#personal names and place names changed for anonymity | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

thirtysomethingloser92 · 3 days

Text

2. Trusting You To Hold My Heart.

Mini-series based off Cherry Lips. Summary: One night with world famous Remy Lebeau turns into something neither one of you expected. Warnings: Smut, Daddy Kinks, Bondage, Spanking, Choking, Threesomes (Amongst so much more), angst, fluff, romance.

A name of a hotel.

That was it. That was the message that woke you up at 6:15 a.m., your phone vibrating softly on the nightstand beside your bed. Still groggy, you blinked a few times, trying to adjust your eyes to the early morning light filtering through the curtains. You squinted at the screen, the name staring back at you: The Langston Hotel.

For a moment, the message didn’t fully register. Your brain was still foggy, your body still heavy with sleep. But then, slowly, the weight of it started to sink in.

He’s here. Or at least, he would be soon.

You sat up, rubbing a hand over your face, trying to shake off the remnants of sleep. Your heart began to race, a mixture of excitement and something else—something more hesitant, more uncertain—bubbling up inside you. Your thumb hovered over the message for a moment, your mind racing with a thousand thoughts all at once.

That’s when a second message came through.

Pack a bag.

You stared at the words, your breath catching slightly in your throat.

See you soon.

Your stomach flipped.

Remy. He was really coming. After weeks of late-night conversations, of playful banter and those deeper moments where you’d both let your guards down, he was flying in just to see you. It still felt surreal, like you were living someone else’s life. How did this even happen? How did you, the person who loved your quiet apartment with the overgrown garden bed and the peeling wallpaper, end up here—waiting for him?

He’s coming here, you thought again, the reality settling in.

But with that realization came a flood of emotions. You stood up from the bed, pacing the room, your mind spinning.

Excitement, yes. You couldn’t wait to see him. To be near him, to hear his voice in person rather than through a phone or a screen. There was something about him that made everything else fade away when he was around. He had a way of making you feel seen in ways no one else ever had. And the idea of spending time together—of having him all to yourself, even if only for a day—sent a shiver of anticipation through you.

But there was also hesitation. Anxiety.

Because as much as you were looking forward to seeing him, there was still that gnawing voice in the back of your mind reminding you of how different your worlds were. He was Remy LeBeau. The Remy LeBeau. The one whose face was plastered on magazine covers, whose name was whispered about in every corner of the world. He lived a life of limousines, red carpets, and flashing cameras. And you? You were just... you.

You liked your anonymity, your quiet life. You liked walking down the street without anyone paying attention. You liked tending to your little garden out front and making dumb without it being scrutinized on Twitter.

But this wasn’t normal. This was something else. Something bigger than you ever imagined for yourself. And as much as you were drawn to him, as much as you liked the idea of being with him, there was a part of you that was scared—scared of what this could mean, of how much your life might change if you let him in.

You walked over to the window, pulling the curtain aside to look out at the street below. It was still early, only a few people out and about, the world still waking up. You could see the small garden bed you’d planted out front, the flowers you tended to as a way to keep yourself grounded. You loved this place—your sanctuary. It was safe here, quiet.

And yet, all you could think about was him. The way he made you laugh when you were having a bad day. The way he’d stayed up with you on the phone for hours, even when he was exhausted, just because he didn’t want to say goodbye. The way he talked about you like you were the only person in the world who mattered.

You sighed, pressing your forehead against the cool glass of the window. You knew you were overthinking it. You always did this—let your mind spiral out of control, imagining a million different scenarios, most of which would never happen. But there was something about this... about him... that felt like it was worth the risk.

Your phone buzzed again, pulling you from your thoughts. Another message.

Flight lands in three hours. Can’t wait to see you.

You swallowed hard, the words making your heart thud in your chest. Three hours. That’s all the time you had left to prepare—not just physically, but emotionally.

You glanced around your bedroom, at the half-unpacked laundry in the corner, the books scattered across your nightstand, the cup of half-drunk tea from last night still sitting on the windowsill. Your life was messy and real, but so yours. And now, in just a few hours, Remy would be stepping into it.

You moved over to your closet, pulling out an overnight bag, hesitating for a second before tossing it onto the bed. You started grabbing clothes—nothing too fancy, just something comfortable. He wasn’t the kind of guy who cared about appearances, at least not with you. He always made you feel like you didn’t have to pretend, didn’t have to be anything other than exactly who you were.

But still... there was that excitement bubbling up inside you. The thrill of seeing him again. The uncertainty of what might happen when you did.

What was this to him? What was it to you? It was hard to define, this thing between you two. It wasn’t just casual, but it wasn’t something you were ready to label either. Every time you thought about it, you felt your heart race, a mix of fear and hope twisting inside you.

As you packed the necessities—clothes, toiletries, a book you’d been reading—you glanced at your phone again, checking the time. You had a few hours. Enough time to get ready, to prepare yourself for whatever was about to happen.

You stood there for a moment, staring at the bag on your bed, your mind racing. What if this changed everything? What if seeing him in person wasn’t the same as talking on the phone? What if the reality of who he was and who you were collided in a way that didn’t fit?

But then, you reminded yourself of all the times you’d doubted yourself and been wrong. Of all the times you’d convinced yourself that you weren’t enough, only to have someone prove you otherwise. Remy wasn’t just anyone. He was someone who chose to fly halfway across the world to see you. Maybe that was enough.

You zipped up the bag and set it by the door, taking a deep breath.

Whatever happened next, you would figure it out. Because, for once, you were letting yourself take the leap. You were letting yourself believe that maybe, just maybe, this could be something real.

And with that thought, you picked up your phone and sent a quick reply.

See you soon. At exactly 9:00 a.m., you were sitting in your car, parked just outside your apartment complex. The engine hummed quietly beneath you, its steady rhythm doing nothing to calm the whirlwind of emotions churning inside. Your hands gripped the steering wheel a little too tightly, knuckles white as your fingers dug into the leather. You stared blankly at the empty street ahead, your thoughts far from the world outside.

You let out a long, shaky breath, but it didn’t bring the relief you’d hoped for. The exhale felt hollow, heavy, dragging your insecurities up to the surface, where they clawed at you with a persistence that left you feeling raw and exposed.

What am I even doing?

The question echoed in your head, relentless, demanding an answer you weren’t sure you had. You and Remy had agreed to keep things loose, undefined. You’d even told each other you’d “see where it goes,” but deep down, you couldn’t see how it could ever go anywhere beyond this—beyond stolen moments, fleeting weekends, and the brief reprieves from your vastly different lives. The arrangement had been clear from the start: no expectations, no promises, just a way for both of you to scratch an itch you hadn’t been able to satisfy with anyone else.

Yet here you were, gripping the steering wheel like it was the only thing holding you together, wondering why it didn’t feel that simple anymore.

You shifted in your seat, trying to ease the tension in your body, but the anxiety gnawing at your chest wouldn’t let go. You knew why you felt this way. It wasn’t just about today. It was about everything—about Remy, about the way your heart clenched every time you saw him on the cover of a magazine or in some tabloid photo, always with another woman on his arm. Women who were perfect in the way you could never be. Women who made you hyper-aware of every flaw you’d ever tried to hide.

Those women.

They were tall, leggy, their hair always perfectly styled, their skin flawless. They wore designer clothes like they were born for it, gliding effortlessly through the same world Remy inhabited—a world you’d never quite fit into. Every time you saw him with them, it was like a punch to the gut, a cruel reminder that you didn’t belong in his world. You couldn’t help but pick at your own insecurities every time you saw their photos, comparing yourself to them in ways that left you feeling small, insignificant.

You don’t fit.

You tried to remind yourself that this arrangement was about satisfying a need. That’s all it was. A way for both of you to indulge in something that felt good, something that let you escape from the realities of your lives for a little while. It wasn’t supposed to be more than that. You weren’t supposed to care like this. You weren’t supposed to feel this ache in your chest every time you thought about him.

But you did.

You leaned back against the seat, closing your eyes for a moment as you tried to steady your breathing. You had to pull yourself together before you saw him. You couldn’t let him see the cracks, couldn’t let him know how tangled up you were becoming in something that wasn’t supposed to be complicated. Not to him, at least.

Remy had never made you feel inadequate. He’d never once compared you to the women from his world. He didn’t treat you like you were any less than them—if anything, he made you feel wanted in ways you hadn’t felt in a long time. But that didn’t change the fact that you were different. It didn’t change the fact that you could never truly be a part of his world. And it didn’t change the fact that this… whatever this was, had an expiration date.

The thought weighed heavily on you, but you pushed it aside, determined not to let it ruin today. You and Remy had made an agreement, and you’d stick to it. No expectations. No promises. Just… this. A mutual exchange. A way for both of you to explore your fantasies without judgment.

Even though your growing feelings for him complicated things, you knew—you had to know—that this was all it would ever be. Anything more was impossible. You couldn’t imagine a future where you fit into his life, and you doubted he could either, no matter how intoxicating the moments you shared together were.

With another deep breath, you sat up straighter, forcing the tension out of your shoulders. This was just another day. Another moment to escape reality for a little while. Nothing more.

Because that’s all it ever would be.

You knew better than to let yourself hope for anything else. <><><><><><><><><>

You parked the car in the underground garage, the low ceiling and dim lighting giving the space a quiet, almost eerie feel. The echo of your tires on the concrete was the only sound until the engine’s hum faded into an oppressive silence. For a moment, you just sat there, fingers still gripping the steering wheel, your heart thudding against your ribs as if it were trying to escape.

This is it.

With a deep breath, you reached over to the passenger seat, grabbing your overnight bag. The leather strap felt cool and solid beneath your fingers, grounding you as you stepped out of the car. The chill of the underground garage hit you immediately, the air damp and still, clinging to your skin. As you slung the bag over your shoulder, you glanced up at the looming structure of The Langston Hotel above.

The building was sleek and imposing, all polished glass and steel, reflecting the overcast sky in a way that made it seem almost ethereal. It was the kind of place you’d only seen in movies—the kind of hotel where the rich and powerful stayed, where lives were lived in excess behind closed doors. The kind of place that made you feel like you didn’t quite belong.

You looked down at your jeans and oversized jumper, the fabric soft and comforting but suddenly feeling woefully inadequate. Your reflection in the car window confirmed it—there you were, standing in the shadow of this luxurious monument to wealth and status, looking exactly as out of place as you felt. The person staring back at you wasn’t the kind of woman who walked confidently into a hotel like The Langston without a second thought. She wasn’t the woman who appeared in magazines, dressed in couture, flawless and unbothered.

She was… you. And right now, that didn’t feel like enough.

But Remy didn’t care about that. He didn’t care about the clothes, the appearances, the world of status and wealth he was constantly surrounded by. When he looked at you, it wasn't through the lens of celebrity and glamour. He always saw you. The woman who had captured his attention in a way none of those flawless women ever had.

You swallowed hard, pushing the doubt aside as best as you could. You had to hold onto that. You had to believe it, even if it didn’t always feel real.

You made your way toward the hotel entrance, your footsteps echoing softly in the stillness of the garage. The soft thud of your boots against the concrete was the only thing anchoring you in the moment, each step closer to him, closer to the escape you both craved.

As soon as you passed through the glass doors, the atmosphere shifted dramatically. The oppressive quiet of the garage gave way to an overwhelming sense of luxury. The lobby of the hotel was nothing short of breathtaking—designed to impress, to dazzle. The marble floors stretched out in every direction, gleaming beneath the muted light of crystal chandeliers hanging from the high ceilings. The chandeliers themselves were works of art, catching the light in sharp, glittering fragments that danced across the room.

A grand reception desk stood at the far end of the lobby, manned by perfectly poised attendants, their smiles polished and professional. They greeted each guest with the kind of warmth that came with years of practice, their eyes flicking over you without a hint of judgment, though you couldn’t help but feel like you were being sized up all the same.

The scent of fresh-cut flowers filled the air, mingling with the faint aroma of polished wood and leather. Massive vases, filled with intricate arrangements of orchids, roses, and lilies, stood like sentinels in the center of the room, their vibrant colors almost too perfect, too curated. Everything about this place was designed to make you feel small in the face of its grandeur.

You shook your head, trying to push the thought aside, but it buzzed persistently in the back of your mind. With a sigh, you pulled out your phone, your fingers trembling just the slightest bit as you typed a quick message to Remy.

Hey, I’m here. What’s the room number?

The message sent, and you stood there for a moment, staring at the screen, waiting. It didn’t take long for his response to pop up.

Penthouse. Elevator to the top floor.

Your heart skipped a beat as you read his reply, your eyes lingering on the word penthouse. Of course, Remy would be staying in the penthouse. Why were you even surprised? It was just another reminder of the vast difference between your worlds. You smiled despite yourself, shaking your head at how effortlessly he moved through this life of luxury, while you were standing here, just trying to keep your nerves in check.

You slipped your phone back into your bag and made your way toward the elevator, your footsteps echoing softly in the quiet garage. The soft music playing in the background as you entered the lobby did little to soothe the tension building in your chest. You felt like you were walking through a dream—everything around you was too pristine, too perfect. Every detail screamed wealth and status, and it only made you feel more out of place.

But you were here. And so was he. That’s all that mattered.

You stepped into the elevator, the mirrored walls reflecting a version of yourself that looked… hesitant. You pressed the button for the top floor, your finger lingering just a second longer than necessary before you let it go. The doors slid shut with a soft whoosh, and the elevator began its smooth ascent, the soft hum of the machinery the only sound in the enclosed space.

As the floors ticked by, you caught your reflection again. You looked nervous—more nervous than you had expected to be. Even more so now that you were so close to seeing him. The distance had kept things safe, hadn’t it? All those late-night phone calls, the texts that made you smile, the flirty back-and-forth that had grown into something more over the weeks—it had all felt so easy when there were miles between you. It was simple to let your guard down when you weren’t standing in front of him, when you didn’t have to worry about how you looked or how you’d react in person.

But now? Now you were moments away from seeing him face-to-face, from stepping into this life that felt so far removed from your own. Your thoughts raced as the elevator continued its ascent.

What if this feels different in person? What if the connection you had felt over the phone didn’t translate when you were standing in the same room? What if the chemistry you’d shared was just a product of the distance, of the safety that came with not having to look into his eyes and feel the weight of everything that was left unspoken between you?

You took a deep breath, trying to calm the storm of emotions swirling inside you. He’s here for you, you reminded yourself. He had invited you here because he wanted to see you, because whatever this was between the two of you, it meant something. Stop overthinking this. But that was easier said than done, especially when the doubts and insecurities you’d been trying to keep at bay came rushing to the surface every time you thought about the life he lived—the life you weren’t sure you could ever fit into.

The elevator chimed softly, signaling that you had reached the top floor. You stepped out into a lavish hallway, the kind that looked like it had only ever seen the most pristine shoes. The plush carpeting muffled your footsteps as you made your way down the hallway, past doors that likely led to equally opulent suites. Your heart pounded harder with each step, the weight of the moment settling onto your shoulders.

And there it was. His door.

You stopped in front of it, your hand hovering uncertainly over the doorbell. This was it, wasn’t it? The moment you’d been building toward for days, weeks. The moment you’d been thinking about endlessly every time you checked your phone for a message from him, every time your heart raced when his name lit up your screen.

You hesitated, the weight of everything that had led to this moment hanging heavy in the air. You could turn around right now. You could walk back to the elevator, go down to your car, drive home, and pretend this never happened. You could avoid the risk, the uncertainty, the vulnerability that came with stepping into his world.

But you didn’t want that.

You wanted to see him. You wanted to know what this—what you—could be. You took a shaky breath, steeling yourself for whatever was to come, and pressed the doorbell.

There was a brief pause, a moment where everything seemed to stand still. And then, you heard movement from the other side of the door. The sound of footsteps, the soft click of the latch, and finally, the door swung open.

And there he was—Remy, standing in front of you, his familiar, lazy smile spreading across his face as his eyes met yours. He looked even better in person, if that was possible—his dark hair slightly tousled, his shirt unbuttoned just enough to give a glimpse of his chest. His presence was magnetic, overwhelming in a way that made your breath catch in your throat.

“Hey,” he said softly, his voice warm and intimate, like you were the only person in the world who mattered in that moment.

