and totally misplaced. This is Sheila, not a Troupe member. Why is she even here? She isn’t a part of it and disapproved of the group.  

Then, everything is falling together.   

  Everyone’s faces are that of monsters.   

You don’t understand. She told them of their whereabouts. She said something completely different to you. And of course, you believed her. Her and Sarasa were like sisters. They were so close it was like looking at twins. Never would you have thought she could commit such a sin. The Kurta were innocent, but...what’s going on? Everyone was desperate to capture Sarasa’s killers-oh no. You stop moving your feet, only to be dragged by Chrollo Lucilfer. He moves his hand from your neck to your arm in a tight hold, tripping you along the way.  

  “No, no, no!” You’re trying to yank free. How can he not see it? He’s the smartest person you know. How can he not see what had taken place that day? The horror, the blood and mutilation. Chrollo, you must see this!   

The Kurta and Sarasa were innocent. Kurapika...your boy.   

“Chrollo, don’t you see?” You whisper for only him to hear. He looks down at you as the rain begins to fall gracefully.   

  You can feel the tears swell.  

Does he know what happened that day? That the Troupe and Sheila are monsters. And not just because of the Kurta’s extinction. You may not have all of the puzzle pieces, but by the reactions alone, it becomes clearer.  

Out of everyone here, you struggle to read him. Always have, even when you were kids. You only catch the truth from time to time when he gives it to you. They are few in between. 

  “Have they made a fool of you?” It is rare to one up Chrollo. His power can wipe nations, his aura is powerful and vast, his commanding tone is one that cannot be ignored.   

 “Sacrifices have to be made.” He bluntly answers without a hint of remorse or second thought. His tone is final and dead. Like he has nothing else to say about it.  

_______

“I’m fucking sick of her-!” Uvogin plops down on the chair. It creaks under him. Before Uvogin can continue his ranting, another voice pipes up on the matter of a certain little girl.   

“She’d...be fun.” His voice is recognizable to anyone due to his lack of pure fluency. His hair is choppy right now because a brat got her hands on a pair of scissors. The thick, black, strands are being fixed by Pakunoda. It isn’t the best, but at least it wouldn’t look as bad as it did.   

Machi taps her foot. “She would be, huh?”   

  “It can’t be us, though. Too obvious.” Shalnark points. Collectively, the friends are beginning to plan and imagine a better Meteor City.  

“Are you guys being serious, right now? This is a child you’re talking about.” Pakunoda taps on Feitan’s shoulder, signaling that she’s done. He turns back to look at her and answers, “Deadly.”  

  Machi sighs. “You’re right, Shal. It is too obvious. And we have rehearsal with Chrollo, too.”  

  Pakunoda crosses her arms. “This isn’t sitting right. Something is going to go wrong.”  

“Remember your shaved head?” Machi asks. Pakunoda tenses up at the memory of you butchering her hair. Who keeps giving you scissors? You would be cute with that crooked smile of yours if it wasn't caused by the loss of her hair. 

  “There are a lot more bad things going on in the city. Accidents happen all the time, Paku.” Nobunaga puts his hair into a bun. Pakunoda remains silent. “We can’t let anyone else know. Only ones in this room.”  

  As said, bad things happen to kids in Meteor City all the time.  

 

Sarasa decided to go find a tape instead of you since you have a habit of picking blanks. You stomped your foot in protest. You wanted to go! You’d finally had the right directions to pick up some good tapes, anyway. Alas, Sarasa went while Chrollo soothed you.  

She skips along and sees a few men ready to welcome her in the worst way.   

“Is it her?”  Uvogin’s heart is racing. It's pounding so loud it’s in his ears. The rain is the only outside noise as Chrollo reluctantly opens the bag.  

Chrollo opens the bag and sees the face of Hell. Uvo grabs him and demands to know what is on the note since he can't read it. The wrong face is behind that letter, that much is known. The wrong directions were given to the wrong child. Everyone needs to know. To hear the mistake and pain, the truth.  

The words on that letter will never be spoken.   

_____

“The Kurta is an isolated clan with special eyes. They'd be a good cover, no?” Sheila asks. Lately, Sarasa’s murder is being brought up more and more. Chrollo is turning into the leader that Meteor City needs. And an omnipotent being. A terrifying, controlling, mastermind of a god. One that demands respect and cooperation, devotion to what he’s created: a spider. But that spider has one weakness that at a drop of a hat, can cause this god to wreak havoc on everything. 

Calm and collected he appears, but thunderous when he strikes. Loyal to what is his, but horrible in all.   

  “So, the Kurta. Agree?”  

“Aye.” They say in unison. “It’s not like anyone would miss them.”  

_____

The more you study him, the more you wonder if he knows. Was he blind or was he in on it and spun that story of him finding her? How could any of them do this?   

“Please, not you...” You whisper. Chrollo’s book is open to a page fit for an exit. A green portal opens. “No! No, no, no!”  

You struggle even more as everything, except for Chrollo’s role, becomes clear. You are not the smartest, but you are stupid. Years in that blasted city has taught you valuable lessons of reading people. Years of knowing these people have given you an advantage on top of that. Well, not everything obviously. “Chrollo, what did you do?”  

He glances down at you once more. “I am the Head, my fourth limb. But even a spider has a treasure to keep.”   

  His grey eyes are dull but with the slightest hint of possessiveness. You'd recognize it anywhere. It is the same look he gave you when you saw him today, it is the same when you first met him and he had decided to keep you under his wing, it is the same as when you finally joined the Troupe. 

  This wicked gleam has always sought you, always found you. Unfortunately, you could never read them other than that. Like you said, he only shows what he wants you to see and even then, it is blurry. God, you wish you could. If only for a moment to answer your question. Just a straight answer, the truth, about how or why Sarasa died. She was innocent and sweet. She was your friend! Everyone’s, actually.  

 So, why? What could she have possibly done to deserve such a fate? How can he not see the true culprits? What about the Kurta? Did he know and went with it anyway?  

No, that’s a bad deal. It can’t be just one question and one answer. You have too many questions. And not a single one will be answered, you bet.   

  He drags you to the portal. The Troupe starts to enter it. Phinks looks at you for a split second. For that one second his eyes look...sad? No, that’s not possible with someone like him. Like them. You are accepting that you’re in danger, but not that these beasts have a heart or a capability of remorse.  

You look around frantically. Where's Kurapika? Is he dead?   

Would he save someone like you?  

“(Y/n), who are you looking for?” Chrollo asks. He doesn’t even look at you. You want to call out for Kurapika, but that’d expose him to danger. No, if your boy hates you let that be so. At least he’ll be okay. Hopefully he has learned to make his own attire.  

  “You can’t do this, Lucilfer.”   

“But dear, I can, I have, and I will.” A few more steps to the portal. “Lucilfer, I don’t want to go.”   

You yank your arm out of his grasp. “Stop this! I don’t want to go. Do you know what they did?”  

He calmly turns around and stares at you. He expected this behavior from you. He walks to your frozen form, causing the few survivors of the village to jump. Once again, he cradles your face and places the gentlest of kisses on your lips. They're still soft, you note. Still full and masterful. 

Right as your eyes are about to close, you see that he is looking at something past you as the kiss begins to get more intense. More possessive by his hold and the movement of his lips. His grey eyes are narrowed at something that you can’t see.  

Is this a claiming? What the hell is he looking at?   Done being curious, you turn to look and see your boy Kurapika’s horrified and furious expression. You have no thoughts other than your impending fate. Your vicious crimes and relentlessly cruel past have resurfaced in the form of a wicked man. The boy you took care of and never verbally admitted you loved him as your own, is ruined even more. His heart is broken.  

 Sarasa is gone, the Spider reigns supreme, and you are stuck. There are more questions than answers at this point. Too many lies from a group that cling together in some sick and twisted loyalty. You have accepted that in the middle of that is the boy you admired and maybe even loved.

And you finally understand what Phinks meant. It wasn’t remorse, it was pity for an old and spoiled friend as they are pushed onto the spider’s web.  

[blackwomanwriter]

"Mine"

Read: Part I, Part II

It's been a minute, but I finally wrote something. And of course, I had to go back to this series because there is something about Thomas Shelby. Anyways, I hope you enjoy, and let me know your favorite part. Happy Reading!

He entered quietly like he was on a mission. Although this one was unlike the ones he had performed during the war and after. No, this mission was different. Very different. Yet, Tommy performed it with the same intensity.

Eyes narrowed on the quiet interior, clocking each entry point and exit way, like a soldier, he assessed his environment. He hadn’t been in a house this small since his childhood. Even back then, the space had felt cluttered and cramped. Too noisy to think. Too busy to breathe. The stench of his father’s hangover in the air before it disappeared altogether.

He remembered talking Arthur out of trying to find their father. A man unworthy of carrying - no, sharing his surname. Tommy tensed his jaw, moving past the memory. Instead, he raised a brow at how devastatingly clean the entire place felt. Physically tidy, but clean in a way that made the house feel empty. Unlived. Unloved. Cold. The opposite of everything he thought of her. She was warm. Tender. Inviting.

Moving to the narrow staircase, he could hear the water running. The pipes pushing the water through the house. She was here. She was alive. She was avoiding him - again.

He hiked up the stairs, stepping one foot in front of the other. Like a soldier, he kept moving. He carried on with the task before him. His mind focused on the mission.

Opening the door quietly, Tommy leaned on the door frame - taking in the sight before him. Curved hips that were fuller since he had last seen her. A waist that tempted him to wrap his arms around her. It was now that he reached in his pocket for a cigarette.

“Jesus, Tommy,” she shrieked. The click of his lighter giving him away.

She rested a hand on her heart, shuddering as she closed her eyes.