For a second, you just stood there, taking him in. The way his eyes softened when they settled on you, the way he reached out and gently took your hand, pulling you into the room with a confidence that made the rest of the world fall away. The door clicked shut behind you, and suddenly, it was just the two of you in the quiet, dimly lit space, the soft hum of the city below barely audible from this height. The penthouse was, as expected, stunning—almost unreal in its beauty and sophistication. Floor-to-ceiling windows dominated the far wall, offering a panoramic view of the city skyline. The hazy midday light filtered in through the glass, casting long, golden shadows across the room. Beyond the windows, the city stretched out endlessly, with its buildings and streets sprawled like a living, breathing entity far below.

The space itself was expansive, open, and filled with an effortless elegance that made you feel like you were stepping into the pages of a high-end design magazine. The furnishings were modern, sleek, and luxurious, each piece carefully chosen to exude both comfort and style. A large, L-shaped leather sofa in a muted gray sat in the center of the living area, perfectly positioned to face both the view and the oversized flat-screen TV mounted on the wall. Plush throw pillows in deep jewel tones were artfully arranged along the couch, adding a touch of warmth to the cool, minimalist decor.

To your right, a glass-and-marble coffee table held a small, understated arrangement of white orchids, their delicate petals catching the light from the massive windows. The table was flanked by two armchairs in soft velvet, their deep emerald hue adding a pop of color against the neutral tones of the space. A low-hanging pendant light above the table cast a soft, ambient glow, making the space feel intimate despite its grandeur.

Near the windows, a sleek, modern dining table made of dark wood sat with enough space to seat at least eight, though it looked untouched, more like a piece of art than something anyone would actually use. Beyond that, you could see a fully stocked bar, its polished surface gleaming under the soft, mood lighting. Bottles of expensive liquor lined the shelves behind it, their labels a testament to the kind of luxury this place embodied.

To your left, an open kitchen flowed seamlessly into the rest of the space, all stainless steel and marble, with state-of-the-art appliances that looked more like they belonged in the home of a professional chef than in a hotel. The countertops were pristine, not a single item out of place, as if the kitchen had never been used. A large island sat in the center, its surface bare except for a bowl of perfectly arranged fruit that looked more decorative than anything else.

And then there was the art. Large, abstract paintings adorned the walls, their bold strokes of color standing in stark contrast to the soft, neutral tones of the room. They were the kind of pieces that could easily be worth more than your entire apartment, but here, they were just another detail in a space that oozed wealth and sophistication.

The entire penthouse felt like the epitome of luxury, from the marble floors that gleamed beneath your feet to the subtle scent of fresh flowers and expensive wood that lingered in the air. It was the kind of place that felt almost unreal, like it belonged to someone who lived a life of constant indulgence and privilege.

But none of that registered. Not really.

Because all you could focus on was him.

Remy stood in front of you, close enough that you could feel the warmth radiating from his body, his presence grounding you in the midst of all this overwhelming beauty. His eyes locked on yours, a quiet intensity in them that made the rest of the world—the penthouse, the view, the luxury—fade into the background.

In this stunning, extravagant space, he was the only thing that mattered. For a moment, the room was filled with silence, but it wasn’t the kind that made you want to fill it with nervous words. It was the kind of silence that spoke louder than anything you could say—the kind that was thick with anticipation, with the weight of something unspoken hanging in the air between you. Remy stood just a few feet away, his eyes locked on yours, and for a second, it felt like everything had come to a halt. Time, space, the world outside—none of it mattered in that instant. It was just the two of you, standing there, both knowing that this was a moment you’d been waiting for longer than either of you wanted to admit.

His gaze softened, the intensity in his eyes melting into something warmer, something deeper. You could feel the weight of it—the way his eyes traced the lines of your face, as if he were trying to memorize the moment, to commit every detail to memory. There was something in his expression that made your heart stutter, a quiet awe, like he couldn’t quite believe you were really here, standing in front of him. Like he’d been waiting for this moment just as much as you had.

And then, without saying a word, he stepped forward. The movement was so fluid, so sure, that you barely had time to process it before he was right there, closing the distance between you. His hand slid around your waist, his touch firm but gentle, as if he was afraid you might slip away if he didn’t hold on tight enough.

You felt the warmth of his body immediately, the solidness of him against you as his arms wrapped around you, pulling you close. It was a feeling you hadn’t realized you’d been craving until now, the weight of him grounding you, making everything else disappear. For a second, you didn’t move. You couldn’t. You just stood there, frozen in the moment, your face pressed against his chest, your ear catching the steady, rhythmic beat of his heart.

The world outside the penthouse might as well have ceased to exist. The city, the noise, the chaos—it all faded into the background, leaving only the two of you, entangled in this small, quiet space. In his arms, the tension you hadn’t even realized you’d been carrying for weeks seemed to melt away. The distance, the uncertainty, the doubt—they all evaporated in the warmth of his embrace, like fog lifting under the sun.

It felt right. More right than anything had in a long time. Like you’d found something you hadn’t even known you were searching for.

After what felt like a small eternity but was probably only a few seconds, Remy pulled back just enough to look down at you. His hand gently traced the side of your face, his fingers brushing a stray strand of hair behind your ear. His touch was soft, almost reverent, and when your eyes met his again, you could see something new in them. The usual mischief, the playful glint that had always made him seem untouchable, was still there—but now, it was mixed with something deeper. Something raw. Something vulnerable.

He smiled, that easy, lopsided grin that had always made your heart skip a beat, and for a moment, the weight of the moment shifted, lightened. “So,” he said, his voice teasing but soft, “did you get lost on the way up here, or were you just building suspense?”

You blinked, caught off guard by the sudden shift in tone. “Lost?” you echoed, raising an eyebrow. “Please. I practically own the penthouse life.” You gestured vaguely around the opulent room, your sarcasm dripping. “I mean, this is obviously my natural habitat.”

Remy’s grin widened, his eyes twinkling with amusement. “Oh, yeah? You’ve got a whole fleet of these places, huh? I should’ve known I was dealing with a secret real estate mogul.”

You laughed, the sound coming out a little shakier than you’d intended, but it felt good. Normal. “Obviously. I mean, I thought I’d let you borrow this one for the weekend, you know, just to see how the other half lives.”

He chuckled, his arm still loosely around your waist, pulling you just a little closer. “Well, thank you for your generosity. I’ll be sure to leave it spotless when I’m done. Maybe even fluff the pillows.”

You rolled your eyes, your fingers lightly tracing over the fabric of his shirt. “Please. You don’t know the first thing about fluffing pillows. Remy grinned, “Well maybe you can show me then?”

You swallowed, your gaze flicking to his lips for the briefest of moments before meeting his eyes again. “Maybe,” you said, your voice softer now but still teasing. “If you’re lucky.”

His smile softened, the playful glint in his eyes giving way to something more tender. “I’m already lucky,” he said quietly, his hand sliding up your back, his fingers brushing the nape of your neck as he leaned in, his lips hovering just inches from yours.

And just like that, the teasing banter faded into the background, replaced by the quiet, unspoken pull between you, the moment stretching out like an eternity. You could feel the warmth of his breath, the steady rise and fall of his chest against yours, and for a second, you forgot how to breathe.

Then, without waiting anymore, he closed the distance, his lips meeting yours in a kiss that felt like coming home. It wasn’t rushed or frantic. It was slow, deliberate, like he was savoring the moment, like he was savoring you .

And in that kiss, everything else—the city, the penthouse, the doubts—faded away. All that was left was the warmth of his lips against yours, the feel of his hands holding you close, and the quiet certainty that whatever this was, it was real. <><><><>

The morning passed in a slow, lazy haze, the kind of morning where time seemed to stretch and soften around the edges. You were laying between Remy’s legs on the oversized couch, your head resting comfortably against his chest, his arms wrapped loosely around you. The suite was quiet, save for the soft hum of the city outside and the rhythmic sound of his breathing. His fingers trailed absentmindedly up and down your arms, leaving a trail of warmth wherever they touched. It was the kind of touch that was soothing, familiar—the kind that made you feel like you were exactly where you were supposed to be.

You closed your eyes for a moment, just letting yourself sink into the feeling of him, the solid weight of his body beneath yours, the way his chest rose and fell steadily, keeping time with your own breaths. The world outside the hotel—your doubts, your fears, the chaos of everything that had brought you here—felt distant now, like a bad dream you were slowly waking from. Here, in this quiet bubble of space, it was just the two of you, and for the first time in a long time, you felt... peaceful.

It was strange, being so close to him after all the months of talking, of wondering what it would feel like to be in the same room, to share the same space. And now that you were here, it felt surprisingly natural, like you had been doing this all along. His presence was grounding, his warmth wrapping around you like a safety net, pulling you back whenever your thoughts threatened to drift too far into uncertainty.

“Y’know,” Remy’s voice broke through the quiet, the familiar lilt of his accent sending a warm shiver through you. “I gotta admit, chérie, this is a pretty sweet setup we got going on here.” His fingers traced lazy patterns along your arm, his tone playful, but there was an undercurrent of something softer in his voice.

You couldn’t help but smile, your lips curving upward as you shifted slightly to glance up at him. “Yeah, I bet you think so. You’re not doing any of the hard work here.”

He raised an eyebrow, his lips quirking into that familiar, lopsided smirk that never failed to make your heart skip a beat. “Hard work? You call layin’ on me hard work? If this is tough for you, sweetheart, we got bigger problems.”

You rolled your eyes, though you couldn't help the small laugh that escaped your lips. “Hey, it’s a tough job, but someone’s gotta do it.”

His hands stilled for a moment on your arm, and you felt him chuckle softly behind you, the sound rumbling through his chest like distant thunder. “Glad it’s you then,” he muttered, the amusement clear in his voice. The banter that had filled the room moments ago seemed to dissolve, replaced by a quiet intensity that wrapped itself around you both. His fingers resumed their gentle tracing along your arm, the light sweep of his touch sending a pleasant shiver down your spine. You closed your eyes, letting yourself sink into the warmth of him, into the quiet intimacy of the moment.

It was hard to believe that you were really here, that this was actually happening. After all the late-night phone calls, the teasing texts, the doubts that had plagued you during the weeks apart—it all felt so surreal, like you were still waiting to wake up from a dream. But here, in his arms, the reality of it all was undeniable. The way his hands held you, the way his breath mingled with yours, the steady rhythm of his heart beneath your cheek—it was real. And it was better than you had ever let yourself imagine it could be.

You weren’t sure how long you stayed like that, wrapped up in each other, the world outside forgotten. The only sound was the soft hum of the city far below, the distant murmur of traffic a world away from this quiet, intimate space. But then, out of nowhere, the comfortable silence was broken by the soft growl of your stomach, loud enough to make you cringe. You felt Remy’s chest shake with quiet laughter, his arms tightening just a fraction around you.

“Well, looks like relaxation time’s over,” he teased, his voice thick with amusement. “Either that, or your stomach’s tryin’ to tell me somethin’.”

You groaned, burying your face in his chest, your cheeks flushing with embarrassment. “I swear that wasn’t me,” you mumbled, your voice muffled against his shirt.

“Uh-huh,” he said, his tone dripping with playful skepticism. “Sure it wasn’t. I didn’t hear my stomach growlin’, chérie.”

You couldn’t help but laugh, even as you tried to swat at his arm, though the gesture was half-hearted at best. “Shut up,” you muttered, your cheeks warming even more.

He easily caught your wrist, his fingers wrapping gently around it, his touch warm and reassuring. He tilted his head slightly, his grin softening into something fond. “C’mon,” he said, his voice dipping into that low, smooth tone that always made your heart flutter. “You wanna grab lunch or somethin’? I’m sure there’s a place ‘round here that’s got somethin’ decent.”

You hesitated for a beat, the playful banter slipping away as something more serious crept into your mind. You shifted slightly, lifting your gaze to meet his, your expression thoughtful. “Is there… I mean, is there anywhere around here where you wouldn’t get, you know… recognized?”

Remy’s eyes sparkled with amusement, and his smirk grew wider, a slow, mischievous grin that made your stomach flip. He leaned down slightly, his lips brushing the shell of your ear as he murmured, “Room service it is, then.”

You couldn’t help but laugh softly, shaking your head. “I had a feeling you’d say that.”

He pulled back just enough to wink at you, clearly pleased with himself. “What can I say? I’m a man of simple tastes.”

“Simple tastes?” you echoed, raising an eyebrow in mock skepticism as you glanced around the lavish penthouse. “You’re staying in the penthouse, Remy.”

He chuckled, his hands slipping back around your waist, pulling you a little closer until your bodies were pressed together again. “Hey, I can appreciate the finer things in life,” he said, his voice playful. “Doesn’t mean I wanna go out there and deal with people. Not when I got everything I need right here.”

His words were casual, teasing even, but there was something in the way he said it, in the way his eyes softened as they held yours, that made your heart skip a beat. He wasn’t talking about the penthouse. He wasn’t talking about the lavish surroundings or the privacy. He was talking about you.

Your smile softened, leaning into him more, your head naturally resting against his chest as you let out a contented sigh. “Room service sounds good to me,” you murmured into his shirt, your voice soft but full of warmth.

“Good,” he replied, his voice low and warm, that familiar southern drawl wrapping around the words. “’Cause I ain’t plannin’ on sharin’ you with the rest of the world just yet.”

The way he said it—the quiet conviction in his voice, the way his arms tightened around you—sent a warmth spreading through your chest, a fluttering happiness that you hadn’t felt in a long time. It was strange, how natural it felt being here with him, how right it all seemed, like you’d found something you hadn’t even realized you were missing.

Remy shifted slightly beneath you, one arm still wrapped around your waist as he reached for the phone on the side table. He brought it to his ear, his eyes never leaving yours as he placed the order with the kind of smooth confidence that came easily to him. He rattled off a list of dishes that sounded far too fancy for you to have ever thought to order, but you smiled at the way he did it—so effortlessly, like he’d done it a hundred times before.

When he hung up the phone, he set it aside and settled back into the couch, his arms wrapping around you once more. “Food’ll be here in a bit,” he said, his tone casual, but there was a softness in his eyes that made your heart stutter.

You nodded, resting your hand on his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart beneath your palm. “Good,” you said softly, your voice barely above a whisper. “Because I’m not ready to leave this spot yet.”

A slow smile spread across his face as his fingers resumed their soft, lazy tracing along your arm, sending small sparks of warmth through your skin. “Neither am I,” he murmured, his voice dropping to a low, intimate tone that made your pulse quicken.

And for the first time in a long time, you felt completely at ease, like everything in the world was exactly as it should be. You didn’t need anything else. You didn’t need to go anywhere or do anything. Here, wrapped up in Remy’s arms, the world outside could wait. For now, this moment was all that mattered. A slow smile spread across Remy’s face as his fingers resumed their soft, lazy tracing along your arm, sending small sparks of warmth through your skin. “Mmm, neither am I, *ma chère*,” he murmured, his voice dropping to that low, intimate tone that made your pulse quicken. His Cajun accent, thick like sweet molasses, wrapped around the words, making them feel even more personal, more intimate.

The knock on the door broke the quiet, intimate moment, and Remy groaned softly, untangling himself from you. “Ain’t that just perfect timing,” he drawled, his tone playful as he reluctantly pulled away. The warmth of his body left you as he stood, but you couldn’t help but smile as you watched him move with that easy confidence that always seemed to follow him.

He returned with a silver tray piled high with covered dishes, a grin tugging at the corners of his lips. “Room service, as requested,” he said, lifting the silver lids with a flourish, his Cajun accent adding a teasing lilt to the words.

You laughed, shaking your head at both his showmanship and the impressive spread. “Did we order for the whole building?” you asked, your eyes wide at the sheer amount of food. There were artisanal sliders, a decadent pasta dish draped in creamy sauce, a side of truffle fries, a charcuterie board, and even a dessert tray that looked like it had been plucked straight from the streets of Paris.

Remy shrugged, popping a fry into his mouth and grinning. “Well, chère, I didn’t know what ya liked, so I jus’ figured I’d get a lil’ bit of everythin’. Ain’t no harm in dat, right?”

You popped a truffle fry into your mouth, the taste hitting you with a satisfying crunch. “Can’t argue with that logic,” you said, settling back into the couch.