Unbothered, he traced the stick along his bottom lip before lighting it.

“What the fuck are you doing here?” She pinched the bridge of her nose, as her breath steadied.

“You haven’t been taking my calls,” he stated. Gaze unchanged. Smoke filling the air.

“I’m in mourning,” she enunciated, grabbing a towel to cover herself. She didn’t bother hiding her frustrations as she shoved past him. She was angry. He liked her angry.

At first, when she didn’t answer his call, he had briefly worried that she was sad. Tearful over the sudden death of her husband, who the police found floating in the river after a night of drinking. His death ruled accidental according to the official report. A drunken man’s blunder. An unsurprising end of life. An expected death for a man who drank as much as her late husband did.

An easy lie to believe, but she knew the truth. The greatest mistake the dead man had made was marrying Thomas Shelby’s favorite whore. It was her mistake more than his. She knew what she was doing when she said yes. The risks she was taking by marrying while Tommy was off in America. Her moment of rebellion had cost a life.

Although, they had gotten past the letter. She hadn’t returned to him. She wanted to keep her promise. To stay married. To honor what was left of her vows. She wouldn’t work for him. She wouldn’t see him. The temptation of losing herself in him made her stay away. She had already ruined the sanctity of her marriage by sleeping with him in his office. She didn’t want to continue making a mockery of the words she vowed before God and man.

She was suddenly religious, which amused Tommy. He thought it was a game, but she clung on to every word spoken by the priest. At the funeral, she remembered his words at the wedding. How he had pressed upon her the importance of repentance. Before Thomas Shelby, she had been a good girl. Never told a lie. Prayed before bed. Devout daughter. Devoted sister. An upstanding and honorable member of her community. He had changed her. Corrupted her. Loved her. Destroyed her.

“It’s been weeks,” Tommy stated coolly.

She ignored him. Her hands focused on the cream she was applying to her skin. Smooth skin. Soft skin. Skin his lips remembered. The taste imprinted on his tongue. Tommy exhaled.

His patience was wearing thin. He loved her. She loved him. He figured out how to help her keep her promise and allow him to keep his. Her husband was dead, and she was free.

“I see you’re eating again,” he quipped, trying to stir a reaction out of her. She didn’t disappoint. He ducked as the bottle of cream nearly struck his head.

“I went from being a whore to being a widow.”

“Sounds like the beginning of a book.” Tommy shrugged then ducked again. This time, she threw a shoe.

“At least I can bargain my way into heaven as a whore,” she resolved, refusing to meet his eyes.

“Is that what your priest tells you?” He brought the cigarette back to his lips for another drag.

He knew. Of course, he knew. She wondered if he was having her followed again. How else would he know about her visits to the church. Her talks with the priest.

“My greatest sin is you,” she finished her thought.

Her words were meant to be cutting, but Tommy remained unbothered. His eyes stoic, jaw set as if he was watching a horse race. He brought his cigarette to his lip, letting it dangle as he neared her. 

She stood up, ready to shove past him again, but he grabbed her forearm. Her eyes flared up at him as she tried to loosen his grip, but he remained firm.

“You want to talk about sins, ey?” He whispered against her ear. “You married a man who picked a pint over his life. A man who stowed you away in a house he couldn’t bear to live in himself, while he stayed three doors down with his brother’s wife.”

She frowned, hearing him confirm a suspicion she wouldn’t allow herself to believe. When he stopped coming home, she told herself that he was drunk at a pub or sleeping his hangover off at his mother’s house.

“A man who lost his wages betting on fights.”

So that’s where all their money had gone, she thought. Her face didn’t flinch as Tommy confirmed another truth. Her late husband was just another man who had let her down. All the words she threw at Tommy about him being a good man were lies. He was just better at hiding his wrongs.

Tommy softened his grip on her hand, as he relayed the sin that he couldn’t forgive. The sin that forced him to intervene without thinking of the consequences. “A man who was willing to sell his wife to settle his debts.”

Her eyes widened then glazed over. The shred of innocence he once found in those warm brown irises was quickly disappearing. He cursed at himself for the letter, but it wasn’t just the letter. It was the months he left her wondering if he could ever love again. It was the voice that told him to push her away. She married the man because of him.

Tommy released her hand. There was a part of him that wished he hadn’t been so honest. Her hardened eyes told him just as much. The look on her face was one he had seen before in the women who dared to love him. When his darkness eventually shadowed their light. When his world swallowed them whole.

She reached for the cigarette hanging from his mouth. Taking a long drag, she exhaled. The smoke covering Tommy’s face.

“My sin was marrying the wrong man,” she concluded.

His thumb brushed her skin, remembering when her lips pressed against his in hunger. His lip bleeding as their need took precedence. Her lip bruised from his appetite. Even when he had her, he needed more. Tracing her lip, he gently placed the cigarette between his fingers then lifted it to his mouth. The first puff was for the memory. The second was for his patience.

“No, my god doesn’t care about sins.”

“I didn’t think you believed in,” sighing, she looked up, “anything.”

Tommy closed his eyes. His patience wearing on him again. “You’re moving out of this house. You’re coming back to work, and you’re going to answer when I call.”

“Of course, Mr. Shelby,” she answered.

His jaw ticked at the use of his surname. The smoke from his cigarette creating a haze over his eyes. “Don’t start.”

“Tell me what your god thinks about whores.”

“Everyone’s a whore,” he muttered, as he moved toward the door, already thinking of his next order of business. The kiss would have to wait.

“Is that what your wife thinks?”

Tommy stopped walking. Leaning his hand on the door frame, he closed his eyes. His nose flared. His annoyance growing with her disobedience. He seemed to attract women who were determined to do the opposite of what he asked.

“She confronted me. Told me to stay away,” she admitted, and in that second, he realized why she ignored him. She was no longer his secret. He made his affection too obvious.

“I’ll take care of it,” he firmly stated, leaving no room for further questions. Yet, she continued.

“Does she follow any of the other girls or is it just me?” She asked.

He wasn’t ready to admit that there weren’t any other girls. That there hadn’t been other girls for a while. From the moment he declared his love, Tommy had made himself hers - only hers.

“You love me, but there are others,” she whispered. “I love you, but all I do is think of them. To be with you, I have to worry about them. I have to wait to be yours.”

“Is that what you’re doing then - waiting?” He asked, closing the distance between them.

Her hand dropped to her middle and Tommy’s eyes followed. He stared, then frowned before bringing his gaze back to her. “How far along?”

Her eyes softened. The grief coloring every muscle in her face. Tommy closed his eyes. She was in mourning. He understood her words clearly now. It was moments like this that made him miss Polly. She would have known.

Tommy muttered something in his Romanian tongue as he sat on the bed. He stamped his cigarette out in silent rage. There was never an end. Death seemed to find him at every turn. It hunted him. Craved him.

His hands went to her robe. Slowly, he pulled the fabric, revealing her body. A body that had prepared itself to carry his child. A body that had nourished him back to life. His fingers moved to her belly, tracing the skin there. The soft, smooth skin.

He looked up at her and saw the tears she wouldn’t shed. How long had she held them in, unable to weep. Unable to speak. Unable to fully mourn. Wrapping his arms around her middle, he pulled her in and kissed the place his hands had touched. He tried to do what she had done for him; he tried to make it okay for her to feel.

“I’m fine, Tommy. It’s better this way,” she said, her voice cold and void of any emotion.

“When?” He whispered, knowing it was his, and yet wondering how he’d missed so much in so little time.

“It doesn’t matter,” she stiffened. “It’s gone now, and I need to move on.”

She gave him a second to make peace with the reality she had lived with for weeks. Then, she moved from his touch, closing her robe as she distanced herself. Loving him was painful enough without the added grief of their lost child.

“You shouldn’t have come,” she folded her arms, avoiding his gaze.

Tommy raised a brow, staring at her before glancing around the room. It was as cold as the rest of the house - bare of any details or remnants of her. Standing up, Tommy found a new mission. He moved past her in search of anything that made the four walls more of a home.

His hands traced the metal bed frame. His fingers trailing the linen and cloth. He opened windows and tapped on wooden walls. He inspected the little furniture in the room, unsatisfied with the results.

“Tommy,” she started to say as he pushed open a wardrobe, finding it empty.

She was leaving. She planned to leave London. She planned to leave him. The thought stung in Tommy’s mind as he opened drawer after empty drawer. His anger taking center stage.

“Tommy,” her voice raised with concern.

He shoved the empty wardrobe back, watching as it crashed against the wall.

“Stop,” she yelled, as he shoved the wardrobe again and again. His grief coloring his anger. His anger coloring his grief. Her heart jumped as the wooden drawers finally cracked under the pressure. The splitting wood overshadowing her screams as the wardrobe completely fell apart.

“Tommy,” she cried, rushing to stop him from breaking the wood further. “Stop.”

“Please,” she whispered. Her plea full of a love she couldn’t deny him.

He exhaled. The sound of his heightened breath taking all the space in the room. His anger taking all the air. Tommy closed his eyes. The familiar whispers creeping in his head, telling him to put out the fire. To walk over to the other side. To let go of this life. To finally rest.

She swallowed, unsure of what to tell him, and yet, she persisted. “My sister found work outside of London. She thought it’d be good for me…”

Tommy shook his head, looking up at the ceiling.

“I wanted to tell you,” she stopped, lowering her head. There was nothing to say.

He scoffed. “Tell me.”

It felt like deja vu to hear him utter those words to her again. To hear the same command. The same request he’d asked from her when she told him about the wedding. Yet, this time, there was nothing left to say.

She stared at the back of his head. Her fingers yearning to brush his hair or wrap themselves around him. Her lips longing to kiss the nape of his neck.