The conversation flowed easily as you both began to dig into the food, every bite punctuated by playful teasing and lighthearted banter. Remy reached for the charcuterie board, grabbing a piece of prosciutto and holding it out to you. “Here, try this one,” he drawled, his eyes glinting with mischief.

You raised an eyebrow, taking the meat from his fingers. “What, is this some kind of test? If I don’t like it, do I fail?”

He grinned, his voice deep and teasing. “Now, chère, I ain’t that cruel. But, I might take it a lil’ personal if ya don’t like what I picked out.”

You rolled your eyes but popped the prosciutto into your mouth anyway, only to make a face the second the flavor hit your tongue. “Ugh, no. Not for me,” you mumbled, wiping your mouth with a napkin.

Remy’s laughter was rich and warm as it filled the room. “Well, more for me,” he said, popping another piece into his mouth with a smug grin. His Cajun accent thickened as he added, “Don’t know what you missin’, ma belle.”

Grinning defiantly, you grabbed a slider, taking a big bite. “Fine, but I’m eating all of these,” you declared, voice full of mock authority.

“Oh, really now?” Remy’s eyebrow quirked, a wicked glint dancing in his eyes. “You gon’ claim all them sliders, huh?”

Before you could answer, he leaned forward and flicked a piece of prosciutto at you, hitting your shoulder dead-on. You blinked at him, stunned for a moment as the meat slid down your arm, before narrowing your eyes in disbelief.

“Did you just—?”

He was already laughing, his accent thicker with amusement. “What? You said ya didn’t want it!”

“Oh, it’s on now, LeBeau.”

Grabbing a fry, you flicked it at him with a quick motion, hitting him square in the chest. He looked down at the fry, momentarily stunned, before his grin grew even wider.

“Oh, chère, you gon’ regret that.”

Before you could react, Remy grabbed a handful of fries and flung them at you. The room erupted into chaos as food started flying, your laughter mixing with his as you ducked and dodged pieces of cheese, fries, and even a spoonful of pasta.

“Remy, stop!” you cried between laughs, trying to shield yourself as he reached for more ammunition.

“Not a chance!” he shot back, his grin wicked as he flung another spoonful of pasta in your direction.

You squealed as the creamy sauce hit your arm. “Oh my God, you’re impossible!”

“You started it, chère!” he said, laughing as he dodged another fry you flung at him.

“This was your idea!” you retorted, grabbing a handful of salad and launching it at him.

He ducked, but you still managed to hit him with a piece of lettuce. His eyes darkened with mock menace, and he wiped the lettuce off his shoulder with slow deliberation. “Oh, you in for it now, ma petite,” he said, his voice low and dripping with playful danger. His Cajun drawl sent a shiver down your spine, even in the midst of the food fight.

Before you could escape, Remy lunged forward, grabbing you around the waist and pulling you into his arms. You squealed, laughing uncontrollably as he lifted you off the couch and spun you around. In a final act of revenge, he grabbed a handful of pasta and smeared it across your face, the creamy sauce cold and sticky as it clung to your skin.

“Remy!” you half-cried, half-laughed, wiping the sauce from your cheek. “Why are you like this?”

His grin was wide and mischievous, his eyes gleaming with satisfaction. “Only for you, chérie,” he teased, his accent thick and smooth, making everything he said feel like a caress.

Your laughter began to fade as the reality of the mess around you set in. The room was a disaster—truffle fries littered the floor, pasta sauce was splattered across the marble countertop, and bits of salad clung to the edge of the couch. You looked around, shaking your head in disbelief.

“Well,” Remy said, breaking the silence as he plucked a piece of prosciutto from his chest and held it up like a trophy. “Looks like we done made ourselves quite the mess, huh?”

You snorted, trying to wipe away the worst of the sauce from your arm. “You think?”

He chuckled, stepping closer to you, his eyes softening as his hands found their way around your waist again, completely ignoring the food still clinging to both of you. “Coulda been worse,” he murmured, his voice dropping to a low drawl. “We coulda gone out to eat. Now that woulda been somethin’.”

You couldn’t help but smile, feeling the warmth of his body against yours as he pulled you closer. “I’m pretty sure they would’ve kicked us out after the first flying fry.”

He laughed, the sound rich and deep, wrapping around you like a comforting blanket. “You think they’d let me back if I offered to clean up?”

You sighed dramatically, leaning into him, feeling the steady thrum of his heartbeat beneath your hands. “I don’t think anyone could be paid enough to clean up this mess.”

Remy’s grin widened, his hands tightening around your waist as he pulled you even closer. “Good thing we already home, ma belle. We ain’t gotta leave.”

Your breath hitched as the playful banter gave way to something heavier, something warmer. His fingers traced slow, deliberate patterns along your back, his touch light but intentional, and you could feel the heat of his body seeping into yours.

“Guess we’ll clean up later,” you whispered, your voice barely audible.

His lips curved into a slow, teasing smile, his Cajun accent making your heart race with every word. “Plus tard, chérie,” he murmured, his voice low and rough, sending a rush of heat through you.

The playful tension that had woven itself through the room transformed, shifting into something deeper, something electric. Remy’s fingers continued their slow, deliberate tracing along your spine, sending faint shivers through your body as his touch lingered. His lips, still so close to yours, hovered just out of reach, teasing, tempting, as if daring you to close the distance.

His breath was warm against your skin, the spicy, rich drawl of his Cajun accent making your pulse race. “You know,” he murmured, his voice low and rough, vibrating through the small space between you, “I’ve been waitin’ for dis moment for a long, long time, ma belle.”

His words sent a jolt of heat through you, your body responding instinctively to the deep, intimate tone of his voice. His hands, which had been resting lightly on your waist, slid up, tracing the curve of your sides with a slow, sensual intent. You could feel the strength in his hands, the restraint, the way he was holding himself back, as if savoring every second.

Your breath hitched as you tilted your head up, your lips brushing just barely against his. It was a soft, tentative touch, but it sparked something between you—a growing hunger that neither of you could ignore any longer. You felt his grip tighten around you, pulling you closer, pressing your body flush against his.

“Remy,” you whispered, your voice breathless, filled with anticipation.

He groaned softly, the sound low and rough in his chest, vibrating through you. “Chérie...” His voice was thick, his accent curling around the word like a caress.

There was a vulnerability in his question, one that made your heart swell even as the heat between you continued to build. You reached up, your fingers tangling in his dark, tousled hair, pulling him down until your lips finally met his in a slow, deliberate kiss.

The moment your lips touched, everything else faded away. The mess, the laughter, the chaos of the food fight—it all disappeared as the kiss deepened, as the connection between you grew more intense. His hands slid down to your hips, his grip firm but tender, and you could feel the heat of his body radiating through his clothes.

The kiss grew more urgent, more demanding, as if neither of you could get enough of the other. His lips were soft but insistent, his tongue tracing the seam of your mouth, seeking entry. When you parted your lips for him, the kiss turned molten, his tongue tangling with yours in a slow, intoxicating dance.

Remy’s hands moved again, one sliding up your back, his fingers splaying wide as he pressed you even closer to him, his body hard and unyielding against yours. The other hand dipped lower, grazing the small of your back, pulling a soft gasp from your lips as his fingers teased the edge of your shirt.

“God, you feel so good,” he murmured against your lips, his voice rough, filled with need. His accent was thicker now, each word dripping with desire as he pressed his forehead to yours. “I ain’t never wanted anyone like I want you,”

His confession sent a thrill straight through you, your heart pounding in your chest. You could feel the heat pooling low in your belly, a deep ache building as his hands continued their slow exploration of your body. Your fingers slid down his chest, feeling the muscles tense beneath your touch, your breath coming faster as your hands worked to pull his shirt up and over his head.

When his shirt finally hit the floor, you took a moment to drink him in—the way his chest heaved with every breath, the way his muscles rippled under his skin as he reached for you. His eyes, dark and hooded with desire, locked onto yours, and the look in them made your knees weak.

“You’re so beautiful,” you whispered, your voice soft but full of certainty.

Remy grinned, that familiar, cocky smile curling at the corners of his lips, but there was a tenderness in his eyes that took your breath away. “Chérie, if I’m beautiful, you must be a damn angel.”

Before you could respond, he kissed you again, harder this time, more desperate, as if he couldn’t wait another second. His hands were everywhere—your waist, your back, your hips—pulling you closer, touching you like he was memorizing every inch of you.

Suddenly, the world seemed to tilt as he lifted you effortlessly into his arms, carrying you toward the bedroom. You wrapped your arms around his neck, your lips never leaving his as he moved with that easy, confident grace, his body strong and sure beneath you.

He kicked the door open with his foot, the sound barely registering as he laid you down gently on the bed. His body hovered over yours, his gaze sweeping over you with a mix of awe and hunger that made your heart race even faster.

Slowly, deliberately, he lowered himself on top of you, his weight pressing you into the mattress in the most delicious way. His lips found yours again, his kiss softer this time, more controlled, but no less passionate. His hands worked with practiced ease, tugging at the hem of your shirt, pulling it up and over your head, revealing your bare skin to him.

The cool air in the room made you shiver, but the heat between you was undeniable. Remy’s lips left a trail of fire as they moved from your mouth to your neck, his breath hot against your skin as he kissed his way down. His hands followed, tracing the curve of your waist, your hips, his touch reverent, as though he was worshipping every part of you.

His words, his touch, the way he was looking at you—it was all too much, and yet not enough. You needed him, needed to feel every part of him, and the ache inside you grew unbearable.

“Please, Remy,” you breathed, your hands sliding down his back, pulling him closer. “I need you.”

The air between you was thick with anticipation, every breath shared, every touch electric. As Remy pressed his lips softly against yours, his hands never stopped moving over your body—slow, deliberate, as though he was savoring every single moment. But there was something more in his touch now, something darker, a tension that made your heart race even faster.

His mouth left yours, trailing down your neck, his lips brushing against your skin. You could feel the heat of his breath, the way it set fire to every nerve in your body. His hands traveled lower, teasing the edge of your waistband, but he hesitated, his lips ghosting over your ear as his voice—low and intimate, dripping with that irresistible Cajun drawl—broke the silence.

“Chère,” he murmured, his voice rough with desire, “I been thinkin’ ‘bout somethin’... somethin’ I wanna try with you.”

His words sent a shiver down your spine, your pulse quickening as you swallowed hard. “What is it?” you asked, your voice breathless, barely above a whisper.

Remy pulled back slightly, just enough to meet your eyes, his gaze dark and full of intent. His lips quirked into that familiar, mischievous grin, but there was something deeper behind it now—something that made your stomach flip with both excitement and anticipation.

“I got somethin’ special, ma belle,” he said quietly, almost teasingly, his voice a low rumble that vibrated through you. “But I only wanna use it if you trust me.”

You blinked at him, trying to steady your breathing as the weight of his words settled between you. “What do you me The sight of the handcuffs and blindfold on the nightstand sent a wave of anticipation rushing through you. The sleek, polished metal of the cuffs gleamed under the soft light, and the black satin of the blindfold seemed to beckon you into something deeper, something more intense. You could feel your heart pounding harder in your chest, each beat a reminder of the unknown that lay ahead.

You weren’t naive to what Remy was suggesting. You understood the implications—the idea of surrendering control, of letting go completely and trusting him to guide you through the experience. It wasn’t just about physical restraint; it was about giving him the power to heighten every sensation, to push you to the edge of your comfort zone in a way that was both exhilarating and terrifying. The thought of being bound, of not being able to predict his next move, sent a delicious thrill through your body.

Remy’s eyes, dark and intense, never left yours as he held up the cuffs, the soft clink of the metal seeming to echo in the quiet room. His gaze was steady, filled with both desire and something deeper—an unspoken promise that he wouldn’t take you anywhere you weren’t ready to go. His voice, low and husky, dripped with that familiar Cajun accent that always made your pulse quicken. But there was something more in it now, a layer of vulnerability, as though he was offering you not just a new level of intimacy, but a new level of trust.

“I been thinkin’ about this for a while,” he said, his thumb running over the smooth surface of the cuffs, his tone laced with both mischief and sincerity. “I wanna see you—feel you—when you ain’t in control. I wanna take care of you, chérie.”

The way he said it, the way his voice wrapped around those words, sent another jolt of heat through you, pooling low in your belly. You could feel the weight of what he was asking—he wanted you to trust him completely, to let him take you somewhere new, somewhere raw and vulnerable. The idea of being bound, of having your hands restrained, was intoxicating enough. But when your gaze flickered to the black satin blindfold, your breath hitched again.

The blindfold. He didn’t just want to take control of your body—he wanted to take your sight, too. He wanted to heighten every sensation, to make you feel every touch, every kiss, every breath in a way that bordered on overwhelming. With the blindfold on, you wouldn’t be able to see him. You wouldn’t be able to anticipate his next move. You’d be left in the dark, relying solely on the feel of his hands, his lips, his breath as he explored every inch of you. The thought was almost unbearable in its intensity.

Your mind raced with the possibilities. What would it feel like to be so vulnerable, so open to him? To let him lead you, tease you, take you wherever he wanted? The idea wasn’t just thrilling—it was freeing. You realized that part of you wanted to give up control, to let him take charge completely, to trust him to push you to places you hadn’t gone before. It wasn’t just about the physical act of being restrained; it was about surrendering to him, knowing that he would take care of you, that he would know exactly how far to go.

Your pulse quickened as you met his gaze again, your heart pounding in your chest. There was no doubt in your mind that you trusted him. Completely. And the thought of what he could do with that trust—the ways he could heighten your pleasure, the ways he could take you apart and put you back together—was more intoxicating than anything you’d ever felt before.

You swallowed hard, your throat dry with anticipation. “Remy,” you whispered, your voice trembling slightly but full of certainty. “I trust you.”

The look in his eyes when you said those words was everything. His expression softened, a mixture of desire, affection, and something deeper—something that told you he understood the weight of what you were offering him. His lips curved into a slow, wicked smile, and he leaned down to kiss you, his lips soft but insistent as they pressed against yours.

“Bon,” he whispered against your lips, his voice thick with anticipation and promise. “You ain’t gon’ forget this, chérie.”

And with that, the handcuffs and blindfold were no longer just objects on the nightstand. They were symbols of the trust you were placing in him, of the deeper connection you were about to explore. The thought of giving yourself over to him—of letting him take you somewhere new, somewhere intense and overwhelming—made the anticipation almost unbearable.

You knew that whatever happened next, it would be more than just an experience. It would be a moment of pure, unfiltered intimacy, a moment where you would truly let go and let him take control. And the thought of that—of trusting him so completely—was more thrilling than anything you had ever imagined.

With that, he kissed you deeply, his tongue tangling with yours, his hands moving quickly now, unlatching your bra and sliding it down your arms to be discarded on the floor. His hands roamed over your bare skin, sending waves of heat through you, and you could feel the growing tension between you—the need, the desire, the anticipation of what was about to happen.

Remy sat back slightly, his eyes raking over your body, his gaze hungry. “Lay back,” he murmured, his voice a low, commanding drawl that made your pulse race even faster. “Le’me take care of you.”

You did as he asked, your body trembling with excitement and a little bit of nervousness as you lay back against the pillows. Remy leaned over you, his hands moving to your wrists, his touch gentle but firm as he guided them above your head. The cool metal of the cuffs clicked into place around your wrists, the sensation foreign but thrilling.

He paused for a moment, his eyes searching yours, making sure you were still okay. You nodded, your breath coming in shallow gasps, and his smile widened before he leaned down to kiss you again, his lips soft but insistent.

The next thing you felt was the soft slide of satin as he wrapped the blindfold around your eyes, plunging you into darkness. The absence of sight made everything else sharper—the feel of his hands on your skin, the sound of his voice, the way the bed shifted as he moved.

“Can you see, chère?” he asked, his voice soft but full of that dangerous edge that made your body hum with anticipation.

“No,” you whispered, your voice trembling slightly with excitement.

“Good,” he replied, his Cajun accent thick and teasing. “Now, jus’ relax. Let me show you somethin’ real nice.”