Closing her eyes, she confessed. “There’s no life for me here.”

“You’re not leaving.” He pushed back, ignoring her words. “You’re mine.”

“When?” She sighed. “When am I yours, Tommy?”

He lifted his head, staring at the wall. His mind moving a mile a minute. She couldn’t leave him. His heart wouldn’t allow it. His body would protest. His hunger was contained to her. His thoughts all went back to her. How many minutes until he can think of her? How many meetings until he can dream of her? He suffered without her to be with her. Every hour he was away was an hour he promised to give to her.

He was a selfish man, who wanted what he wanted. A man who endured wars and monsters disguised as men. A cursed man. A broken man. A suffering man. A man who didn’t deserve her, and yet, he wanted her. He needed her. She was the cigarette on his lips. The pain tablets in his pocket. The shirt on his back. The razor blade on his cap. She couldn’t leave him.

“When your wife is gone? When you’re fucking other women?” Her voice continued in the background, but Tommy was half-listening. “When you’re bored? When the nightmares come? When the work is done? When am I yours?” She asked again, although there was no anger in her question.

“When you married him, you were mine. Every time you put on his fucking ring; you were mine.” His brows furrowed as he reached into his side pocket for a cigarette. “When you moved into this house, you were mine. When you had my fucking child inside of you, you were mine.” Tommy sniffed, turning to face her. “From the moment you entered my office, you belonged to me.”

She stiffened, as she traced her empty ring finger. His crassness didn’t bother her as much as his refusal to listen. He disregarded her words, only focusing on what he wanted. It was why she didn’t want to tell him about the baby. He would have stuck her in a big house that he would never visit. Given her everything except the thing she wanted, which was him. But now that nightmare wasn’t even a reality because she’d lost their child. She'd lost a piece of him.

“Is that all it takes…” she started to argue, but words were pointless. Their arguments were pointless. They had a love that was cursed from inception.

In this life, he was promised to another. In the next, he would be reunited with another. In life and death, she had no place in Thomas Shelby’s life. Her love for him didn’t save their unborn child. It reminded her that their love had no place to grow. It was wilted, and no amount of money or prayer could save them.

“You’re not leaving,” Tommy declared, cornering her until she had no choice but to look up at him.  Her brown eyes sinking into him, full of a love he didn’t deserve.

“You made me a promise,” he whispered. His jaw tensing as he remembered that night in his office when he had made himself hers. When he had promised to live. To stop craving death. The gods had given him a second chance with her.

“Tommy,” she protested, but he continued.

“You gave me your word.” His lips brushed hers and her body shuddered. “You made promises to me. Promises I intend to collect.”

His hand slipped down to her robe, loosening the ties. His fingers marking a trail from her chest to her neck to her lips. “Promises you agreed to keep.”

She folded under his touch. Her head falling on his chest as she exhaled. Quick, short breaths that made Tommy pull her in closer.

“And what of your promises?” She grabbed his fingers before they could slip between her thighs.

“Hmmm,” he hummed, trying not to smirk. “Remind me again.”

Shaking her head, she moved from his hands. Her heart ached, but it would always ache whether she was with him or not. He was not wrong. It belonged to him. From the moment she entered his office, her heart had become his. Knowing he was promised to another, it still beat for him. It yearned for him. It acted without consequence.

Thou shall not commit adultery. A vow she’d broken within a month of knowing Thomas Shelby. But her heart didn’t care. It didn’t care about the commandments she broke. Her sins were plenty but her heart was full. Full of love for a man who couldn’t confess his love until she married another.

Turning away from him, she closed her robe. Her hand wanted to follow the trail he etched on her skin, but she didn’t. She could hear him lighting a cigarette. His eyes on her. His eyes undressing her. His eyes claiming her as his.

She wanted to run, but her heart wouldn’t let her. Instead, she willed herself to face him. Smoke in the air. His scent in every crevice of the cramped room. She inhaled and tried to tell him again. Her thoughts were on her lips, and yet, nothing.

Offering her his cigarette, Tommy stepped towards her. “Leaving London won’t cure you of me.”

She reached for the smoke. Grateful for the distraction. For the heat. For the vapors. For the way her lungs would expand and contract. For the cigarette they shared between them. His lips on her lips. Her lips on his.

“That priest of yours won’t help you either,” he added.

“What is the cure then?”

Tommy leaned into her. His hands on her waist, slowly moving her robe up past her knees then her thighs. “First, you have to stop running.”

“Running?” She asked, confused by his accusation.

“The wedding. The job. This house.” He counted. “And now these plans of leaving London.” His hands pushed the fabric of her robe from her skin, leaving her naked before him. “You mustn’t run.”

“And what if I do?” She questioned, not allowing her nudity to dissuade her.

Tommy brushed her cheek before taking the cigarette from her lips. “I’ll find you. Remind you of where you belong.”

“And where is it that I belong?” She asked. Her eyes gentle and pleading. 

He brought her hand to his chest, placing it where his heart lay. “Here. Right here.”

She swallowed her nerves, terrified of letting her heart speak. “Second?” She went back to his list.

“Second.” He took a drag, exhaling the smoke before he continued, “You must know, I get scared,” he admitted, and she finally understood why he’d written her that letter. Thomas Shelby was scared of loving her. The first woman he loved died in his arms because of a bullet meant for him. Love was something to fear, and he was terrified.

“Now, it’s unpleasant and it’s unkind. But when I am…”

“I’ll remind you,” she finished, “of where you belong.”

Tommy cupped her face, placing a kiss on her head. “Good.”

She closed her eyes. Her heart too fragile for Thomas Shelby’s confession. He hadn’t proposed, yet they were already exchanging vows.

“Last.” He leaned his head on hers. “And the most important.”

“Yes,” she breathlessly whispered.

Tommy’s finger traced her bottom lip before he kissed her. His lips hungry to taste her. Selfish in his desire - his consumption of her. He groaned when he felt her kiss him back. Her own need just as desperate as his. She moaned when their lips parted, disappointed by her body’s need for air.

“I promise to have you pregnant by spring.”

Her eyes lit up as she laughed for the first time in months. She chuckled, not taking him seriously. “Tommy.”

“A boy,” he declared, wrapping his arms around her middle. “He’ll have your eyes and my charm.”

She giggled, playfully hitting his chest as he picked her up and placed her on the bed. Her smile widening as she gazed at him. She was returning to herself - returning to him. Weeks of grief slowly thawing from her heart.

Tommy stamped out his cigarette before joining her with a kiss. His body on top of hers. His hands on either side of her head. His mind fixated on the softness of her skin.

“I’ll be back at work in the morning,” she whispered in between kisses.

“You won’t be working anymore.”

She pulled away from his kiss, frowning at him. “What are you on about, Tommy?”

He sighed, already knowing he was about to start another fight. “I won’t have you working with a child of mine inside of you.”

“What?”

“You’ll be carrying my son,” Tommy repeated.

Closing her eyes, she realized he was serious. Of course, he was serious. She wondered how long he’d been planning to get her pregnant again.

“I don’t deserve you,” Tommy kissed her lips. “But, I promised to give you a life worthy of everything you are.” He reminded her. “I promised to let you in my head. I promised to do more than just wait to die. I promised to live.”

She wanted to be angry with him, but he remembered. Every word. Every promise. Everything they had discussed in his office.

“I promised to keep you safe.”

“To make us safe,” she corrected.

He kissed her again. “There are no other girls,” Tommy confessed, reminding her of his other promise. Tommy Shelby was hers.

Grabbing his collar, she pulled him into a long kiss. “No more running,” she vowed.

Tommy smiled. “No more.” He pressed his lips on hers before adding, “You’re mine.”

This time, she didn’t argue, simply letting him kiss her. “Now, where were we, Mrs. Shelby?” He asked, slipping his fingers between her thighs.

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

This was a long one. If you made it to the end, thank you for reading! Let me know your favorite part.

[maxibroke]

ᴛɪᴛʟᴇ― underneath red lights ᴘᴀɪʀɪɴɢ― fem sex worker yn x rich ceo seo changbin ᴇxᴛᴇɴsɪᴏɴ― 2.3k ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢs― sex work, degradation, praise, public sex, blowjobs, infidelity, religious metaphors, religious mentions.

sᴜᴍᴍᴀʀʏ―

Seo Changbin has it all - money, fame and a beautiful girlfriend. So why has he gone every Friday to the red district and paid the same hooker thousands for her to suck his dick for the past four years?

+18 MDNI. Procced with caution.

Seo Changbin is a man of many wonders. rich, handsome and incredibly lucky to still be found around even when he walks the shit covered streets of the red district to see his favorite girl.

If anyone asked, he would deny it, say that they confused him with someone else because it wouldn't make sense. Why would Changbin risk his reputation for a 20 cent whore? Why would he throw away all those years he's spent with his equally influential girlfriend for a cheap fuck? Why would he try to ruin his family name by being in a lawless zone?

He'd say it with practiced confusion in his eyes, concern and offense in his tone of voice ultimately convincing them that they were wrong and apologize to him for making such horrendous assumptions. Later, at night, he would take out a large wad of cash, tuck it within the inside of his blazer and call Yuna, saying he would be home late if at all. He will pull his car out of his company's parking garage and park it on the empty street, walking until he made it outside a neon red light hanging above a door and walking in after a nod from the bouncer.

The first time he had walked into 'District 9' was four years ago - before meeting Yuna, before becoming the CEO of his fathers company and before becoming one of the top 5 most sought out millionaire. He had come in with his friends for Jisung's bachelor party, half drunk and bitching about wanting to have fun.

It was in these glitter covered floors, red lights tinting the entire stage and obscuring patrons from onlookers, that Changbin discovered heaven and hell. Just like now, he had walked in without fear, why would he? There never is fear in sin.

The sole of his expensive dress shoes will be covered in glitter and he would have to send them to get cleaned to not raise suspicions. The poles on the stage glisten under the red lights before a song rings through the speakers with purpose. He finds Nico, the pimp, and gives him three large bills from the large stack without a word. He's been here enough times for Nico to know and walks towards the center, seating himself perfectly in the middle before watching his curse prowl out from behind the curtains.

She had bewitched him four years ago - while his friends had whistled and hollered at her, Changbin had been dead silent. She hasn't aged at all since that day, if anything has changed its her hair that is slightly shorter now but otherwise nothing, almost like as if these walls provide immortalization for those that work here.

The bass thumps harshly against the speaker, providing vibrations through the walls and the floor, matching his pulse as she comes closer to the edge of the stage. There's patrons inside, but they all look busy with other girls and, if he's honest? He prefers to have her attention on him and only him.

Red color and shines on her sweaty skin, hours of work already marking her face with exhaustion, a slight limp that only he sees because he knows her too well and knows the high heels are killing her feet, her hair brilliant red with shadows and her chest bouncing with every step. She's careful even through her exhaustion, to not let them spill out of the flimsy top that barely covers anything, only her nipples and the sides of the thong are settled high on her hips, both shimmery like the glitter underneath his foot.

She looks like a repented sinner, making her way down the aisle to ask God for forgiveness of all her sins.

Then she lifts her head and captures his gaze, a smirk filled with devilish intent as she grabs onto the pole and grinds her pelvis against it, the curve of her ass enticing him to come closer to touch. Its a game at this point for the both of them, Changbin sits in his chair watching her dance while she moves on the stage, enticing him with her body and looks, making him yearn for her soft skin underneath the palm of his hand.

Its a game that he should win, that his pastor begs every Sunday for him and his followers to win. Sin is death, it will infest and contaminate your body until there is nothing left for God to take. Changbin wishes he could follow like everyone else, but when she looks at him over her shoulder in a sultry gaze and ass on full display, how is he supposed to refuse?

He lets her have her fun for a while longer, shifting in his seat and feeling the zipper of his slacks dig into his hard length. She does a marvelous job on pulling her body up the pole, watching enchanted of the strength she has from all her years of work.

When the song ends, she cocks her hip and head to the side, a cute smile on her lips completely different from before and waits for his signal. She had already been somewhat trained when he first met her - but he finished her training and has her molded to his likes.

He tilts his head slightly to the side and lets the corner of his lips twitch before patting the inside of his thigh. She starts moving towards him at the third pat and slips off her heels as she makes her way down the stairs of the stage, leaving them to the side to pick them up when she's done since this is, he, is her last client.

Her walk is tantalizing and never fails to draw him in - she kneels in front of him, between his opened thighs and smiles up at him. He draws his right hand and cups her cheek, feeling his heart flutter as she nuzzles against it and leans her body against his leg fully trusting him.

His left hand is reaching for his zipper, unbuttoning his slacks and lowering his boxers to pull his hard length from its confinements. He holds it from the base and uses his right hand to move her head closer to his crotch. She doesn't even open her eyes nor leans away from the hand on her cheek as she opens her mouth and lets Changbin move her head to slide himself inside.

He sighs in relief, letting himself sit on top of her tongue and bask in the wet heat of her. She doesn't move, she knows that he likes it when he's cock warmed for a little before fucking her mouth, instead she comes closer until her nose is pressed against his curls and exhales through her nose, further relaxing her jaw for him.

It feels like its been an eternity since he last felt her around him - his chest warm and gooey with relief at being able to feel her tongue shift against his length, her pretty hands lightly placed on his thighs and her hair in his hands to remind her to stay still. He moves his left hand down and lays it above her own; her skin is soft and warm underneath his palm and she looks at him questioning. Its perverted, the way she can make herself look so innocent when her lips are stretched around his thick cock.

He pats her hand and shifts his hips deeper into her mouth, the sign.

She lets him guide her head off slowly, suctioning her lips in a tight circle for him as if she was trying to suck the soul out of him until she at the tip of his cock.

She lets him guide her head off slowly, suctioning her lips in a tight circle for him as if she was trying to suck the soul out of him until she at the tip of his cock to let her suck on it before pulling her off completely with a pop, hair wrapped around his fingers as he forces her to keep her eyes on him.

"Ready, baby girl?"

Chris smiles beautifully at him, flashing her cute dimples again before saying a soft 'yes' and opening her mouth for him. He's never needed more than that when he's with her.

Even though Chris has opened her mouth as big as she can, it is always a tight fit for him - sucking him in without warning or care and he's loved it since day one. Her plush lips wrap around his girth, moaning as he pushes her head further down until her nose hits his pelvis. He pants as she tries her best to wrap her tongue and massage the vein popping on the left side of his cock, eyes closed in concentration. He repeats the motion as before but he doesn't let her pop off his cock this time, instead moving her back down to swallow him whole. She doesn't gag on him, she never does when it's this slow of a pace - but in a few minutes she will have tears in her eyes and a mixture of spit and precum dripping down her chin onto her beautiful chest.

 For now he enjoys the slow drag of her mouth's walls and she sucks him deep, so accustomed to him that he can’t help but let himself imagine. In his head, she’s on her knees just like right now, but instead she’s wearing the finest of gold. Dainty necklaces adorn her neck, diamond earrings dangle from her lobes and cuff gold earrings decorate her helix ones. Gold rings with rubies and emeralds and fire opals decorate her lovely fingers, charm bracelets custom made just for her jingle with every movement of her dainty wrists as she holds his hands while he thrusts into her wet heat - dark red lipstick staining his cock. She wears nothing more than that, kneeling on a custom made cushion so that her knees don’t bruise and shift them, rubbing them together, letting him know just how desperate she is to have him inside of her pretty cunt.

He imagines that she’s just as tight and warm and inviting as her mouth. Sweet moans spilling from her pretty pink plush lips, begging for more. She’d mold herself into his shape and form, tightening around his cock and sucking him inside, holding her hands as he leans down and kisses her -

She brings him out of his fantasy humming around his cock and making it jump against her tongue. She giggles at the feeling, her eyes wide open with mirth and he sees the challenge in her eyes. He smirks down at her before tightening his hold on her curls, tips her head slightly backwards and thrusts into her mouth, making her groan. He picks up his speed, thrusting harder and faster, her hands gripping onto his slacks to hold herself stable. He watches fascinated as she finally chokes and gurgles around his cock, spit dribbling from the corners of her mouth as tears begin to cascade down her cheeks, mascara running and ruining her pretty make-up she did for him.

He feels himself pushing towards the edge, and when she opens her red rimmed eyes and an impossibly clear smirk even with her lips occupied, he pulls her off of him harshly, replacing her glorious mouth with his hand as he brings himself to completion. She already knows what she has to do: she sinks lower and pushes her chest forward, opening her mouth and sticking out her tongue letting the head of his cock bump into it until he peaks.

He cums like an explosion, white streaks decorating her lovely tongue as she accepts everything he has to offer before he closes his eyes to white pleasure. His hand is replaced quickly for her own soft one, working him through his powerful orgasm until he twitches in her grasp from over stimulation. When he opens his eyes, finally, its to see her meticulously tuck him back into his boxers, buttons and zips up his slacks.

She sits there for a minute, watching him come down from his own Heaven and he thinks she's cute waiting for him like this every time.

He wishes this could last forever, but it doesn't. It never does, it never can. She notices when his demeanor has changed and pushes herself off the floor with his thighs. He sighs deeply, as he follows suit and produces the wad of cash out of his inner blazer pocket and hands it to her. Their fingers graze for just a second and he feels his skin light up in ways it never does with others, with Yuna.

"Same time next week?" She says, her voice angelic and sweet. He finally looks at her and feels his heart tear. Her eyes have always given away her inner thoughts and feelings - there's an emotion there right now, one he cannot name, one he shouldn't name but recognizes.

That same emotion reflects in her eyes from his own feelings, buried deep inside of his soul except for nights like these. Tomorrow he's going to wake up beside Yuna, dress in his Sunday clothes and drive them to church where they will sit with his parents and listen to the pastor say to repent from sin.

He wishes it where that easy, but it isn't when it looks like her.

He leans forward and presses a kiss on her forehead, sweet and filled with years of longing that he represses and she waits.

"Where else would I be if not here with you?"

[strawhbrrries]

Delicate, i

pairing: dbf!southern!frank castle x innocent!afab!reader

summary: a sweet older gentleman moves into the house next door, or rather a few acres away. he spends a few evenings with your dad and consequently earns the attention of a much younger girl, you.

warnings: age gap (reader is 22, frank is 46), protective dad???, no use of y/n, not proofread

word count: 972 words

author’s note: here is the very first part of delicate and i really hope you guys love it! not too much action, entirely just set up for frank and peach's future endeavors and relationship. please enjoy! mwah!

tag list: @ramblers-lets-get-ramblin

find the masterlist here! read the next part here!

The first evening Frank Castle had visited your home you weren’t there, off galavanting around with some of your friends in a nearby town. Your presence in the home was obvious to Frank, from the scented hand soaps by every sink to the baby pink door down the hall from the kitchen and finally, the big picture of you and your father that hung in the living room. He didn’t think much of any of it, a single dad living with his daughter was nothing out of the ordinary.

He’d met you in the driveway hours later when he went to leave, you had just pulled into your usual spot in the gravel. He was still leaning on the bed of his truck talking to your father, who reprimanded you for being out so late.

“How old are you?” Frank asked, tilting his head to the side as his eyes scanned over your frame. He figured you were still young, maybe twenty at best, by the picture in the living room. Even in the dark he could see the blush that crept up your neck from his attention.