You could feel his breath against your skin, and the anticipation was almost unbearable. Every nerve in your body was on fire, your entire being focused on the sensation of his touch, the way he was driving you to the edge with nothing more than his lips and his hands. The darkness beneath the blindfold was absolute, amplifying every other sense to an almost unbearable degree. Remy's words, a low rumble laced with that Cajun drawl, vibrated through you, sending shivers down your spine. Anticipation thrummed through your veins, making your skin tingle. You were a live wire, every nerve ending crackling with the promise of his touch.

His breath, hot and heavy on your neck, was a prelude to the gentle pressure of his lips. Each kiss was slow, deliberate, lingering on your skin as if he wanted to savor the taste, the texture, the very essence of you. His hands, large and warm, roamed your body with a featherlight touch that belied the intensity burning in his gaze. You could feel the heat of him even where he wasn't touching, a palpable presence radiating against your side.

He kissed a path down your neck, each touch sending a jolt of pleasure through you. His lips lingered on the curve of your shoulder, then trailed lower, tracing the line of your collarbone with agonizing slowness. You arched into him involuntarily, a silent plea for more. The inability to see, to predict his next move, only intensified the experience. Every touch was a surprise, a delicious shock to your system.

When his lips finally found your breasts, his tongue swirling around your nipple, a gasp escaped your lips. Your body, no longer under your control, arched off the bed, seeking more of his exquisite torture. A low chuckle rumbled in his chest, a sound both dark and playful, sending a fresh wave of heat through your core.

"You like that, ma belle?" he murmured, his voice thick with amusement and something else, something that sent a thrill of fear and excitement through you.

You couldn't answer, not with words. Your mind was awash with sensation, your breath coming in short, desperate gasps. All you could manage was a frantic nod, your body trembling with need.

Remy’s touch became bolder, his fingers tracing the waistband of your underwear. He took his time, his fingertips teasing the sensitive skin of your hips as he slowly peeled the fabric down your legs. The cool air hit your bare flesh, making you shiver, but the feeling was quickly chased away by the warmth of his hands. He caressed your thighs, his touch possessive yet tender, before parting your legs and settling between them.

The weight of him, the heat of him radiating against your sensitized skin, was intoxicating. You were completely at his mercy, your senses overloaded, your body thrumming with anticipation. Every tiny movement, every rustle of the sheets, every sigh that escaped his lips, sent a wave of longing through you.

His touch, no longer teasing, became more deliberate, his strong hands mapping the curves of your body with a reverence that sent shivers down your spine. You felt the warmth of his breath against your inner thigh, followed by the gentle scrape of his teeth as he grazed the sensitive skin there. A gasp escaped your lips, your hips instinctively canting upwards, seeking more of his touch.

He hummed low in his throat, a sound of approval that vibrated against you, before his lips continued their exploration. Each kiss was a spark against your sensitized skin, igniting a fire that spread through your core. He took his time, lavishing attention on every inch of you, making you acutely aware of your vulnerability, of the power he held over your senses.

And yet, there was no fear, only a thrilling surrender. The trust you felt for Remy transcended the boundaries of the physical. It was in the gentle strength of his hands, the whispered words of encouragement against your skin, the way he seemed to sense your every need before you even did.

As his mouth moved lower, his tongue tracing the delicate skin of your inner thigh, you felt a knot of anticipation tighten in your belly. Your hands, unable to reach out, clenched in the sheets, your body thrumming with a need that bordered on unbearable. You were on the precipice of something unknown, something exhilarating and terrifying all at once, and you could only trust Remy to guide you through it. "Doucement, cherie," Remy crooned, his voice a low rumble against your heated skin. "Patience."

But patience was a virtue you no longer possessed. His touch, though agonizingly slow, had stoked a fire within you, a desperate yearning that pulsed in time with the blood rushing through your veins. You wanted to beg, to plead for him to end this exquisite torture, but the words caught in your throat, replaced by breathless moans that only seemed to fuel his amusement.

He continued his slow, deliberate torment, his fingers working magic against your most sensitive flesh. You felt the pressure build with every stroke, every circle of his thumb, until you were sure you would shatter from the intensity of it. Your hips bucked against his hand, seeking a friction he expertly denied, drawing out the pleasure until you were whimpering with need.

But just as he tipped you towards the edge, just as your body tensed, ready to shatter, his touch vanished. A gasp of protest escaped your lips, your eyes flying open despite the blindfold, only to meet darkness.

"Remy?" you breathed, confusion warring with the desperate need still thrumming through your veins.

"Shhh," he murmured, his voice closer now, laced with a husky warmth that sent shivers down your spine. You felt his weight shift above you, the heat of his body a stark contrast to the cool air that suddenly kissed your damp skin.

And then, his mouth was there, hot and demanding, replacing his fingers with a primal hunger that stole your breath away. A choked cry escaped your lips, your body arching instinctively against his mouth. The feeling of his tongue, swirling against your most sensitive flesh, sent a jolt of electricity straight to your core. It was too much, too intense, so different from the teasing strokes of his hand.

"Remy," you gasped, your voice a broken plea. You were drowning in sensation, teetering on the brink of release, but it was different now, wilder, uncontrolled.

"Hold it, cherie," he commanded, his voice a low rumble against your clit. "Not yet."

Frustration warred with the overwhelming pleasure that pulsed through you. You wanted to disobey, to let go and succumb to the exquisite torture of his mouth, but there was something in his tone, a primal command that held you captive, that made you ache with the need to obey.

He continued his assault, his tongue and lips working in tandem, driving you further and further towards the edge, but never quite letting you go. Each time you neared the precipice, he would pull back, replacing the searing heat of his mouth with a cool emptiness that left you gasping, desperate for his return. "That's it, cherie," he growled, his voice rough with desire, "Let go."

The permission, the command in his tone, was all it took to shatter the last vestiges of your control. You were no longer capable of holding back, not with his mouth working such exquisite magic against your oversensitized flesh. The world contracted until it was just the two of you: hands, no longer content to simply hold you in place, roamed your body, his fingers digging into the flesh of your hips, pulling you closer, urging you to shatter around him.

You were lost in a sea of sensation, your body no longer your own. It moved instinctively, bucking against his mouth, seeking a friction that only intensified the pleasure spiraling through you. His name became a litany, a prayer whispered against his lips, a testament to the power he held over you in that moment.

And then, just when you thought you could take no more, when you were certain the pleasure would consume you whole, he shifted. His mouth moved, trailing a path of fire up your stomach, leaving a trail of goosebumps in its wake. You cried out, a sound of protest and longing, but he silenced you with a kiss, his lips lingering on yours as the last tremors of your climax subsided.

Even as your body returned to you, piece by trembling piece, the echo of your pleasure lingered, a sweet ache that pulsed in time with the blood rushing through your veins. You lay there, boneless and pliant, your senses still reeling from the force of what had just transpired.

Above you, Remy chuckled, a low, satisfied sound that sent a fresh wave of heat through your core. He tasted of you, your senses overwhelmed by the scent of your shared desire. It was intoxicating, addictive, a reminder of the primal dance you’d just shared. He didn't let you recover, didn't let you find your footing in the maelstrom of sensation. His mouth trailed fire down your stomach, leaving a trail of goosebumps in its wake as he muttered against your skin, words you couldn't quite grasp, a mix of French endearments and breathless praise that sent shivers down your spine.

"Tu es magnifique," he murmured, his lips brushing against the sensitive skin behind your ear, "So beautiful, mon amour."

His hand cupped your ass, urging you to shift, and then he was leaning back, the pressure of his weight shifting on the bed. You whimpered, the sound lost against his lips as he found yours again, kissing you with a hunger that stole your breath away.

"Wrap your legs around me," he commanded, his voice husky with desire.

You obeyed instinctively, your body moving with a will of its own. He guided your legs, his hands strong and sure, until they were wrapped tight around his hips. You felt him shift again, felt the press of his erection against your entrance, and a fresh wave of anticipation coursed through you.

"Finally, when you thought you couldn’t take it anymore, he leaned down, his breath hot against your ear as he whispered, “You ready, chère?”

You could only nod, your body trembling with need, your mind a haze of pleasure and anticipation.

And then, he was inside you, filling you completely. His length stretched you, the sensation both unfamiliar and exhilarating, and you cried out, a mixture of pain and pleasure that was swallowed by his kiss.

"Oui, comme ça," he groaned, his hips snapping upward as he buried himself deep inside you. "You feel so good, cherie. So fucking good."

He began to move, a slow, deliberate rhythm that drove you wild. The cuffs held your hands in place above your head, the blindfold keeping you in darkness, and all you could do was feel—feel the way he moved inside you, the way his breath came in short, ragged gasps, the way your bodies fit together with a perfection that bordered on the obscene.

Every thrust sent waves of pleasure through you, building higher and higher until you thought you might come undone. Each movement was deliberate, powerful, driving you closer to the edge. Your body responded instinctively, arching against him, seeking more of the intense sensation. His name became a litany on your lips, a prayer whispered between gasps and moans, a testament to the power he held over you in that moment.

“Come for me,” Remy whispered, his voice a low, husky growl that vibrated through you. The words were a command, a plea, and a promise all rolled into one. “I’m right there with ya’.”

His breath was hot against your ear, the Cajun drawl in his voice adding an extra layer of intimacy to the moment. The knowledge that he was just as affected, just as lost in this shared experience, sent a fresh wave of heat through your core. His hands gripped your hips tighter, his fingers digging into your skin, anchoring you to him as he drove deeper, harder, chasing the same release that was threatening to consume you.

Every muscle in your body tensed, the pleasure coiling tighter and tighter, like a spring ready to snap. You could feel the tension building, the pressure mounting, until it was almost unbearable. Your breaths came in short, ragged gasps, matching the rhythm of his thrusts. His name escaped your lips again, this time a desperate plea, a cry for release.

“Remy…”

He groaned in response, the sound low and guttural, a primal echo of your own need. His hips snapped forward, the force of his thrusts pushing you over the edge. The dam finally broke, and the waves of pleasure crashed over you, drowning you in sensation. Your body convulsed, your muscles clenching around him as the orgasm ripped through you, leaving you shaking and gasping for breath.

Remy followed right behind you, his body shuddering as he reached his own climax. He buried himself deep inside you, his hands gripping your hips tightly, holding you in place as he rode out the waves of his release. His breath came in short, ragged bursts, mirroring your own as he slowly came back down from the high.

For a long moment, neither of you moved. The room was filled with the soft sounds of your shared breaths, slowly returning to a normal rhythm, and the gentle rustle of the sheets beneath you. The air was charged with a mix of emotions—a deep sense of satisfaction, vulnerability, and an overwhelming connection that transcended the physical.

Remy’s grip on your hips softened, his hands sliding up your sides in a slow, tender caress. He leaned down, his lips finding yours in a gentle, lingering kiss that spoke volumes about the depth of his feelings. The kiss was not one of raw passion this time, but of tenderness and gratitude, a silent thank you for the trust you had placed in him.

As he pulled back, his forehead rested against yours, his breath warm against your skin. “You’re incredible, chérie,” he whispered, his voice filled with awe and affection.

You smiled softly, your eyes still hidden behind the blindfold, but you could feel the warmth of his gaze, the intensity of his emotions mirroring your own. “You’re not so bad yourself I guess,” you murmured, your voice barely above a whisper, still laced with the aftershocks of pleasure.

Remy chuckled softly, the sound deep and rich, vibrating through you. He reached up, his fingers gently tracing the line of your jaw before moving to the blindfold. Slowly, he lifted it away, allowing the soft light of the room to filter back in. You blinked, your eyes adjusting to the light, and when you finally focused on him, the look in his eyes took your breath away.

There was a mix of desire, affection, and something deeper—a vulnerability that he had only ever shown to you. In that moment, you knew that this experience had changed something fundamental between you both, strengthening the bond that had been growing since the beginning.

Remy’s hands moved to the cuffs, his touch gentle as he carefully unlocked them. As your hands were freed, you instinctively reached up, your fingers tangling in his hair, pulling him back down to you. The kiss was slow and deep, a dance of tongues and breaths that spoke of a connection that went beyond the physical.

He shifted slightly, his body still pressed against yours, but now with a tenderness that was almost reverent. His hands roamed over your skin, not with the urgency of desire, but with the gentle exploration of someone rediscovering a familiar landscape. Every touch was a reminder of the trust and intimacy that you had shared.

As the minutes passed, neither of you moved to separate. Instead, you lay there, wrapped in each other’s arms, your bodies still intertwined, your hearts beating in sync. The world outside could wait; for now, this moment was all that mattered. You both knew that whatever came next, whatever challenges or joys lay ahead, you would face them together, bound by the unbreakable connection that had been forged in this intimate, profound experience.

In that quiet, peaceful moment, you both found a sense of completion and understanding that transcended the physical. It was a moment of pure, unfiltered intimacy, a moment where you both let go and surrendered to the depth of emotion that consumed you. And as you lay there, wrapped up in each other’s arms, the world outside could wait. For now, this moment was all that mattered. <><><>

The room was bathed in the warm, fading light of the setting sun. The golden rays filtered through the sheer curtains, casting a soft glow on the bed where you and Remy lay tangled in the sheets. His arm was draped over your waist, fingers tracing absent patterns on your skin. The world outside felt far away, distant, almost like it didn’t exist.

You rested your head on his chest, listening to the steady rhythm of his heartbeat as the quiet between you stretched. It was a comfortable silence, but underneath it, something lingered—something unspoken. You tried to ignore it, tried to focus on the feel of his warmth, the way his hand moved lazily on your skin, but it was there, gnawing at you.

Your phone sat on the nightstand, the screen dark, but you could still feel the weight of the articles you’d read earlier. The rumors, the gossip—all the things that made it hard to fully let go. You didn’t want to bring it up, didn’t want to spoil the moment, but the jealousy simmered beneath the surface, a quiet hum you couldn’t quite shake.

Beside you, Remy shifted, his body relaxing deeper into the mattress. He wasn’t looking at you, his gaze fixed on the ceiling, but you could feel that he was tuned into you, aware of every little shift in your mood. His fingers paused their idle movements for a beat, and you wondered if he could sense the tension in your body, the way you were holding yourself just a little too still.

“You’re quiet tonight,” he murmured, his voice low, the familiar Cajun drawl soft in the fading light.

You swallowed, your eyes flicking to the window, watching the sun dip lower on the horizon. “Just thinking,” you said, trying to sound casual, but your voice lacked the ease you wanted it to have.

Remy didn’t press you. He didn’t ask what you were thinking about. Instead, he let the silence settle again, his fingers resuming their slow tracing along your side. But you could feel it—he knew. He always seemed to know when something was weighing on you, even when you tried to hide it.

A few long moments passed, the golden light growing softer, casting shadows across the room. And then, out of nowhere, Remy’s hand stilled again. His thumb brushed over your skin, and you felt him shift slightly beside you, his gaze dropping to meet yours.

“You know somethin’, chérie?” he said quietly, his voice carrying the weight of something more. “When I’m with you… it’s like the rest of the world don’t exist.”

The words hit you harder than you expected, a warmth spreading through your chest, but they didn’t fully ease the quiet tightness that had been building inside you all day. Still, you smiled softly, meeting his gaze, trying to let yourself sink into the sincerity of what he was saying.

“Yeah?” you murmured, your fingers brushing lightly over his chest, tracing the outline of the tattoo near his collarbone.

He nodded, his thumb continuing its slow, steady movement on your side. “Yeah. All that noise out there—” he shrugged slightly, his eyes soft but serious. “It don’t touch this. Don’t touch us.”

You wanted to believe him. You wanted to let those words wash away the lingering doubts, the nagging thoughts about the rumors and the articles. And in this moment, with the fading light casting Remy in a soft, golden glow, it was easy to forget everything else. He made it easy.

But the truth still lingered. The world wouldn’t stop spinning just because you were here, wrapped up in this quiet moment together. And eventually, he’d have to leave.

You shifted slightly, your head resting more comfortably against his chest as you spoke, your voice soft but hesitant. “When do you have to fly back?”

There was a pause, just long enough for you to feel the weight of the answer before he even said it.

“1 a.m.,” he replied quietly, his voice tinged with regret.

You closed your eyes, letting that sink in. 1 a.m. It wasn’t that far away. The thought of him leaving—of the quiet, peaceful bubble you’d built tonight being popped—made your chest tighten again. But you didn’t say anything. You didn’t want to ruin the moment, didn’t want to remind him of the world outside this room.

Remy’s hand moved to your hair, his fingers threading through the strands in a soothing gesture. “Still got some time,” he murmured, his voice soft, almost like he was trying to reassure himself as much as you.

You nodded against his chest, focusing on the steady rise and fall of his breathing, the warmth of his body pressed against yours. You still had time, and right now, that was all that mattered. You would deal with the rest later—the articles, the rumors, the jealousy. But for now, you were here with him, and that was enough.

The sun had now almost fully disappeared, leaving the room painted in soft twilight. The last traces of daylight clung faintly to the horizon, but the world outside had already surrendered to the steady hum of the evening. You lay wrapped in Remy’s arms, your body nestled comfortably against his. His warmth and the steady rhythm of his breathing were grounding, and for a while, it felt like time had slowed, like the rest of the world had paused just for the two of you.

Neither of you spoke. The silence was comfortable, the kind that didn’t need to be filled. His fingers lazily traced patterns on your arm, and you closed your eyes, letting yourself sink deeper into the quiet intimacy, feeling the weight of every second you had left together.

But beneath the surface, a familiar ache was beginning to stir—the knowledge that time, as always, was slipping away. He would have to leave soon, and you weren’t ready for the moment when this bubble would burst, when the world outside would intrude again, pulling him back into the whirlwind of his life, leaving you behind in the stillness.

You shifted slightly, resting your head more comfortably against his chest, your fingers unconsciously tightening their grip on his shirt. “That’s what?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper, as if speaking too loudly might shatter the fragile peace in the room. “A few hours?”

You tried to keep your tone light, playful even, but the sadness lingered there, just beneath the surface. Your chest felt tight at the thought of him leaving again—another flight, another city, another stretch of days, maybe even weeks, without him.

Remy’s hand stilled on your arm, his attention sharpening on you. You felt his gaze lower, the weight of it gently pressing against you. “What were you thinking?” he asked softly, his voice low and warm, pulling you out of your thoughts.

You hesitated for a second, biting your lip as you fought the urge to give voice to the emotions swirling inside you. You didn’t want to talk about goodbyes, didn’t want to admit how much the idea of him leaving again was getting to you. So instead, you opted for the easier route—the one that made you both laugh, the one that kept things light.

Sitting up, you turned toward him, your legs still tangled with his beneath the sheets. You met his gaze, a mischievous spark lighting up your eyes. “Well, those handcuffs were fun,” you said, your voice teasing, your lips curving into a wide grin as you let the memory of earlier replay in your mind.

Remy blinked, and then that familiar, lopsided smile of his slowly spread across his face, his eyes dancing with amusement. He leaned back, propping himself up on one elbow, his gaze never leaving yours as his expression shifted from surprise to a playful smirk. “Oh, chérie,” he drawled, his voice low and full of the kind of slow-burning heat that made a shiver run down your spine. “You really wanna go there again?”

You shrugged, but the grin on your face only grew wider, your heart beating a little faster in anticipation. “Why not? We’ve got a few hours, right?” You leaned in slightly, the playful challenge clear in your voice.

Remy’s eyes darkened a little with something more than amusement, his smirk softening into something more intense, more focused. He reached up, his fingers brushing softly against your cheek before trailing down to your chin, tipping your face up so that you were looking directly into his eyes.

“Careful, ma belle,” he murmured, his voice dropping lower, the teasing edge still there, but now laced with something deeper. “You’re temptin’ me to miss my flight.”

You laughed softly, though the sound was breathless, and your heart flipped at the idea of him staying just a little longer. “Maybe that’s the plan,” you whispered, your lips hovering dangerously close to his.

For a moment, the air between you seemed to thrum with a tension that was both familiar and thrilling. His fingers lingered against your skin, his thumb brushing over your bottom lip in a way that made your breath hitch. You could feel the weight of his gaze on you, the intensity that always seemed to simmer just beneath the surface whenever the two of you were alone like this.

But then, just as quickly, he pulled back slightly, his hand slipping down to rest on your thigh, his grin returning, though this time it was softer, more thoughtful. “As much as I’d love to stay,” he said, his voice still low, “you know I can’t miss that flight.”

Your smile faltered for just a second, the reality of the situation sinking in again. You tried to hide the disappointment, but Remy saw it—he always did. He leaned forward, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to your forehead, his lips warm against your skin.

“I know,” you whispered, closing your eyes for a moment, letting yourself savor the feel of his closeness. “I just… I hate watching you leave.”

Remy’s hand tightened slightly on your thigh, his thumb rubbing gentle circles against your skin. “I hate it too, chérie,” he admitted, his voice softer now, the playful edge gone. “But I promise, I’ll always come back. You know that, right?”

You nodded, leaning into him, resting your head against his chest again. “I know,” you whispered, though the ache in your chest didn’t fully go away. You knew he meant it—knew that he would always come back—but that didn’t make it any easier when he was gone.

For now, though, you pushed those thoughts aside, choosing instead to focus on the time you still had together. You shifted in his arms, your hand resting on his chest as you looked up at him again, your smile returning, though this time it was softer, more tender.

“Well then,” you said, your voice playful once more, “we better make the most of the time we’ve got.”

Remy’s grin returned, that familiar spark of mischief lighting up his eyes again as he leaned down, his lips brushing against yours in a kiss that was slow and sweet, filled with the promise of the hours you still had together.

“Guess we better,” he murmured against your lips, his hand slipping around your waist to pull you closer.

And as the night continued to creep in, you let yourself get lost in the feeling of him, in the warmth of his touch, in the quiet comfort of knowing that—for now—the world outside could wait just a little longer."

45 notes · View notes

vivwritesfics · 1 month

Text

Cat Mom 🤝 Cat Dad

Max likes being anonymous on these bengal cat forums. He likes making friends and talking about his cats without his own name attached to it. The Italian princess likes the same thing (jeez I wonder what happens next)

I had to do a special one for the actual day of my birthday lol

Jim&Sass

Help! My cat got stuck in another room!

Jam&Toast

Dude get offline and go help them!

Jim&Sass

What do I do! The door is stuck!

Jam&Toast

Get a hammer!

Max did just that. He didn't knew the person giving him advice, but he knew her cats. Jam and Toast. Her post showing off her pretty cats, two bengals, were how he knew her. There was nothing else about her, just her cats.

It wasn't a lot that he knew about it, but it was enough. He didn't know that she was sitting eagerly by her laptop, waiting for his confirmation that his cat was all right.

Jimmy and Sassy's dad was an enigma. But Jimmy and Sassy looked sweet and the stories he told about them were adorable.

That was what she called him in her head, Jimmy and Sassy's dad. She was sure her name in his head was similar. Jam and Toast's mum.

Jam&Toast

Did you get them out?

There was a moment where he didn't respond, where he must have been getting the cat out of the other room. Her perfectly manicured nail was between her teeth, but she didn't bite down.

Her nail had been perfectly done for when the driver's arrived for Monza.

His icon popped up in the bottom of the screen, three little dots beside it. She leaned forward as his message appeared on her screen.

Jim&Sass

Sassy is safe

Not sure what I'm gonna do about the giant whole in my door

Jam&Toast

Oh, you've got to show me that door

A picture from him came through within seconds. There was his door, with a decent sized hole in the middle of it.

Jam&Toast

Holy shit, dude

Jim&Sass

Trust me, I know

He was easy to talk to. Grabbing her laptop, she sat herself on her bed, placed her laptop on her bed, and settled down for the night. Jam and Toast, her two Bengal cats, were curled around each other at her feet, fast asleep.

She turned her laptop around and awkwardly snapped a picture of her two sleeping cats. The picture wasn't the greatest, and it was kind of hard to see two cats laying there, but she sent it anyway.

He sent pack a picture of Sassy licking a yoghurt treat from his hand.

They could have spent the entire night talking, the conversation branching away from their cats, but Jimmy and Sassy's dad had to go. She didn't ask where he was going, wished him safe travels and shut her laptop for the night.

***

Jimmy and Sassy's dad hadn't been online since Wednesday. She hadn't expected him to message her while he was away, having fun. But she did miss him. She missed talking about Jam and Toast to somebody that wouldn't brush her off, missed hearing about his cats.

It was Sunday, and she was on the grid. It was a bit of fun, going down to the grid. Sometimes Martin Brundle attempted to speak to her on his Grid Walk.

She stood by the Ferrari, talking to her good friend, Charles Leclerc. When Martin Brundle tried to speak to her, her security guard sent him away.

"Did you hear about Max's cats?" Charles asked after she had told him all about the stuff Jam and Toast had been doing that week. At least he wasn't changing the subject completely.

She frowned at him. "Max Verstappen?" She asked and Charles nodded.

"One of his cats got stuck in a storage room, nearly broke his arm trying to get her out."

She glanced from side to side, trying to look for Max on the grid.

***

Max watched as the Italian Princess approached him with the trophy. It wasn't a win, but he was still grinning. Charles had won Monza in a Ferrari, and Max was proud.

The Princess smiled at him. Max didn't want to consider it flirty, but he didn't know how else to interpret it.

After the Italian national anthem, they left the podium. Max grinned down at his trophy before throwing his arm around Charles' shoulder.

He saw the Italian Princess striding towards them. Stepping back, Max watched as she threw her arms around Charles. They spoke in Italian as she looked at the trophy Charles held.

Max went to move around them, but the Princess fixed him with a look. "How are Jimmy and Sassy?" She asked, letting go of Charles.

His cheeks were pink as he answered her. "They're good," he answered. "With the cat sitter, probably being naughty."

It wasn't a terrible response, but he wasn't getting it. "Max," she said and took a step closer. He was trying so hard not to look weirded out, she could tell. Her hand was on her hip, head slightly tipped to the side. "When are you flying back home?"

He answered and she checked the dainty watch on their wrist. "Do you think you have time to come and meet my cats, Jam and Toast?"

The surprise on his face was evident. "No fucking way."

1K notes · View notes

poisonf0rest · 3 months

Text

𝐎𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐜*𝐦𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐖𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐞𝐫’𝐬 𝐁𝐥𝐨𝐜𝐤

𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐈, 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐈𝐈, 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐈𝐈𝐈

love and deepspace: zayne x fem!reader

tags: smut, teasing, guided masturbation, fingering, first time (kinda), pwp

word count: 9.3K what the fuck

synopsis: Between being in the midst of your medical residency and being an up-and-coming author, it’s safe to say your personal life has been placed on stand-still. That is, until your editor decided that your next novel needed explicit smut scenes. That is, until your mentor and boss ends up striking a deal for you to help with “inspiration” for said novel. That is, until you fuck Zayne four times and your life changes forever. - partially inspired by manga of the same name by Nae Awaji

original ao3 link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/57209872/chapters/145519015

art credit: @/kaito_aii

You’re screwed. Fucked. Utterly damned.

Groaning into your desk, you slam your head down upon piles of patient records and old case files.

You’re only halfway done with your medical residency and somewhere along the way turned your lifelong passion for writing into a successful side gig. So successful in fact, that it was single-handedly providing you with enough money to get by and complete residency.

After anonymously posting online for a decade, you signed with a publisher three years ago, on the exact same day you matched with your first choice cardiothoracic residency program here at Akso Hospital.

Needless to say, you haven't felt that magnitude of happiness in years.

You doubt you ever will again.

In the midst of your wallowing, your phone lights up: Michaela. It’s a follow-up to her previous messages, all with the same damn request.

Michaela - Boss Man

checking in on my star, how’s that manuscript going?

talked to the director again to try and plead your case but she didn’t budge :(

she said w current book trends the fans will go crazy for a few explicit spicy scenes

pluuuus she believes in your writing enough to know you’ll make it big! come on, star, you know I’m here if you need any extra help

You - Little Star

Hey Micheala

You cringe for a moment at how formal you sound, but honestly, you’re too burnt out from writer’s block to match your editor’s energy and too tired from today’s shift to push back any further.

You - Little Star

No I get it, thanks for trying though

I’m almost done with the novel, it's just those scenes that are taking a little more time

And by a “little more time,” you mean you’ve tried writing and rewriting them over a dozen times just to cringe, delete, and scream into your keyboard. Over. And over again.

It’s not that you’re clueless, you’ve read your fair share of erotica for inspiration and pleasure equally. But actually writing them yourself? That was a whole different story. Pacing, banter, and even making the right word choices without sounding like a repetitive pervert or absolute lunatic were all so much harder to do than you previously gave authors credit for.

Not to mention, you haven’t actually experienced a lot first-hand.

Beyond a few situationships in high school and undergraduate flings between pre-med classes and internships absolutely kicking your ass, you’re probably half as sexually experienced as most adults your age. And you had absolutely no intention of re-entering the dating scene with residency, until now.

With Michaela breathing down your neck about how these explicit smut scenes were a marketing goldmine and the combined stress from your jobs, it seems like you’ve been fighting a losing battle. This time, however, your main income was on the line.

You groan as another ping lights up your phone, going to silence it when you realize it’s from the hospital Slack and not your editor.

residency-CS-alerts

Dr. Zayne: Second look needed for a CMR scan. Nonurgent.

Jumping to your feet, you sprint from the office wing to get to the MRI’s before another resident can take your spot. It’s not that your program lacked opportunities- far from it as you attend the top program– but rather that this particular opportunity was rare indeed.

Doctor Zayne. Akso Hospital's respected chief cardiac surgeon, who has made groundbreaking advances to the treatment of congenital heart abnormalities in neonates. At only twenty-seven he is the youngest recipient of the Starcatcher Award. His dedication to his craft is unparalleled, as he tirelessly devotes more time to surgeries than any other doctor you know, cementing his reputation as an unwavering force in the field.

He’s also impossibly tall, extremely well built for a man who seems to spend most of his time in the hospital, and has a face sculpted like a Roman deity in marble. And gods, his voice.

Safe to say, you admire him just a little.

You’ve bumped into him a handful of times during your first two years here, but the doctor was so engrossed in his work that the occurrence was rare enough. But a chance to perform with him? To consult alongside him on a cardiovascular case?

You began to fear for your own heart’s safety as you felt it skip in your throat.

Finally reaching the MRIs, you knock once before sliding the door to the control room open with a bow. And when you stand straight again, Dr. Zayne’s steel-set eyes only glance at you before he points to the readings displayed on the computer.

“Tell me what you see.”

Your mouth is still hanging open from what was going to be a very enthusiastic self-introduction, but you cut yourself off with a cough and stumble over to the monitor. Dr. Zayne’s eyes follow you with a precision that makes your hands tremble, and you bend over slightly to scan the patient’s readings.

You’re about ready to make a diagnosis when you realize you haven’t gotten much background on the patient.

“What’s the patient’s briefing?” You look down, flinching as you see Dr. Zayne already staring at you. “If I can hear it, sir?”

He nods once. “An adolescent female with complaints of shortness of breath and coughing. She had no specific medical history, but grew up in the countryside unable to visit a proper clinic for several years while this issue persisted.”

Countryside… that could mean this was an undiagnosed issue that festered.

Clearing your throat, you begin to point to the different scans. “Firstly, there’s clearly an enlarged cardiac silhouette.” Squinting, you point at two denser mounds in CMR scans. “Here and here. There are two large cysts along the lateral and inferior walls of the LV pushing and invading the myocardial walls.”

Gods, the cysts were huge. Even if surgery was performed on her now, would she survive?

Dr. Zayne’s low voice pulls you back into the control room. “Then what is your final diagnosis?”

“I–” you stutter, shaking your head. “I would recommend surgery immediately.”

“More detail than that, please.”

A sharp inhale and you scan the readings again. “Maybe a cannulation? The cysts might be causing an SVC compression, which would explain her shortness of breath.” You dare ask. “Will she survive?”

Dr. Zayne stands up this time. “You did well. She was my patient, and underwent surgery over a week ago.” He gently pats you on the shoulder, touch warm. “Our job as surgeons is to act decisively, to learn, and to try. Not to be heroes.”

You can’t manage to say anything back as Dr. Zayne leaves the room, the door sliding shut behind him.

_______

Surprisingly, you’ve been seeing more and more of Dr. Zayne since that day.