“Twenty-two.” Your voice was quiet, your dad’s friends never spoke to you much. The man in front of you was nothing short of a sex dream, you’d never had one but if you looked at him any longer you were sure to have one soon.

“What’s your name?” The amount of questions he was asking was making you nervous, the small town you lived in meant everyone knew everyone. Newcomers weren’t very often and even then they were never your neighbors, sure he lived acres away from you but it was still…new. 

Your dad interrupted whatever words were going to come out of your mouth and formally introduced you, it felt childish for him to do the work. The blush was turning a deeper shade, this time from embarrassment.

“She just goes by Peach though, has since she was itty bitty.” Your dad laughed, playfully hitting your arm.

You said your goodnights and walked towards the house, turning around to give Frank a second glance. Your eyes made contact with his, the blush was burning at this point. You closed the front door behind you, leaned against it, and exhaled loudly. This was the only friend your dad ever had over that was insanely handsome and spoke to you.

The second evening Frank Castle visited your home, you were there. You had just finished showering, the smell of vanilla and honey wafting through the house as he came inside. You hadn’t heard him coming in, leading to the confrontation in the hallway. Only clad in a towel that was hanging on for dear life. Eyes wider than a deer who had been caught in headlights. Frank cleared his throat, trying to avoid looking at you.

“My dad is out back, uhm I didn’t hear you come in.” Your hands rushing to hold the towel tighter against your skin, the same blush creeping up your neck. 

“Nah, it’s my fault. Apologies, honey.” He scratched at the beard on his neck, clearing his throat once again before making an indication he was going to leave to find your dad.

You rushed to your room to get dressed, absolutely mortified that he’d seen you like that. You weren’t religious by any means but no man, or boy, had ever seen you in anything less than a swimsuit. A swimsuit that covered most everything at that. The guilt had flooded you almost instantly, you hadn’t done anything wrong and yet you felt the need to to repent of your actions. Frank, on the other hand, had been glad to have gotten a glimpse. The small conversation he had with you the very first night had intrigued him, the picture on the wall of your living room was nothing compared to you standing in front of him. Blushing from head to toe in a frilly pink dress.

He asked your dad about the pink, got some half-assed answer about how you never truly grew up. Frank figured it was because your dad never let you, meant more help around the ranch so he never complained about the girliness that overtook the house. The more he learned about you the more he wanted to twist everything you knew about yourself and the world. He’d take the title of a twisted man if it meant corrupting you. You’d never had a real drink of alcohol, never had sex, never did anything that Frank considered fun. You needed fun, he decided.

The third night Frank Castle visited your home solidified his decision. He’d moved out to a small Texas ranching town to get out of his head, move from everything he knew. He, however, didn’t realize he’d meet a sweet thing like you that he couldn’t get out of his head. He spent just as many evenings in the local bar trying to find another woman, more his age, to get you out. Nothing worked, no matter who he fucked you stayed there. Clouding his thoughts. Sweet Peach who didn’t know a thing about how dirty an old man could be.

You’d been tending to the small flower beds in front of the house, bent over in the mulch that was sticking to your knees, when you heard his truck pull up. The gravel crunching under his tires overpowering the song you were humming softly. You turned around to give him a small wave, your signature sweet smile proudly on display. He simply nodded his head and watched as you turned back around to tend to the flowers, eyeing the way your shorts hugged your ass when you bent all the way over. No way in hell was he going to change his mind, not even if it meant going to hell.

[azrielhours]

Salvation

Azriel x Reader

Word count: 3.3k

Priestess!Reader x Azriel

Synopsis: Az visits a temple for a mission but instead finds a curious, flirty Priestess with pretty eyes that he can’t get out of his head. He returns and shows her all the ways a man can be brought to his knees.

Warnings: Smut. Um blasphemy I suppose?

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Azriel never considered himself particularly religious. He was far too tainted to seek penitence, too sullied to desire absolution. But lately, he’s been spending his evenings at the temple, drawn by something greater than shame, greater than devotion.

He sought her.

The first time he met her, most of the priestesses had already retired for the night, allowing Azriel to wander, to take in the sacred space he rarely visited. Movement caught his eye behind one of the columns inside.

An angel, his shadows whispered to him. Azriel bit back a smile at the notion. He continued his lazy saunter, feigning oblivion at this alleged angel watching over him. He stopped at the end of the aisle, observing the artwork on the walls. Watching, they whispered. He glanced over to his awaiting spectator.

A priestess peered at him from behind a pillar. She shamelessly studied him, wide eyes taking him in. It wasn’t often that people held his gaze unflinching. She cocked her head to the side. Azriel copied her, amused by her unhidden curiosity, tucking his hands behind his back to appear less intimidating. His viewer stepped forward into the light. Azriel quickly understood what his shadows meant.

She was beautiful.

She approached him, still drinking him up. “Who are you?” she asked.

Azriel inclined his head. “I work with the High Lord. I was assigned on a mission here.”

“I’ve never seen you before.” Her robes flowed around her like water. Like wings.

“I don’t usually… frequent temples.”

As she finally stood before him, he peered down at her, charmed by her informality. She gazed up at him unafraid. “Soldier?”

“Spymaster,” he indulged.

“Are you here for repentance?”

Azriel chuckled. “Do I look like I’m in need of it?”

Her stare travelled down his form then back up before her eyes flashed mischievously. “Most definitely.”

“I thought priestesses were meant to be without judgment.”

“Priestesses can be whatever they want to be,” she retorted.

Azriel hummed in amusement. “And what might that be?”

A delicate shrug. “I’m still figuring that out.”

“You’ll tell me when you know, though, right?”

“Oh, for sure. The first person I’ll inform,” she jested back, her eyes twinkling.

He held her gaze. Before he could open his mouth, she beckoned sideways with her head. Azriel frowned in confusion.

“For your atonement,” she said.

“Ah.”

She turned without waiting to see if he followed. Azriel bit back another chuckle, following her lead through a darkened hall around the corner. She stood before a stone wash basin. Azriel did the same, letting the basin be a barrier between them in the dim room.

Azriel swallowed. “Are you going to bless me, Priestess?” His voice was rougher than he’d intended.

She rounded the basin to stand parallel to him, peering up at him beneath her lashes. “I can certainly try, Spymaster,” she quipped.

Mother damn him.

“Do you bat your pretty eyes like that at all the males who come in here, or am I just lucky?”

She ducked her head.

“Aw,” he cooed lowly. “Don’t tell me I’ve finally managed to make you blush,” he continued, enjoying one upping her at last.

“You know, it’s not very pious to flirt with a priestess,” she said coyly.

“You started it.” A beat of silence. Azriel appreciated the pink staining her cheeks, imagining other things that could elicit such a reaction. He didn’t want to leave. “Is this the part where I confess my sins?”

She laughed, a pretty lilt to her voice. “That’s not really in my jurisdiction. But if you’re so inclined, be my guest.”

He tutted. “Well, if you’re not going to absolve me, why would I?”

“We can trade confessions,” she smiled. “A sin for a sin.”

Azriel hummed. “You don’t strike me as someone who’s sinned.”

She shrugged nonchalantly. “Never gotten the chance.”

Azriel felt a charge pass between them, holding her gaze as the unspoken words filled space. “What are you seeking?” Azriel asked. Damn him, he knew better than to even imply that, and yet—

“Curiosity is a pesky thing.” She touched his arm, and it took all his training to keep his hands at his sides as she caressed him up his shoulder to the top of his back as she walked around him. “I’ll see you around, Spymaster.”

Azriel needed a moment before he finally rounded the corner back to the main temple nave. It was barren, no priestess in sight. But maybe that was for the best because while Azriel hadn’t come to pray on his knees tonight, he would’ve been brought to them for an entirely different reason.

~

A week passed since Azriel met the Priestess, but he couldn’t shake her from his mind. Tonight she’d even become the subject of his dream, looking up at him with those innocent eyes, holding his hungry gaze on her knees before him with her mouth wrapped around—

Azriel jolted awake, overheated and beading sweat. It was wrong, so wrong. But every time he closed his eyes, all he could picture were hers. His shadows slumbered around him, and in the darkness, he caved, no longer resisting the desire. He reached down his stomach for his aching length, fisting himself to the vision of her. His chest heaved as he imagined it was her mouth instead of his hand. It didn’t take long before he reached his release with a shuddering groan.

He lay where he was, hoping it would be enough, hoping this worked her out of his system. He told himself he was relaxed and content. Curiosity is a pesky thing. Her words echoed in his mind, stirring the heat low in his stomach again.

It wasn’t enough.

~

The mission was incomplete. Azriel considered declining going back, resisting the risk of seeing her again. But when Cassian seemed inclined to volunteer, Azriel immediately agreed to see it through.

Azriel lost track of the time he spent circling the temple in the air. He was forced to land when a priestess outside spotted him in the air. Not her—not the angel, but another. The Matron Priestess, she informed him. She smiled warmly and asked if she could help him find anything. He opened and closed his mouth. The priestess with the pretty eyes. That wouldn’t work. “I’m searching for an ancient text.”

“Feel free to come look for it inside.”

Night was beginning to fall; there were a handful of priestesses awake. None of them were her. But as they walked through the temple, Azriel felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand. Watching, his shadows whispered.

“We keep our ancient texts stored in the archive of our lib—Y/N!” the Matron suddenly halted her stride, turning.

Azriel followed her gaze. The priestess silently stepped out from behind a pillar. There she is.

“What are you doing sneaking around?”

“I—sorry, Matron. I was just curious,” she said, hands behind her back.