And if that wasn’t enough, the doctor has also been actively acknowledging you, exchanging greetings and simple conversation when you pass in the halls, cafeteria, or shared cardiovascular wing of the hospital.

Not that you haven’t been putting in the effort either.

Dr. Zayne’s current apprentice is graduating from residency this year, and you have every intention of becoming their successor. Between picking up extra shifts, answering every pager call, and of course paying special attention in case Dr. Zayne specifically requests a second pair of hands, you’ve been climbing up the ranks amongst your peers.

Luckily, it seems those efforts have not been in vain.

You’ve been doing so well apparently, that Dr. Zayne wants to meet with you in the hospital’s cafe today. Interviews before officially announcing mentor-mentee pairs was not unusual, but the thought of being one-on-one with Dr. Zayne after your last case together still has your mind reeling.

Will he pull out old case files? Will he bring you to a patient and test you in real time? You have half a mind that he might pull out a custom-made test and timer. It seems on-brand enough to be a possibility.

Yet when you arrive, the cafe is completely empty, save for the staff and a familiar man in a white lab coat.

Dr. Zayne stands as soon as he sees you and beckons for you to sit, pulling the chair across from him out in the same movement. He clears his throat, a barely-there smile gracing his lips as he watches you settle down. “How have you been, doctor?”

“Good! Good.” The words rush out from you and you flinch, forcing yourself to slow down. Was the cafe always this small? “Discharged a patient today, so all good news.” Holy striped cows, if you say the word good one more time you might lose your mind.

“Well,” Dr. Zayne nods, taking a sip of something that looks like a far-too-sweet cup of coffee practically drenched in whipped cream. “That’s certainly good to hear.”

You die a little inside.

“I’ll keep things rather brief since I’ve already made my mind up.”

Was this it? Did you ruin your chance at having Linkon’s top doctor as your mentor because of your damn mouth?

Dr. Zayne reaches inside his jacket, and you swear your heart is going to beat itself out of your throat. He pulls out a simple white envelope with your name scrawled across the front, the paper crisp as he slides it across the table.

His fingers linger on the edges before he speaks. "I wanted to formally offer you the position to shadow me as my apprentice."

"I accept!"

The words fly out before you can stop them and Dr. Zayne looks stunned for a moment before laughing, a smooth and deep sound you didn't expect from him. He looked good when he smiled. Softer, content.

The ghost of the smile stays, even when Zayne speaks again. "It's not a timed offer, you don't have to agree so quickly."

You flush down to your neck, looking down at the envelope. "Right. Only, it would be an honor to learn from you, sir. I really don’t know anyone in our field who wouldn’t accept it."

Zayne hums, but his brows furrow. “You don’t have to call me sir either. Doctor Zayne is fine while we are at the hospital. Zayne is more than acceptable elsewhere, we’re not that far apart in age and I don’t wish for this to be an overly formal relationship.”

You curse your heart for fluttering, reminding yourself that he only means this in a conductive, professional way.

After a beat of silence, Zayne looks at the clock and stands, taking his sugar-filled drink with him. You never pegged him to have such a massive sweet tooth.

"I have a consultation now, but I would like to talk to you more about your residency. We should set up weekly meetings outside of work, check your calendar, and organize it later.”

You nod and thank him as he walks away, leaving you alone to open the envelope. Inside is a simple handwritten note, signed and stamped with Dr. Zayne's official signature alongside Akso Hospital’s.

A reminder that this was, in fact, not a dream.

_______

It’s barely been a month since you’ve begun officially shadowing Zayne, yet you swear it feels as though a part of you has known him forever.

Aside from his virtually frozen demeanor and tendency to make snarky quips at your habit of running your mouth, he’s been nothing but a patient mentor. Brief, direct, unrelenting, but attentive to your work and growth.

If that were all, then everything would be perfect.

If that were all, then you would be sticking perfectly to your ten-year plan: graduating early, completing residency under the top doctor in the top program, and then overtaking him as the top cardiovascular surgeon with a breakthrough of your own.

But of course, the plot has to thicken.

Sure, the first few weeks have been strictly business, but since then, your conversations with Zayne—Dr. Zayne—have morphed into more casual, more playful meetings. Your weekly check-ins have moved from the hospital cafeteria to a cozy family-run cafe in town that Zayne introduced to you. And the way you’ve begun to think of him was the most damning part of it all.

But you don’t have the time nor capacity to deal with whatever this was becoming.

Not when your novel’s deadline was in three weeks, and you still had absolutely nothing to show for it. Without this new novel’s money, you wouldn’t be able to pay for rent or food or transport, and residency sure as hell wasn’t giving you enough to survive off of alone.

This past week, you’ve gone from stressed to a thundering cloud of misery. Snapping at interns, drinking dangerously over the FDA-recommended caffeine intake, and ignoring the maelstrom your face has become.

And of course, today happens to be your weekly check-in with Zayne.

Dragging yourself to your usual booth, you watch him order at the counter and bring his drink to the table alongside a signature pair of macaroons, a slice of chocolate cake, and an eclair. He sets it all down with a huff and sits, looking over at you with an iron-cold gaze. You can smell the incoming lecture.

"You're late."

You dip your head, but your patience is running on reserve, and your reply has more bite than you’d dare use otherwise. "I'm sorry, it looks like I’ve lost track of time."

"You're never late." Zayne doesn't sound any angrier at your attitude, but it still doesn't settle the guilt bubbling in your stomach.

"I've just been really stressed. You know," you wave your hand, "wrapping up residency."

"Is that so." Zayne's gaze is sharp as he fights to maintain eye contact. It's not a question. "I've noticed. You've been distracted and irritated recently, and I can't help but wonder why. Is it really the hospital? Am I demanding too much aside from your typical resident duties?”

You shake your head, and the guilt is back. "No, of course not."

"Then I have to assume it's something else, is it not?"

"It's..." How on earth are you supposed to explain that the reason why you're a mess is because your editor is pressuring you to write a smut scene that you have no interest in, let alone sufficient experience with? And to someone you admire, your mentor, Linkon’s top surgeon, and apparently now someone your heart is deciding to blackmail you with. "I'm sorry, Dr. Zayne. It's nothing work-related, it's not your problem to fix."

Zayne raises his eyebrow, leaning back in the booth and crossing his arms. “That’s the first time you addressed me as doctor outside of hospital property in over a month. ”

You really, really, can’t do this right now, or else you might start spewing some things you’ll regret. “Really? That’s fascinating, sir.” You watch him scowl at the title you know he hates. “Still does not entitle you to my personal issues.”

“As your mentor, it becomes entitled to me when your personal issues begin affecting your performance.” He says.

You bite the inside of your cheek, forcing your anger down. "It's really not something I can talk about here, nor to you. Can we just have a regular check-in?"

"We are."

“You know what?" You stand, chair falling back with a screech. “I think I need a rain check today, sir. You know. Stress.”

"You’re not leaving until you tell me what is bothering you."

You're about to grab your bag and walk away when you're suddenly reminded of how tall Zayne is when he stands. Practically towering over you, he leans across the table, grabbing you firm enough to prevent you from slipping away, yet never harsh enough to harm you. “Please, we’re making a scene.”

You sit. Zayne follows.

Seeing just how reactive you’re being, he softens, genuine concern in his tone as he reaches an arm out. “Is it a family issue? Are you alright?”

“No. Yes.” You inhale deeply through your nose, but your mind is still reeling at a mile a minute. “No, it’s not a family issue.”

“So if it’s not about the hospital and not family, then what could possibly be causing you this much stress.” Zayne’s eyes narrow and you see his jaw tick. “Don’t tell me this foolishness is over a boy.”

“No! God,” you want to push yourself off a building. Or him. “No, it’s this fucking–” You’re rambling. You’re rambling, losing control, and you’re going to blurt it out and regret it. “It’s this smut scene!”

You’ve really outdone yourself this time.

Zayne chokes on his drink and slams the cup down, coughing as liquid comes out his nose. You flounder in panic, trying to help but he holds a hand up and turns, still coughing into his arm. You can only manage to pull out a few napkins, handing them over in a pathetic bundle.

“A…” Zayne almost seems to buffer, clearing his throat before looking back at you. “An erotica scene?”

Your face is burning. You can practically feel the heat radiating off of it in waves, and you have to remind yourself that writing is your job. A respectable, decent-paying, well-appreciated job that you do for the sake of womankind everywhere.

“I write for extra income alongside residency, and recently my editor got it into her head that we’ll sell even more with some extra spice.” You scoff, “But it’s been months of looking at a blank doc. Now the deadline is approaching and I still have nothing to show for it.”

Zayne doesn't say anything for a moment, and you have to check if he's breathing, or if the shock has killed him. Finally, he shifts back in his seat, adjusting his tie.

"That sounds like a difficult position to be in, doctor."

You look up, and Zayne has his arms crossed. It's an expression you're familiar with, one that means he's actually thinking about what you've said, but the way he says "doctor" now feels strange, almost as if the term has no place here.

"It's fine, I'll figure it out." This is also why you didn't want to tell him, as if Zayne has any place worrying about this on your behalf. “Besides, I’m as much a writer as a doctor, this is my job after all. I have to figure it out.”

“Of course. I’d expect no less." Zayne nods a little to himself, slightly dazed, and you scramble to find a way to change the subject back into something even remotely work-appropriate.

"Anyway, I've been keeping up with my rounds, and I think I've been able to handle more cases on my own recently, too."

"You have."

Zayne is quiet for a beat too long and you frown, tapping the table.

"Are you alright? I know this is a lot, I shouldn't have burdened you with it."

When Zayne faces you again, you watch as his brows furrow. "But if this is such a pressing issue…” He clears his throat, looking at a spot directly above your head. “Then, what if I helped you?”

You swear your head is spinning, his words ringing over and over and over in your mind. The only thing remotely in focus was Zayne’s face, far too close for comfort now, even across the table. Oh gods, you’re having this conversation in public, too.

"What do you mean by help, exactly?"

"If you’re in need of experience," Zayne's voice is low, but he still manages to keep eye contact, the intensity of it making you smile nervously. "Then I could offer my assistance. Better coming from someone you know and trust, yes?"

There’s no way you heard that right. Your mind blanks, but apparently your smartass mouth hasn’t.

"Are you offering to be my fuck buddy? Sex consultant? My smut guide, if you will?"

A deadpan, “I would prefer the term sexual partner.”

Even the way Zayne says it makes it sound more like a business proposal than an actual proposition, and it throws you off guard. He leans back, trying to act nonchalant. "You did mention lack of inspiration was your main issue, correct?”

“Well, yes.” That, and your lack of any novel-worthy sexual experiences.

“And you have had—“ There it is again. Not quite embarrassment, and if you weren’t so tuned in to Zayne’s resting expression, you may not have noticed it, but there is a deeper furrow between his brows as his eyes evade yours, and the slightest tint of pink on the tips of his ears. “You have been with partners before, yes?”

The stoic, pragmatic, level-headed Doctor Zayne is embarrassed asking you whether or not you’ve had sex before.

You nearly laugh.

“Yes,” an amused giggle escapes you at the absurdity of this entire conversation. “I’ve been with partners,” you mimic, slightly mocking his word choice, “but it has been a while, and I haven’t really…”

Zayne moves to take another sip of coffee. “You haven’t?”

“I’ve never come. Orgasmed.”

And he chokes. Again.

“Oh, shit, I’m so sorry!” You jump from your seat to hand him yet another pile of napkins, but this time Zayne stops you halfway there, grabbing your wrist as his coughs subside.

Neither of you speaks as he drinks water and coughs once more, his grip still iron and far colder than you imagined it would feel against your bare skin.

“My apologies,” Zayne releases you immediately, going back to staring at his coffee as his hand flexes once. Twice. “Continue.”

You can only watch him in fascination, sitting back down in your chair. The entire time he avoided eye contact, and he was definitely blushing. You almost wanted to push further, to poke and tease and test his reactions, but you knew that would end with you losing your head. Or worse, you muse, heart fluttering against your chest.

“Ah, I mean, I’ve felt pleasure before. It’s not that my previous partners were unwilling to do stuff for me, I’ve just never gotten over that little plateau.” It’s not resentment that washes over you, and not quite embarrassment either. Just a little bit of dull apathy towards the subject. And yourself. “Biologically speaking of course I know it’s possible, but there are also plenty of women who simply don’t climax during sex. I’m probably just one of them.”

Zayne, who seems to have returned to his usual stoicism, frowns at that, mouth drawn taut as though he wanted to say something.

"And if we were to engage in sexual acts," He's so clinical, even as he says something that could send anyone else running. “Perhaps that is what you need to start writing again. It would make sense. To write a compelling,” he stumbles over the word, “erotica, you’d have to experience pleasure."

The gears in your mind turn, and slowly, it begins to make a twisted sort of sense. You'd have to feel it for yourself, to be able to describe the sensation, the passion, the tension with conviction. Perhaps it really would get you closer to finishing this damn book.

But then you remember who you're talking to. Doctor Zayne. Your coworker. Worse than that, your mentor and direct superior in your field, and someone you happen to admire very much. So then why would he…?

"What do you gain from this, Zayne?"

Zayne stiffens. “I’m a doctor, it’s my duty to help my patients.”

A sly smile cracks against your lips, and you prop your chin against your palm. “I didn’t realize I was your patient now, doctor?”

His eyes snap back to yours and he straightens, his demeanor slipping back to his typical formality. "You have a bright future in front of you. This is an investment in you, and I believe this will help us both. I will draw up a contract tomorrow for us to discuss, you can meet me in my office after your shift.”

“Rather formal,” you say, but Zayne doesn’t take the bait this time.

He simply takes another sip from his coffee, and you swear you catch him smiling behind the porcelain rim. “Then perhaps I could also get a signed copy of your next book?"

You scoff, waving him off as you slouch back in your chair. "Of course, I'll throw one in the mail the day it's out."

"It's a deal then.”

He’s about to push in his chair when you lunge from yours, grabbing his sleeve as his eyes widen slightly, looking down at where your hands meet. "Thank you,” a smile. ”Zayne."

His gaze softens and he smiles a bit, nodding. "Of course, doctor."

And with a wave, he's gone.

_______

You don’t know what you expected.

Zayne seemed like the type to take his girl out to dinner first, probably somewhere obscenely expensive. He’d show up with a single rose or another simple but romantic gift so seemingly contradictory to his outward appearance. Afterward, maybe he’d take her to a show or somewhere with fancy sweets, knowing his taste. Then, after all that, he’d invite her back to his apartment or allow her to whisk him away to her place.

You’d imagine it would go something like that. But then again, the terms of your relationship are quite different then the one he’d have with this imaginary woman. So when he texts you after your shift that Tuesday asking if you’re free tonight, you’re only moderately panicked.

To make matters worse, he’s at your house five minutes early.

Two knocks, and you scramble to open the door, Zayne nearly dwarfing the door frame as he lingers outside the hallway. His trenchcoat only adds to his natural tendency to command attention, and you feel more vulnerable than usual in your sleep clothes.

“Fancy seeing you here, stranger.”

Zayne adjusts his collar. “Do you mind if I come in?”

You tap your chin, pretending to mull it over in your mind, relishing in the slight nervousness your silence instills in Zayne. “It would be rather bothersome to fuck in the hallway, I suppose…”

Zayne shakes his head at the remark, but you can see amusement dancing in his eyes. With that, you step aside, and he ducks under the doorframe to slip inside. It’s as though something irreversible- something inevitable- shifts as you watch him cross the threshold, and it doesn't get better when you close the door and lock it behind him.

You'd say he makes himself at home, but his stance is still too stiff, too awkward, even as he’s hanging his coat and slipping out of his shoes. It almost feels domestic.

"Would you like something to drink?"

Zayne shakes his head, "Not this time."

He says it so casually, and yet the notion of a next time has you dizzy. Of course there’s a next time, you’ll need more than one night to get inspiration. It was only a natural assumption, you reason with yourself.

"You seem tense," he says, and then your back is against the wall.

Zayne leans down, hovering above you as his hand comes up to your waist. A tentative touch, and you give a small nod, feeling his arm relax, palm sliding further into the plush of your hips. He looks so good like this, in a work button-down with a thin sheen of sweat on his brow and his lips parted. Gods, and he’s not even trying- there’s genuine concern written in the way he scans your body with a deep crease between his brows. You hope he doesn’t notice how you squeeze your thighs tighter.

"It's the deadline, is all," you say, trying to brush off the question.

"Ah, of course. How inconsiderate of me. I’m supposed to be helping you and here I am making it worse.”

Zayne's voice is low and smooth. The cadence in his words, the slight drawl, is a sound that makes your heart skip a beat. It's a shame it's so easy to hide your arousal when you're this nervous.

“Well,” You smile, and his gaze flickers down to your mouth. “I suppose I can forgive you if you uphold your end of the deal.”

His stare is heavy, and it feels like the room is closing in. But you understand the man well enough to know that he wouldn’t dare move first, not until you asked for it, not when you have yet to set a precedent. So you loop your arms around his neck, forcing Zayne closer as his forearm slams against the wall to hold himself up against you.

You nip at the lobe of his ear, smiling to yourself as he shivers with each warm exhale. Zayne’s hand has yet to leave your side while he lets you grind against him, guiding your movements as you groan against his neck.

But Zayne feels you rush through the movements, a messy sort of impatience less from desire and more from routine. As though you wanted this done. As though you wanted him gone.

You feel a familiar flutter against your core as Zayne’s knee comes up against your core, but when you move to grind against his thigh, the hand at your waist stops you.

“I want to do this properly. You deserve—” he cuts himself off. Starts over. “Where would you like to do this?”

You’re about to tell him that right here is fine, not wanting Zayne to feel as though you needed any more special attention, when you realize just how serious he is. “Bedroom," you say.

Zayne hums, and the rumble reverberates throughout his chest. He offers a hand, and you take it.

And with that, you lead him to your room.

Somewhere between the span of your hallway and bed, Zayne seems to have decided how tonight will go. Despite your desperate touches, teasing up his body and luring him closer, Zayne slows his own pace, leaving burning trails traced with agonizing slowness over the curves of your body. Despite your fumbling to strip off your shirt, Zayne grabs your wrist, forcing it behind your back as his other hand teases the exposed skin of your ribs in a way that has you shivering. Despite your hushed complaints for him to just hurry up Zayne merely smiles in amusement, refusing to give you anything more as he scolds you with a click of his tongue.

Zayne refuses to rush this. He wants to savor every moment, to etch the sight of you into his mind and commit it to memory, to relive it in this life and the next.

He continues walking forward, each one forcing you to take a step back until your knees hit your bed, buckling as his form looms over you.

“The largest mistake in any relationship- sexual or not- is lack of communication.” He loosens his tie, “So if we are to do this, you have to talk to me. Tell me what you like, what you don’t.”

As he speaks, Zayne continues undressing, unbuttoning the top few buttons on his shirt before rolling up the cuffs so every glorious inch of his forearms is exposed. Your breath catches with each trailing vein, shadowed in the dim lighting up until they disappear under his sleeves.

Maybe you should write a Victorian-era piece next. Clearly, you had a thing for small swaths of exposed skin.

As if hearing your thoughts, Zayne undoes another button before his hands venture south. With a slow, deliberate motion, he unbuckles his expensive leather belt and allows it to slide through the loops of his pants. It drops to the floor, joining all the other articles of clothing as he takes a seat on the mattress, resting his hand on your bare thigh, inching closer and closer to where your sleep shorts have ridden up.

"Tell me what you like and don't like." Zayne repeats, eyes focused on yours, "And remember, you say no, and this stops."

Zayne moves painfully slow, his hands fluttering down your shoulders, breasts, hips, until he plants them behind you, caging you between his broad chest and the mattress. His hand slips under your shirt’s fabric once more, and you feel yourself tense.

You aren’t wearing anything fancy. After all, you were simply writing in bed, nearly falling off when you suddenly got Zayne’s text. Only a pair of shorts and a cami, but gods, when Zayne’s hands begin trailing up your stomach, dragging the thin fabric up with him, you really wished you put something sexier on.

He doesn't stop until his fingertips brush against the underwire of your bra, thick fingers slipping under the band as he practically tugs you toward him. "Can you take this off for me?"

"Don't know how to do it yourself?" You tease.

Before you even finish taunting him, Zayne's hand has already snuck around your back, undoing the clasp and forcing you onto your back. You can feel the heat radiating off of him.

"Now, now, we'll be here all night if we start fighting." He chastises you, tone far too smug. Zayne tugs the undone bra up, his fingers tracing the red marks it left against your skin. You tremble under his touch. "Didn't realize how sensitive you are."

His tone is even, but you can see the slight curl at the corner of his lips.

"Your hands are cold," you say, voice wavering as Zayne begins taking your shirt off as well. You try not to fidget, knowing that the way your arms are held up only emphasizes the size difference, Zayne being able to completely lift your chest against him as the other binds your wrists. You're not tiny. But next to him? It barely mattered.

"I apologize." But it feels half hearted at best, especially with the way he’s staring at your bare chest, not even bothering to take your shirt all the way off. It almost feels more embarrassing like this, cotton bunched against your collarbones under his palms.

“I’m going to touch you now, okay?”

The way he says it causes a rush of blood to your face. “I’m not some virgin that might break.” You grumble under your breath, but Zayne is as stupidly attentive as always and frowns.

“Do not mistake my care for pity.”

Something ugly aches in your chest when he looks at you like that.

Zayne’s hand comes up, large enough to encircle the entirety of your cheek as you’re enveloped in the chill of his touch. His body is nearly atop yours, each word breathed into your mouth. “Then, if you have no more snarky remarks, allow me to begin."

Zayne’s gaze drops to where he thumbs at your lips, leaning in as you watch his pupils dilate, flickering with something before he flinches away, kissing the corner of your mouth instead.

His other hand cups the curve of your breast, leaving goosebumps in its wake. You gasp, the sensation heightened by the feeling of his teeth against your collarbone, nipping marks into your skin.

It takes a moment for all his featherlight touches to register, your eyes fluttering closed as his thumb rubs your chin. You try to ignore the way he avoids your lips, refusing to get too close.

All for the better, you remind yourself.

He kisses lower, down between the valley between your breasts, hot breath the only warning you get before his tongue meets your nipple while his fingers deliver a sharp flick to the other. The contrast of the heat from his mouth to the cold of his fingertips sends you reeling as you muffle your cries into your palm.

Zayne doesn’t like that. He forces your hand from your mouth, biting your nipple as if in vengeance as you moan, the sound broken and desperate as you claw at his forearm.

Satisfied, his tongue smooths over the bright pink bite mark and swollen bud, the unpredictable pressure fogging up your every thought before he retreats with a wet pop.

Finally, Zayne moves to fully remove your shirt, but pauses when you flinch.

“Would it make you more comfortable if I undressed as well?” Zayne begins to take off his own shirt, but you lunge for him, stopping his hands as your voice escapes in a whoosh.

“No.”

His collared shirt was utterly ruined, unbuttoned just enough so you could see his flushed chest when he bent over. And now when he sat up straight the bottom rose up just a bit, exposing a stretch of his lean torso, a peak of his abs, and a dark happy trail that dipped into his tailored pants. Every once in a while, you could see his muscles flex and it sent a shameful throbbing down your core.

“You can keep it like that, it’s hot.”

Zayne doesn’t respond, but when he averts his eyes you swear you watch his lips curl into a smirk. It’s gone by the time he looks at you. Not that you have any time to dwell on it, not when Zayne closes the remaining space between you, guiding you against the pillows.

You try not to focus on how out of place he seems in your apartment, mere presence dwarfing everything else as he makes his way between you, forcing your knees apart.

Zayne leans back, his fingers trailing up your leg, edging up the fabric of your shorts up with his touch, but never daring to slip past the self-imposed barrier of the cotton. He coaxes your hips up, and you kick the shorts off in a clumsy movement, Zayne's eyes now focused between your thighs before you snap them shut as best you can around his waist.

“Let me see.”

You gape at him. “I– Doctor–”

“Relax. I can’t guide you if you don’t let me, now open.”

It’s not an order. Not quite. Zayne’s voice is effortlessly assertive, but it falls just short of being a command. You could call this off, he’s told you that much directly, and knowing Zayne if you did so everything would go right back to how it was before. A mentor and student. Coworkers. Strangers.

You force the tremors in your thighs to relax, knees dropping from Zayne’s hips to the sheets below as you move your left leg just enough to feel the inner band of your underwear stretch.

It’s a bearable amount of embarrassment and vulnerability, until you look up at Zayne again, and akin to a deer in headlights, you freeze. He watches with enough intensity for it to be clinical, a vicious sort of attentiveness that sees every twitch, every strain your body responds with, as if committing it all to memory. As if he were to devour you alive.

You think you’d let him.

Zayne reaches over, and his thick finger trails a line up your inner thigh, immediately followed by goosebumps, knuckles ghosting the inner seam of your panties.

Your body reacts before you do. Before you can even breathe, the air catches in your throat, and your legs squeeze together in a pathetic attempt to hide yourself.

Zayne pins them down immediately, gaze snapping up to you. You expect a reprimand. Maybe a warning or a punishment, and the anticipation makes your stomach twist.

Instead, his brows draw in, as if lost in thought. “You said you never came from touching yourself either?”

You can barely manage a nod.

“Hm. Then you weren’t doing it right.” He says, so bluntly that you can only blink at him. “Show me how you do it.”

Zayne sits back between your thighs, one hand still absent-mindedly caressing your knee, waiting expectantly.

And you feel the flush burn all the way up your ears and down your chest.

Oh, that was not what you expected him to say. You were prepared for him to touch you, or to guide you, but instead he asks for the complete opposite.

And, well, you could only ever try your best for him— ever the people pleaser.

It's humiliating how easily your fingers slip under the elastic band. Even more so when the pads of your fingers run down your folds, and you feel yourself clench at the mere contact, already slick and wanting. You move to tug your underwear off, but Zayne stops you, grabbing at your wrist.

"Wait," He's panting, eyes blown as he continues to stare at you, at the wet patch accumulating in the center of those damned panties. "Keep them on."

His tone is so serious a part of you wants to laugh. You're about to make a quip when he pulls your hand up, bringing your fingers to his lips and wrapping his tongue around them. The way he teases from the pad of your finger to your knuckle, sucking as he goes, has you lightheaded. Your hips stutter upwards, a pitiful sound escaping from your throat as you try to keep yourself together.

He doesn't stop. Not until your fingers are clean and your thighs have grown unbearably sticky, neglected and throbbing.

When he finally lets go, you're a gasping mess, and Zayne looks downright smug. "Now, you can continue."

The bastard.

You don't know how you manage to move, let alone bring your fingers to your entrance.

Pushing aside the cotton, your first touch is tentative, and you flush at how much easier it is with Zayne’s spit covering them. Your breath catches both from the initial stretch and the way Zayne leans in closer to see, even though the thin elastic prevents him from watching the way your cunt flutters around the new intrusion.

You shift, but your need has grown nearly uncomfortable, hips beginning to buck up as one finger quickly becomes too little, and you whine as you attempt to push in another, to push in a little deeper.

"Slower. You're going too fast."

You can't help the scowl, your tone sharper than intended. “How would you know?"

Zayne’s face is a cool mask, the corners of his lips twitching with amusement. "You did ask me for advice, did you not?" Then his voice takes on a sharper edge, demanding again. "Slow down, then you may continue."

As if you needed his permission to continue. But you do as he says, rocking your fingers in and out, pace painfully slow, mere friction sending jolts of heat throughout you.

Usually, this was the best part, the delicious and tortuous build-up that would ultimately lead to nothing. Not nearly long enough, your fingers hit just below your sweet spot, and you could feel tears of frustration prick against your eyes. Writhing, you tried to plunge further, choking out a moan again and again at the barest brushing against your sweet spot, mindlessly grinding your hips up to meet each cruel thrust of your fingers.

You cry when you finally hit that spot inside you, head falling against the pillows as you tense, about to move again when something stops your hand, ripping it away from your desperate chase.

“You–“ Zayne shakes his head, breath ragged as some combination of a frustrated exhale and moan rumbles through his chest, the sound going straight to your cunt. “You’re too impatient. Too rough.”

You try to swallow, try to hide how the sound of his moan and the rough cadence of his voice makes the muscles of your belly and thighs spasm, but Zayne doesn't miss a thing. He doesn't release your hand, not fully, but rather guides both of your digits to trace around your clit instead.

"Again," he says, “This time slower. How does it feel?”

You close your eyes, taking a deep breath as you feel his hand continue to guide yours, entire body jolting when he catches against the hood of your oversensitive clit, tapping as he lets you circle it on your own.

“Good. It feels really good.”

Zayne hums, but he already knows that. He feels it through the drenched bottoms of your panties, rubbing your poor swollen clit through them, watching as you gush again, the slick coating his palm and dripping down his wrist in sticky strands.

It takes everything within him not to withdraw his hand and lick it all. Or even better, take his mouth to you directly. Not yet. Not yet, he reminds himself. Next time.

You have to bite your lip as you feel Zayne’s hand take over your own, almost greedily pushing and pinching your clothed cunt, the fabric both a delicious friction and a damn barrier you wish was gone so you could finally feel his bare fingers on you, in you. It’s torture, every nerve on fire as Zayne continues to focus on your clit while your fingers return against your folds, teasing your entrance with a light touch before pressing in.

But it's still not enough. It's not what you need.

You look to Zayne for direction, but his expression is unreadable in the darkness. "Deeper. Keep going."

The angle isn't quite right, but you do as he says, trying and failing to muffle your sounds as you fuck yourself on your fingers, desperately chasing the feeling building up once more.

“Again. Deeper.”

It hurts. Your wrist is beginning to ache, and you’re really not sure how much longer you can keep going, crying out again when Zayne forces his hand flat against your clothed core, shoving your own fingers deeper and causing the wet fabric to rub deliciously against your clit.

You don't even have time to react before he's pulling away, his own hand rubbing the wetness on his fingers together as he watches the strands break and drip down his hand.

His tone is so nonchalant despite the way he keeps his gaze trained between your legs. As if the sight of you, flushed and gasping, with your cunt pathetically leaking and yet still demanding more, wasn't the hottest thing he'd ever seen.

“Ask,” Zayne demands, his voice deep enough that you swear you can feel it rumbling through your bones. “Ask for it.”

“Need your help, please, Zayne” you manage, voice airy and heart still racing from unintentionally edging yourself over and over again. “I want your fingers.”

It’s probably impossible to miss the way your eyes have been drawn to his hands all evening, big and corded with veins and muscle and scar tissue. Hands gentle enough to care for patients, steady enough to perform surgeries, cruel enough to tease you this mercilessly, and yet you can’t help but imagine what they’re going to feel like when he starts touching you properly.

You’ve probably thought about his hands more times than you’d like to admit.

At the hospital, at the cafe, at night in your apartment. Every inch of his body seems to haunt you like a forgotten memory your body had already grown addicted to.

The moan that rumbles out of Zayne’s chest is low and addicting. He sits back for only a moment before your hips are dragged down the bed, a yelp leaving your lips from the sheer force.

Zayne practically knocks your leg over his shoulder, and when you arch off balance, you press against something that has you inhaling sharply through your nose. Fuck, Zayne’s hard.

He shudders violently at the contact, falling onto his forearms as you roll against him once more, watching his face twist from the painful pleasure you know all too well. You feel his control slipping, both in the way his fingers tighten at your hips and the throbbing heat you feel twitch against your thigh.

And just realizing how much you’ve affected him is enough to send your eyes rolling back into your skull with a violent tremor.

You attempt to grind up against him again when Zayne roughly pins you back down. You writhe helplessly, hips pinned to the mattress as Zayne curses, adjusting himself in his slacks with a rough squeeze. “No.” A command to both himself and you, “You asked for my fingers, so that’s what you will get.”

You’re about to open your mouth to make another demand, but Zayne is one step ahead of you yet again. “That’s all you’re getting.” As if to quell your anger, he begins to thumb at your clit again, moving to take off your last remaining piece of clothing. “Next time.”

A promise he has every intention to keep.