The Matron turned back to Azriel, exhaling in exasperation. “I apologize for her, Spymaster. She’s always getting into trouble.”

Azriel resisted the upward tug in his mouth. “That’s alright. She helped me last time I came, actually.”

The Matron’s brows rose in shock. She turned to assess the Priestess. “Oh?”

“She pointed me in the direction of the…library.”

The priestess—Y/N—peered up at him, and the sly glint in her eyes made Azriel grin at her behind the Matron’s back.

“Well. If that’s the case, Y/N can show you to our archives,” the Matron said. Y/N inclined her head and beckoned for Azriel to follow. Azriel thanked the Matron and followed the priestess down the hall.

When they were out of earshot, Azriel addressed her. “Always getting into trouble, huh?”

Y/N glared at him over her shoulder. “The Matron is a cranky old cunt.”

Azriel choked, laughing. “Graciously articulated.”

She continued to lead him through hallways until she turned into a room. Azriel entered, closing the door behind him. Not a library, but a private, candle-lit worship room filled with various artifacts, artwork, and sculptures.

Y/N turned to face him, leaning against a pillar, her hands tucked behind her back. “What’s your name, Spymaster?”

Azriel took in the sight of her. She fit right in amongst the artworks. A vision of piety.

Utterly forbidden.

“Why do you want to know my name?”

“You know mine. Consider this our confession for a confession,” she smirked.

Azriel raked her body with his eyes and then held her gaze. “I’m Azriel.”

“Azriel,” she repeated, and he wanted nothing more than to hear his name on her lips again. To make her gasp it.

“What were you doing watching from behind the pillar?”

She shrugged. “I was sneaking out.”

“Where to?”

“I told you,” she smiled. “Curiosity is a pesky thing.”

Azriel stalked towards her, drinking her in. This temptress. “I didn’t think that was within your province.”

She cocked her head to the side. “We’re not sworn to celibacy.”

Azriel levelled a look. “You mean to tell me, Priestess, that you were seeking… pleasure?”

“Would that be so shameful?”

He shook his head. “No. Nothing shameful about it.”

“Then why do you seem displeased?”

“I don’t like the notion of you seeking pleasure elsewhere.”

She cocked her head. “I didn’t realize I was expected to wait on you,” she breathed.

“Would you have waited?” his baritone voice drawled as he finally came to stand before her.

“Would it have been worth the wait?” She peered up at him.

He braced a hand on either side of her waist. “You’ve got quite the mouth on you, you know,” he rasped.

She traced down his chest with a finger. “What are you gonna do about it?”

“Well, I’d hate to leave your curiosity unsatisfied,” Azriel breathed.

Her stare flitted from his eyes to his lips. She leaned forward, rising on her toes as she pressed herself to his body, her hands braced on his chest. She pressed her lips to his once before Azriel loosed the leash on himself, leaning down and capturing her lips with his. He gripped her waist, pulling her impossibly closer. She arched further into him, gasping into his mouth, and it was the holiest of prayers he’s ever heard.

Her hands travelled up his form, cupping his jaw, running through his hair, tugging lightly at the roots. Azriel groaned into her mouth, pressing their bodies back into the column. She gasped again at the impact. Azriel moved his hold to her hips, relishing the feel of her body. He placed a foot between her own, knocking a leg sideways, pushing one of his legs between her own. She ground herself into his thigh, whining softly.

She wasn’t kissing him back anymore, just gasping for breath with her mouth on his. Azriel lifted his head to take in the sight as she undulated on his leg. His leathers were straining as his length hardened.

He hoisted her up, supporting her weight easily as she wrapped her legs around his waist. He kissed her neck hungrily. Her robes had ridden up, pooling where their bodies met, exposing her legs. She released his shoulders to undo the tie at her waist before reaching for the hem. Azriel savoured the sight of her baring herself to him, supporting her as she lifted her robes over her head.

She was left in her undergarments, leaning back against the pillar in his hold and the word kept echoing in his mind as he drank her in. Angel. Azriel lowered her slightly in his hold so that her clothed core massaged down his aching length, letting her heat engulf his hardness through his trousers. Then he slowly lifted her back up in steady repetition; down and back up, relieving some of the pressure. Her arms shook, breath shuddering as he continued to grind her onto him. “Please,” she breathed. “Please.”

Azriel reluctantly set her on her feet, careful to keep her supported at the waist as her knees predictably gave out. He patiently held her as she regained her footing. He sank to his knees, revering the drunk look in her half-lidded gaze. She undid her chest binding as Azriel hooked his fingers through the waistband of her underwear. She nodded in consent, holding his gaze as he pulled the garment down. She stepped out of it, bracing her hands on his shoulders. Azriel tried to school his breathing, to keep his composure as he beheld her, bare and subservient to his heed.

He cupped her knees, prying her legs open and began kissing her belly. Kissing her hips, her upper thighs, appreciating her dainty pants, the scent of her desire overtaking his common sense. He propped one of her legs over a shoulder, kissing along the inside of her thigh, revelling in the softness.

To his eternal satisfaction, she grasped the pillar behind her and swung her other thigh onto Azriel’s remaining shoulder to urge him on. He gripped her waist to hold her up, glancing into her siren eyes in shock and hunger. Her face was contorting in desire.

Azriel finally indulged her, indulged himself, and began feasting on her like the starved man she’s made of him.

She arched forward, crying out. Azriel sent his shadows to wrap around her, securing her to the pillar. They drifted around her languidly, reinforcing the divine image she painted. Azriel found himself lifting off his knees, standing at his full height so she was elevated higher. He suctioned her clit, licking hot stripes into her wetness. She was soaking his face, writhing on his shoulders. His shadows grazed against her breasts, wrapping gently around her neck.

Azriel was groaning into her heat. He moved a hand from her waist to plunge a scarred finger into her entrance, feeling her pulsate around it. He released her from his mouth to watch how his fingers sank into her. Her head was slumped back against the pillar in ecstasy. “Open your eyes for me,” Azriel rasped. He halted his movements until she obliged. “Look at me when you come.” She shuddered but held his gaze as Azriel’s mouth latched back onto her apex, suctioning in time with the motion of his fingers inside her. She squirmed, squeezing around him as she heaved, shallower and shallower until she fell apart. Azriel didn’t let up, working her through her climax until she pushed his head away.

Azriel gently lowered her from where he’d mounted her on the pillar like a monument. She crumpled into his arms. “You did so well,” he spoke huskily. Her eyes closed as she caught her breath, body shaking. Azriel sank to the floor, stroking her hair until her trembling let up. “Let me see those pretty eyes,” he whispered. She obliged, meeting his gaze. “Beautiful,” he murmured, appreciating the lust-blown pupils he beheld.

“You’re beautiful,” she countered hoarsely, reaching to comb his hair back. She sat up, straddling his lap, cradling his face and kissing him sweetly. “Take off your clothes,” she murmured into his mouth, and Azriel exhaled in relief. He hastily undid his leathers, baring himself to her as she did to him. She lifted herself off his lap to allow him to shove his leathers off. She sat on his clothed length and repeated the motion Azriel demonstrated earlier, grinding forward and back. Azriel gripped her hips, halting her to prevent himself from reaching release prematurely.

She pushed him to lay back, helping him remove the final barrier between them. As soon as his undergarment came off, she was lining herself up, letting his length prod her entrance. He immediately held her hips to guide her down, slowing her hasty movement. As soon as he entered her, her mouth parted in an o shape, breathing ceased. Azriel exhaled raggedly as he felt her walls squeeze him, forcing himself to hold back from burying himself. “You’re so fucking tight,” he breathed, still guiding her down inch by inch.

When he bottomed out, he held her down by the hips to let her adjust. “Breath, angel,” he commanded. She inhaled raggedly, relaxing around him slowly. He released her to allow her to move as she pleased. She began to rise herself up and sink back down bit by bit. “That’s it. Good girl,” he said, voice guttural.

She sped up her movement, bracing her hands on his abdomen. It wasn’t long before her walls began convulsing around him, and Azriel watched as she grew less controlled. Her breaths were merely high-pitched whimpers. He guided her hips through the last stretch until she reached her precipice. Azriel didn’t ease the motion. “There you go, atta girl,” he panted. She was squeezing him so well that he knew he was about to reach his own climax.

When she stopped moving, spent and satiated, Azriel braced his arms beneath her thighs, suspending her above him. He rutted up into her at a faster and harder pace, using his feet to drive himself up. She was still fluttering around him as he continued his plunging. She gasped sharply as another climax tore through her, pushing Azriel over the edge. He grunted, releasing into her pulsating heat, basking in the ecstasy coursing through his body. He finally sank back onto the ground. She fell forward, laying flat on his chest as she also caught her breath.

Azriel didn’t mind how long it took, stroking her back gently as they both came down from the high. She eventually lifted herself, first off his chest on shaky arms, then drew herself off his length, nearly collapsing as her knees buckled. Azriel was quick to catch her, sitting upright. “Easy,” he breathed, holding her up. “Are you alright?” Worry laced through him. He’d been too rough, too callous.

She gave him a tired smile. “Yes.”

“Did I hurt you?”

She shook her head no. “You were perfect.” She sat back on her knees, leaning against the pillar. Azriel dressed himself before reaching for her discarded clothes. He helped her with her robes, fitting them over her head and guiding her arms through, letting the fabric fall down her form. Azriel gently secured the tie at her waist and handed her the undergarments which she pocketed. She brought his hands up to place kisses on them. Azriel was kneeling before her on his knees, content to stay there.

“Can I take you to your room?” he asked softly. She looked up, eyes widening in surprise before she shyly nodded. Azriel’s heartstrings tugged at the sight.

She rose, pressing herself to his chest. He bent his head down to catch her whisper of the directions, and damn it if Azriel’s heart didn’t skip a beat at how she trustingly wrapped her arms around his neck, letting him take her weight; her faith in him, how safe she felt. He immediately returned the embrace, shifting her to carry and rise. He left through a window, flying where she directed to a little veranda off the side of the temple. She opened the window, still in his arms.

Azriel walked through the dark room, laying her down in her bed, gently unwinding her arms from his neck. She whispered, “thank you, Azriel.”

Words he wished he could say flooded with. I should be thanking you. I’ve been looking for you. It’s still not enough. Briefly overwhelmed, he settled for bending down and kissed her, reluctant to rise. He pressed deep, only releasing her when he needed to breathe, relishing her happy sigh. “No need for thanks, sweetheart.”

She was already half asleep, beaming at the shadows caressing her cheeks. “What do they whisper to you?”

Azriel spoke lowly. “They tell me you’re an angel.”

She still smiled, eyes closed. “And what do you think?”

I think you’re my salvation. “I’m inclined to agree.”

He remained, knee propped on her bed, watching as she rested. Something in his chest settled at the sight. “You didn’t find what you were looking for,” she breathed.

“Yes, I did.”

She laughed, airy and soft as she fought off sleep. “You know what I mean.”

Azriel bent down and pressed one more kiss to her mouth. “I guess I’ll have to come back and try again another day.”

~

taglist: @iimisty-a @feyretopia @aroseinvelaris @cullenswife @reiincarnatiion @sfhsgrad-blog @answer-the-sirens @mrstangerinejohnson @marigold-morelli @courtofjurdan @azriels-mate123 @emotionless-lover @marina468 @slvtherinseeker @owllover123

[zep-zep-blog]

Im back from the dead yall. I got this idea from @timeslugarts ^^ Go give them a follow for their amazing art! Hope yall enjoy!

Vox x gn!reader

Genre:Fluff | Cw: death, car crash, hospital mention

☆Devilish Love☆

Darkness. That's all you could remember until you wake up in this fiery hellscape. In reality, you were hit by a drunk driver and was in a coma back on Earth with family crying at your bedside, but your soul was trapped here. In the underworld of sinners that were repenting for their crimes.

You wandered the streets, looking around at the different sinners, demons, and other wayward souls. That is until you ran face first into someone, that being a tall man(?) if you could even call him that. He had a tv as a face for crying out loud. "Watch it." He said in a voice that was common in late 50's shows, his voice was sharp and boomed. Ofcourse you squeaked out an apology, but it wouldn't be the last. As you ran into him several times, even getting into arguements with him.

Over time, you did grow close. You stopped arguing with him less often and he offered to let you stay at his place. Soon his roommates, Valentino and Velvette grew to accept you and noticed how much romantic tension there was. You hung around him like a lost puppy, helping him with paperwork or his various shows he produces. This did lead to some issues though, as one day you had accidentally mixed up the scripts for one of the shows and you got into an argument. You and Vox had argued for almost 2 hours, but he finally cracked and impulsively kissed you on the lips.

That kiss had spiraled into you being his right hand, his assistant, his second half. You and him ran Voxtech with a iron fist, planning on taking over sinners and hell. He was also planning some ring options behind the scenes, asking Velvette for help on diamond size, band size, even the box color. Little did he know that the doctors in the mortal plane had other ideas.

You stood in the kitchen, messy hair from just waking up and only in one of Vox's more casual shirts and some underwear. He sat at the island, pouring you guys some cereal, you were about to take a spoonful when BAM your gone in a blink of an eye. Vox panicked, going absolutely nuts. Every tv, phone, camera, you name it was spent looking for you. He even went down to the Princess's hotel to demand an answer from Alastor.

"WHERE ARE THEY ALASTOR! I SWEAR TO GOD I'LL TURN YOU INTO VENISON BY THE TIME IM DONE-" He yelled, going berserk at the front door of the hotel. The door opened by Vaggie lunging at him with her spear, but was thankfully stopped by Charlie. "What's going on? What did Alastor do?" She asked with her signature smile. "He took them! I just know he did!" Vox screeched, pointing his finger at the clam and smiling radio demon. Every one turned their heads to look at Alastor, who looked a bit too calm for the situation. "Who?" His staticy voice came off as genuine confusion. "MY SPOUSE YOU STUPID FUCK!" Vox argued. "Who?-" Alastor was cut off by Angel, "Wait. Someone married you?" He asks, "Well, we were going to get married, but-but they just DISAPPEARED!" Vox says desperately, but not wanting to give Alastor any ammo he left. He returned to his office, giving annoyed huffs to Valentino and Velvette's questions.

Meanwhile, you had woken up to a heart moniter beeping and the warm embrace of your mom, hugging and weeping. The smell of hospital had made you more aware of the situation. Was..was that all a dream? You weren't exactly the perfect person, but having a dream about falling inlove in hell was a bit much for your human mind. Eventually, years had passed and you had lived a single life with a few pets for company, never getting over that dream until your death. Unfortunately, time in hell is different, while almost 30 years had passed since that car crash it had only been a few months for Vox. He had lashed out and never stopped searching. He spent all his time balancing finding you, fighting Alastor, and running Voxtech.

You had woken up in the same place 30 years ago, but it didn't look like that time had passed. You were shocked, it wasn't a dream all those years ago. You dashed through the streets looking for the familiar building of your long lost beloved. Soon you reached your destination, zooming through the lobby, but getting caught short by security. You caused a huge scene, cussing and yelling, begging for them to let you see Vox. Velvette alerted him to your outburst and he zapped through the wires to the lobby and froze. It was you, the person he still had the perfectbring for. The person he still made a plate for. The person he hugged a pillow at night to remember the touch of. He ran to you, shouting at the guards to let you go. He hugged you tightly, sharing a few tears as you hugged him back. You missed this, he missed this.

After being reunited he couldn't wait anymore, he eventually proposed with the ring he saved all that time. Sure he waited months, but you waited years and now you both could take over hell together.

[yandere-wishes]

𐙚 𝕬 𝕮𝖔𝖓𝖋𝖊𝖘𝖘𝖎𝖔𝖓 𝕷𝖊𝖙𝖙𝖊𝖗 𝕿𝖔 𝕯𝖗𝖆𝖈𝖚𝖑𝖆 𐙚

Wednesday February 14th xxxx

Dear Dracula:

I find myself pondering if, deep down, in the heart you deny possessing. There still exists a chasmic rhyme and reason for all which you do. They call you monster, fiend, abomination. Yet aren't they the ones that maim and slaughter for reasons as thin as thread? Thus why should we possess the burden of such an accursed name?

Valentine's is upon us. Maybe such sacrilegious festivities can be blamed for my intrepidity. We've yet to consort outside our nocturnal affairs, outside our world of half-spun truths and forgotten anecdotes. I pray you forgive my effrontery. I pray you comprehend my need for making such inquiries.

But my dear precious Dracula, I have to ask. Do you still remember your mother, your home, your heritage? Many deny that one as egregious as you could possess such mortal things. And yet aren't those the fundamental pillars of who we turn out to be? Isn't one man's evil another man's crusade?

So I, a mortal who believes she may have fallen for you in all your atrocious glory, ask do you remember being a son, a child? Being innocent and naive enough to believe every lie and fable? Do you still yarn for your mother in the dead of day? Recalling her scent and the bouncy curls of her hair, tasting nostalgia on your blood-soaked tongue.

What was it like in the sand, in the snow, in the green valleys and rocky outskirts? Did the coarseness of sand and the roughness of rocks and the tickle of flowers leave phantom pains across your body? Did you play with the snakes and climb fig trees? Did you laugh with others of your kind?

Do you recall your ancestrial home? The bronze walls of your mother's temple. Her fingers wafting through your hair as her smile radiates brighter than the moon. I zealously trust the visions that flash before my eyes on moonless nights. Images of a frail batling wrapped in kaleidoscopic blankets tucked under his mother's arm. Your mother mingled with owls, I wonder why she constructed you in the likeness of bats, of wolves, of snakes? Did she wish for you to serve as a cacophony to the detested, to those we so quickly forget? Did she wish for you something she could never have herself?

They seldom recall you are one of the sons of flames and stardust. Do they forget we share a legacy? One I believe you fought for. Both descendants of the divinely blessed. Both lost children arid for blood and retribution.

I too know of the darkly sweet tang of rich blood upon the tongue.

I too know the fragile elation of scraping blood from under one's fingernails three days later.

I too know the sensation of being a monster in everything but intentions.

I cherish the two lone bites you've left upon my neck. I cherish the cuts your claws have left upon my hips. You never say a word when you fall. When melancholy and memories obfuscate your judgment. I know you refuse to act human, to pretend and be something you are not. Thus I won't ask for sweet nothings from you.

Yet still I long to hear you call me "love".

When did you realize you were equal parts hellfire and shamshir?

When did you realize that humanity deserves to suffer for its every injustice?

My sweet, sweet Dracula, I regret to inform you that as of late my bones feel faulty and brittle, as do my thoughts. Can we still call ourselves holy? Do we still have that right? Can we still repent for our sins? Who decides what a sin is anyway? Will we ever be innocent to someone?

Are you torn too? Broken in all the wrong places? Do you feel the open wounds and amputations, when you stare up at the stars? I wonder if I owe you an apology. I wonder if you owe me one too…

Dearest Dracula, would you ever understand if I told you that I am tired of being a monster, a villain, an abomination? Would you understand if I told you I need to rest inside a glass coffin, to be rejuvenated and reborn into the world as something useful?

Would you believe me if I say I believe in you? That I lay the burden of my aspirations upon your unwavering shoulders. Should there exist any mere slivers of hope, I shall bestow them upon you in trim vials of gold.

Where did our obligations go? Where are they buried so that I may pay my tardy regards?

Dear Dracula,

I hope you understand every star I've spilled to you.

I hope you comprehend the love I harbor within my defective heart.

I hope you adore the blood I've penned this letter with.

I just hope you understand…

In your absence, thorn bushes grow across my cadaver. suffocating and desolate. Without you, voids grow inside me, where hope once flourished. Dracula what I've been trying to say this whole time is…

I think we're both monsters.

I think I could love you.

Sincerely me…

P.S

Think of me as you feast upon your latest victim. And I shall think of you as I fall asleep to the city's empty tunes.

I need an origin story for Dracula.

sorry for the cryptic love letter.

But hopefully this way everyone can identify with it in some way.

[em1e]

baby fever | seeing shin w a little baby

⿻ mini series ft. you dating shinichiro and whatever chaos that comes from that !! ✕ cute fluff !! to make up for the heartbreak from the last one ♡ series m.list

shinichiro wants to be impressed, honestly, with how quickly his day can go downhill. 

first, he woke up to mikey and emma arguing about who’d get to take the spiderman lunch box and who would get to take the batman one to the dojo with their grandpa (shinichiro was the deciding factor, and it turns out neither of them would get either – which could’ve been a mistake on his part, since the choice just made them whine and complain more at having to take brown bags).

then the clothes he threw in the dryer for his day with you weren’t completely dry, so he had to make the decision to wear slightly damp (and sour? was that smell coming from the clothes?) or be the disgusting human he knows he is deep down and wear the clothes he’s been wearing for the past week . . . 

he goes for the latter, because surely he can just douse himself in cologne and that’ll get rid of any underlying smells the clothes have accumulated . . . right . . ?

there’s no time to dwell on it, because now he’s late picking you up! 

you were going to kill him. he prays it’s a sweet, painless death as he knocks on your door. 

and of course the universe is against him. he doesn’t know what he’s done to deserve this bad luck, but god. he might have to start repenting. 

you pull the door open, and there’s a baby bouncing on your hip. you look tired, hair a mess and still in your pjs despite it being a little past the start of lunch, and the baby doesn’t look any better, crying despite your constant movement and shh’s that it’s okay. 

“uh . . hi?” he offers, brows furrowing, “something you wanna tell me?” 

“saw this one on the street, and thought ‘wow i’ve always wanted one of those’.” you joke humorlessly, opening the door wider so he can walk through, “my sister dropped her off because her stupid boyfriend got in trouble with the cops and her sitter canceled.” 

“so no date?” he concludes, and the way you whirl around to glare at him has him holding his hands defensively, clicking his tongue, “i’ll take that as a no . . want me to take her for a sec? how long have you had her?” 

you don’t hesitate to offer the baby to him, “since six this morning. she’s been fussy because her mom left.” you run a hand through your hair,  clearly exhausted, but the second she’s in shinichiro’s arms, she quiets down. your eyes narrow, “how’d you do that?” 

he moves to sit on the couch, and you scramble to sit beside him, passing the baby blanket he points to from her diaper bag and laying it gently over her. 

“do what?” he asks, voice a thousand times softer with her in his arms, “mikey was a fusser when he was a baby, wouldn’t stop crying unless you held ‘im like this.” 

it’s . . really fucking cute, admittedly, the way he gazes down at your niece and slowly rocks her to sleep. you would be upset at how easily she relaxes in his arms if it didn’t make your heart clench. 

and you’re honestly too worn out to hold a grudge over something so silly. 

your head finds itself on shinichiro’s shoulder, toying with a loose thread on the blanket. 

“you wore that shirt yesterday.” you comment off-handedly, when your niece has been rocked to sleep and you’re ready to follow her down that same path if your eyes fighting to stay open is anything to go by. 

“how do you know?” he asks, the hint of a smile teasing its way to his lips. 

“grease stain from your bike,” you pause with a yawn, then continue while snuggling into his side, “saw ‘em when you drove me home from work.” 

“and you didn’t tell me?” he sounds offended, but really, how does he expect you to take him seriously with the lilt in his voice like he’s still talking nonsense to your niece? 

it’s soft; a side of him you’ve never seen, and it makes you ache at the prospect of having him all to yourself. your own family, your own house with a picket fence. so domestic. 

“can’t wait for us to have our own.” you mumble in favor of answering his question, sleep edging its way into your voice. 

“yeah?” you can still hear the way he’s smiling as he speaks, relaxing further into the couch for the impromptu nap. you only hum in response, and he knows then you’re too far gone to provide a real reply. 

looking down at you, holding this baby in his arms . . . he thinks he can’t wait either. 

[gay-dorito-dust]

omg can i request enid pushing Wednesday to confess her feelings for an ace reader ? maybe Wednesday thinks she and Xavier have a thing but enid tries to make her keep an open mind and make her move

You were out of breath by the time Xavier and yourself made it back to school grounds and never had you ever felt as close to death then you did in that moment. Your calves ached in repentance for skipping stretching and your lungs burned with a thirst for oxygen and a break; Xavier on the other hand was better off then you were with just barely out of breath with a thin film of sweat breaking out across his brow, sticking the loose strands of hair against it.

“You did well, for your first morning run.” He said, flashing you his pearly whites in a smile, secretly amused of the glare you sent his way whilst wheezing for breath. “I hate you. I fucking hate you Xavier, I just wanted you to know that.” Xavier only pouted as he placed a hand over his heart whilst his free hand grasped your shoulder and drew you into his side, squeezing you tight. “I hate you too y/n. I’ve been meaning to tell you that for awhile now, ever since you stole my fucking sketchbook and threaten to dump it into the lake if you wanted to get into specifics.” He sighs, “I’m just so glad you reciprocated my feelings.”

Whilst you and Xavier had your back and fourth, him chasing after you when you got out of his grasp only to be caught once more. Wednesday was internally seething from the terrace of Ophelia Hall. Her jaw clenched at the sounds of happiness that emitted from the both of you; It sickened her to see you happily content within the arms of another, laughing with another, staring intently at another and yet she couldn’t help but feel envious of Xavier for getting to you before she could be given the opportunity to prove herself a worthy candidate for your heart.

Now she was forced to suffer the unbearable torment of seeing Xavier parade you around from the shadows as you passed her by. Wednesday had to admit, you and Xavier looked perfect together. Upon your first day of Nevermore it seemed as though to her that she and Xavier held the same thoughts about you, seeing firsthand of his eagerness when he approached you and much to her dismay you and Xavier got along like a house on fire. So in order to not feel outdone before she could even make an attempt, Wednesday would go out of her way to purposefully seek you out under the pretences that she needed some peace and quite away from Enid.

Looking back at it now, Wednesday believed she didn’t do enough to earn your favour but now she felt she was too late to change that. She was so lost in her thoughts that she didn’t hear Enid join her until her voice reached her ears, “are you done sulking about the what ifs and the could have beens and ready to turn them into thoughts of the here and now?” Her optimistic chirping was the cause of countless headaches for Wednesday but right now she couldn’t help but question her perception of reality in that moment. “I can’t.” She responded blankly. “Why?” Enid questions, head tilted to the side in confusion as her lips formed into a pout.

“Y/n is dating Xavier.” Wednesday summarised without going into much depth of the situation. Enid made a face at this, “No they’re not. Where did you get that from?” As far as Enid was aware, you and Xavier were merely just friends who were comfortable being physically affectionate with one another. You had playful competitions between yourselves and had moments where it felt as though neither one of you could be seen without the other being spotted nearby. However none of those instances struck Enid as anything besides serving as examples of a strong platonic bond.

“Just look at them.” Wednesday said, now pointing at the pair of you using a bench as a shield to protect yourselves from being soaked from the others water bottle, laughing and exchanging halfhearted insults as the battle raged on. Wednesday couldn’t begin to describe the feelings welling within her chest without leading back to a word she knew best; torture. Enid looked over at you two and couldn’t help but smile softly at the two of you having fun, considering how bleak and morbid Nevermore may get sometimes; it was refreshing to hear the sounds of two people having a blast now and then.

“That’s just how friends are,” Enid explains, seeing as her dorm mate was foreign to the concept, “some friends prefer to spend time in solitude together, others go out to explore cities and try new things together and then there are those like Xavier and y/n-.” “XAVIER I’LL FUCKING KILL YOU, YOU GOT MY SHIRT WET!” Your screech interrupts the werewolf, making her chuckled at your outburst. “DON’T BLAME ME! WE DIDN’T SET UP ANY SORT OF RULES SO IT WAS UNDER MY ASSUMPTION THAT ANYTHING GOES!” Xavier exclaimed though it was obvious he found your frustrations hilarious.

“They’re just friends who wanna have fun as though they’re running out of time.” Enid explained to Wednesday, who still had her digressions about the depth of which your friendship with Xavier went but felt a slight shift within the air that maybe, maybe she’ll be given a chance. The blonde smiled at her dorm mate before nudging her with her shoulder, cussing her to stiffen like a corpse at the contact. “Why don’t you take this as your opportunity to ask her out? After all, it won’t belong until schools out for the holidays and since you don’t want to be a ‘slave to technology.’” Enid spoke the last of her sentence in an poor attempt in mimicking Wednesday which only made the girl look at her unimpressed.

“This is quite literally your only chance to talk to them because someone like y/n,” both Enid and Wednesday looked at you as you crept up behind Xavier, only for him to turn and grab you in his arms as he carried you off back to your dorms, “she won’t be single forever Wednesday. So please, just act upon what you want before it’s too late.” Enid finished as she patted Wednesday on the shoulder before leaving her to her own devise, knowing deep down that she would make the right decision.