Ironically, Zayne is handling you far more gently than you usually touch yourself, and you find yourself flexing your hips in an attempt to get him to touch you with more pressure. He ignores your endeavors, keeping his pace implacably steady and slow. But you’ve been worked up far too long, and as soon as Zayne begins fucking you with two of his much thicker fingers, you already feel the familiar tension building.

“Do you want to tell me what you’re feeling?”

“Not really,” you manage through clenched teeth.

You feel Zayne pull away and thrust your hips up into nothingness, only making yourself more sensitive when he roughly thumbs at your clit. He slams your hips back down, a cruel pinch to the oversensitive nub forcing you to arch into him as your jaw falls slack.

“That was not a question.” Zayne is still hovering above you, watching as his fingers slip against your cunt, slick with your arousal. “Use your words.”

His voice takes a dark edge every time he commands you now, and you bite your lip to not whimper at the tremor his voice sends down your skin. It’s not fair, the effect something so simple has on you. But while his demand is still ringing in your ears, Zayne curls his fingers further upwards, rubbing directly against that sweet spot inside you with frustrating ease, and you sob.

"Please,” you can’t even remember to beg. Zayne nearly abuses the spot, curling into it over and over again until you’re certain you’re drooling all over the silk of your pillow, writhing. "Please, I'm– I need more, and, ah—“

Zayne hums. "More? You're going to have to be more specific if you actually want to orgasm."

You whine, shaking your head as his eyes narrow. He’s only halfway through scolding you when his finger smacks against your clit, the sharp twinge of pain enough to make you cry. "Don't be a child. Words. Tell me what's giving you pleasure so I can help you."

"It's," a huff of air leaves you and you can barely manage to form a coherent sentence, your mind fogging over completely as Zayne continues to talk. "Hah, your voice helps.”

“My voice?”

Your eyes nearly roll back at the sound of Zayne’s chuckle. A deep, cruel thing that you now think may be all you need to come as your eyes screwed shut. “Well, if that’s the case, then I suppose I should just keep talking. Keep your eyes open.”

You obey, and Zayne simultaneously pulls your jaw towards him, forcing you face-to-face with him. “Look at me.”

You do. You do and really wish you hadn’t because the smug smile pulling at the corner of his lips and the freckles of light green you now see in his softened gray eyes might really be all you need to send yourself over the edge.

And, as if listening, Zayne forces his fingers deeper inside, the tips of his digits hitting the same spot that has your mind fogging over, vision blurring with a disorienting mix of hazy and dizzy. You can barely hold on, fingers twitching against the sheets as suddenly it becomes too much, your hands shooting up as you press desperately against Zayne’s chest.

“Wait–” You’re dizzy. The pressure is consuming you, and you’re losing control. “Please, Zayne.”

He stops immediately, pliant under your touch as he lets you push him away. Even so, his free hand comes up to meet yours, coaxing your fingers against his as he holds it up to his chest, letting you ground yourself with his heartbeat.

The rhythm is comforting.

Zayne isn’t speaking anymore, just looking, waiting for you to give him a sign. He doesn’t dare move, letting his fingers sit still, buried inside of you. You don't know if it's the dizziness lingering in your head or the fact that his fingers are insistently rubbing against a spot inside of you that sends sparks up your spine, but either way, you might be going insane.

“Keep your breathing steady, even when you’re close. Deep breaths.” In, out. In, out. Your chest rises as Zayne’s does, bare skin brushing his. “Good.”

Even as your vision clears, Zayne refuses to let go of your hand, this time pinning it beside your head as he begins to move his other hand too, thumb circling your clit as the others curl against your walls.

When you begin to shake again, his lips ghost by your neck, dangerously soft and hesitant as he kisses down from your jaw, following each whimper and moan you give to him with loyal intent, sucking gently at a spot near your jugular and collarbone.

"Ah, Zayne. I think–" your breathing hitches as Zayne presses another soft kiss against your skin.

"Are you okay?" The softness of his tone nearly breaks you, and you force yourself to ignore it. Focus on the sensations; focus on what you can use for the novel. Nothing more.

You nod.

"What else, darling? Are you close?"

Your breath hitches. The sudden pet name has you reeling, and you feel Zayne keep his steady rhythm, even through your trembling and whining, his thumb mercilessly circling against your clit in ways you swear never feel the same when you’ve done it.

"Call me that again," you cry, nearly begging.

"Come. Come for me, darling."

And you do.

Your vision blurs as you come around Zayne’s fingers, a silent scream catching in your throat. All you can manage is a broken moan as you arch into him, gripping his forearm and holding it in place. Your thighs quiver around his arm, and Zayne holds you still, coaxing you through it as wave after wave of pleasure wash over you.

The sensation is overwhelming. You're not even sure how long it lasts, the only thing grounding you is the weight of Zayne's hand laced against your own.

Slowly, he begins to withdraw his fingers, kissing your knuckles softly.

"How are you feeling?"

The room is quiet, and it feels like all the sound has been sucked out of it. Your head is fuzzy and your whole body is tingling, and all you can focus on is Zayne's soft breathing.

Good, you want to tell him. More than that, your body is still shaking from pleasure and desire, and you can’t stop looking at Zayne’s lips or remembering how hot and needy he felt grinding against your thigh. You can’t stop thinking about him, so instead you say, “Fine.”

Zayne stiffens. “Good.”

He sits up, still scanning your face for something as you watch the fabric of his shirt pull taut across his chest and stomach, and once again you are overwhelmed by the desire to run your hands down his body, to feel his skin against yours. To see more of him.

“I’m going to get you water and a towel.” He says, not moving just yet. “Do you need anything else?”

You shake your head no. Zayne nods, leaning in as his hand goes to your jaw before he pauses halfway and steps out of bed, making his way to your bathroom.

You don’t really remember how much of the night goes by after that, a blur of Zayne attentively guiding you through proper aftercare and you throwing in a few quips here and there at his ceaseless worrying. Before long, he’s saying farewell, and you’re back at your computer screen, empty doc staring right back at you.

But the words never form. Not when your head is still spinning, replaying everything that happened tonight in vivid flashbacks as an overwhelming rush of mortification and desire runs down your spine.

You can’t help but feel that perhaps you just made an irreversible mistake.

#love and deepspace #love and deepspace fanfiction #love and deepspace x reader #lnd zayne #lads zayne #zayne x you #zayne x reader #zayne love and deepspace #lnds smut #l&ds smut #love and deepspace smut #lads x reader #love and deepspace zayne #poisonwrites

1K notes · View notes

captainfern · 1 year

Note

omg omg cap please i’m begging you to write this (if you have time)

HAVE YOU SEEN that specific scene of “Six” with Barry Sloane where him and his wife are trying fertility treatments and he basically has to j off and fill a cup and then his wife comes and calls him “my big bear” and man’s already busting with just that??? WELL-

can we get smth like this with Price? Like it doesn’t have to be that specific scenario just smth where his s/o is jerking him off and calls him a name, and he immediately comes, but that’s exactly not the end of it? YOU GET IT

i’ve been thinking about it an unhealthy amount these past days… I’m literally foaming at the mouth.

Anonymous asked: Been seeing a lot of Bear appreciation on here, so what about... C. Price and reader trying to (naturally, of course) conceive? Maybe he's on injury leave or something! He gets hurt and now is the perfect time to tell him she wants him to retire and put a baby in her >:) I just see that scene from SIX and go feral every time. Breeding kink go wild 🙏

Anonymous asked: Dbf!price x reader mating press? Or or or price taking her somewhere nice for dinner and they go back to his place and he leads her through it while doin the nasty….

•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•

In Utero

Captain John Price x fem!reader

[“In Utero” Album by Nirvana]

[18+]

•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•

• summary - you and price are trying for a baby lol. • rating - 18+ • wordcount - 3.9k • warnings - fem!reader, civilian!reader, some possessive!price, handjobs, unprotected piv (obviously), praise, breeding kink, creampies, mating press, talks of pregnancy n babies blah blah blah, body worship, breeding kink (again cause i'm being so fr), price calls you mama at one point (*whispering* is this a mommy kink? i don't know. i don't think so? but idk take this how you will), strong language

the amount of breeding kink related requests i get for this man is crazy 😭 some of you should be studied cause oh my god (i am not complaining)

killing three birds with one stone with this one. changed it a little but hope you all enjoy :)

•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•

It had been a long few days on base, and Price had been looking forward to coming home to you.

He loved nothing more than returning home to you after work. You'd greet him, looking absolutely fucking stunning, and wrap your arms around his broad shoulders and cradle him to you. He'd breath you in, absorb your presence, his mind running a million miles an hour as he hugged you back.

You were his. And he was so happy.

Price never considered himself a very possessive person. But when it came to you, his wife, he felt an overwhelming urge to ensure everyone knew you were his.

He was so, so proud of you. He's always show you off, worship the ground you walked on. He'd hold your hand, or guide you with a hand to the base of your spine in public. He wasn't afraid to pin your body next to his in a crowd, either.

It was much the same in the bedroom.

Price would worship your entire body. He'd kiss up and down the length of it, from head to toe. He'd take extra care in massaging different parts of you that he loved– your tits, your waist, your hips, your arse, your thighs. He'd smooth his fingers over your skin, trailing kisses in their wake, whispering sweet praise and affirmations as he did so.

When he'd finally reach your face, he'd kiss you with as much passion and force as the sea. Cradling your head, holding your face, moving his lips warmly against yours, probing your mouth with his tongue, deepening the kiss so he could be closer to you.

He loved you.

You were his, and he was yours.

•º•

You had gone for a night out with your friends, leaving Price alone at home.

To keep him occupied in the silence of the house, he cleaned and cooked, listening to his music. He cooked up a meal that he stored in the fridge for later, then he proceeded to clean what he could of the house. He wanted to ensure you got home from having fun and didn't have to lift a finger.

And so Price could have you all to himself for the night.

You returned home hours later, the sun sinking past the horizon. You entered your home, your social battery ticking downwards, and Price was in front of you as soon as the front door was closed and locked.

He wrapped you in his arms, your face to his chest, and you returned the hug as he placed his chin on the top of your head.

"You had fun, sweetheart?" Price asked, taking a deep breath after pressing his nose to the crown of your head.

You hummed into his chest. "Yeah, it was nice."

You pulled out of the hug, and Price held your hand as you walked him into the living room. The both of your flopped down onto the couch. You couldn't help but admire the way he spread his legs when he sat, and the expansion of his thighs beneath his sweatpants as they made contact with the couch cushions.

You squeezed your thighs together, heat blooming in your core. A giddy, almost nervous feeling swelled in your chest as you locked eyes with your husband. You chewed on your bottom lip, fighting a flustered smile.

He looked so good.

Annnndddd you were ovulating.

Yep.

Evident by the fact that at just one look from your husband, one smile, your underwear was completely fucking soaked.

Price released a breathy laugh. "What?"

You whined, still biting your lip and smiling. "You look so handsomeeeee." You said, dragging out the final word.

He laughed again, eyes twinkling. Your eyes scanned his face, then you were crawling across the couch. He shifted, leaning back so you could crawl onto his lap, arse across his thick thighs. You ran your hands up and down his torso, feeling the smooth ridges of his muscle beneath his shirt. He hummed in the back of his throat, eyes closing, as you dragged your nails down the soft bumps of his abs.

"John, can I touch you?" You asked, hands coming to rest on the waistband of his sweatpants, toying with the ridges of the elastic.

"You are touching me." Price joked, opening his eyes. He settled his hands on your hips and squeezed gently.

You rolled your eyes. "I want your cock."

Price couldn't help but laugh through his moan as you shimmied his sweatpants and boxers down, pulling out his hardening cock. He groaned deeply as you pumped him a couple of times to full stiffness, before swiping your thumb across the head.

His hips bucked, twitching against the couch. You continued to fist him tightly while leaning over and letting a string of saliva fall from your mouth. It dripped across the tip of his cock, and Price let out a throaty moan, the grip on your hips tightening.

You used your saliva to make your hand glide, pumping him quickly. Usually, your stokes would be languid, seductive, as you prepped to either take him in your mouth or in your cunt. But this time, your movements were purposely fast, and the grunts in Price's quick breathing was an indicator that he liked it.

The wet clicks were consecutive as you stroked his cock from base to tip– squeezing tighter near the base, twisting near the tip. Price grumbled contentedly as you did so, beads of pre-cum leaking from his slit. He watched you with hooded eyes, a fucked out smile on his face as you jerked him off.

"Haven't even been home five minutes and you were so desperate for my cock, huh, sweetheart?" Price mused, hips jerking and cock twitching as you sped up the movement of your hand. He groaned, closing his eyes for a moment. He forced them open, watching your hand for a second, before finding your face. He smiled, leaning forward to try and kiss you. "Mmm this is your cock, isn't it, baby? You can have it whenever you want..."

He kissed you, and you let him. You let his tongue lick along the seam of your lips, and you allowed him to coax your mouth open, a moan passing from his to yours. You continued fisting his cock, heating up against your palm, the tip flushed and glistening.

You pulled out of the kiss and with his eyes closed, Price rested his forehead against yours, mouth agape. He opened his eyes eventually, looking down at where you rapidly stroked his throbbing cock. He let out a quiet groan, flecks of pre-cum splattering onto his shirt at the pace at which you jerked him off.

He was close, his release building higher with each stroke of your hand. He held your hips tighter, grinding you onto his lap, and you moaned quietly, sweetly. He groaned in response, lifting his mouth to try and kiss you. You backed up a bit, enough so his lips were just brushing yours.

"John?" You whispered, and he released a quiet groan at that.

"Mmm?" He didn't have the cognitive ability to reply with words at his point, solely focussed on the way you were stroking his cock, and his looming orgasm.

You pressed a brief kiss to his lips, then pulled back. He watched you, eyelids drooping, eyes glassy, and you couldn't help but smile. You leaned back in, and whispered, "I want you to put a baby in me."

Price let out a loud, guttural groan. "Holy fuck."

He came abruptly, thick ropes painting your hand and his shirt. He moaned your name, cock twitching as strings of white dribbled down your fingers and across his now semi-hard length. Price pressed forward, kissing you, and you pumped him a couple more times before you were retracting your hand. You moved your head away, and licked his cum off your fingers. His eyes rolled, and he slumped back against the couch with a groan.

"You liked that, huh?" You teased, creeping your fingers beneath his shirt and slowly pushing it up, revealing the dark happy trail that led from his navel to his pelvis.

He hummed his agreement as you pulled his shirt further, and he sat up, lifting his arms so you could pull it off all the way. You tossed it aside before running the flat of your hands up and down his body. He hummed again, this time in content as you massaged the flesh of his pectorals, running your thumbs over his nipples and making him jerk against the couch.

"D'you mean what you said?" Price suddenly asked as you dragged your nails down the grooves in his abs. Goosebumps raised along his skin.

"What, about putting a baby in me?" You smiled, and he groaned, head flopping backwards again. You ran your fingers through the hair of his happy trail, following it down to his cock, still sticky with his release. You took hold of it again, and you felt it slowly hardening. Your smile grew. "Oh, I'm serious, John."

You pumped him slowly, gently, until he was fully hard in your hand once more. Price's breathing was laboured as he kept his head tossed back, eyes screwed shut. His chest rose and fell.

You stripped yourself of your own shirt and bra while he was occupied, managing to do so while still gently stroking his cock. Then, you raised yourself, and wiggled your skirt off– you had to use both hands to do this.

With your hand gone from his cock, Price pulled his head forward to see what you were doing. He released a breathy moan, immediately bringing his hands to your waist. You laughed as he dragged you forward and buried his face between your tits. You threaded your hands into his hair, scratching gently at his scalp as he kissed the soft skin of your chest.

His hands rubbed your waist, your lower back. Then, one hand still on your lower back, the other came to rest on your tummy, and he rubbed it gently.

"Wanna get you pregnant," he whispered into your sternum. "Mhm... mhm... wanna put a baby in you."

You felt your core throb red-hot at his words, your entire body thrumming with sexual energy that really, really needed to be released. You still had your underwear on, and you could feel your arousal dripping into the soft cotton fabric.

Face still in between the mounds of your breasts, Price dragged his hands away from your stomach and back and hooked his fingers beneath the waistline of your underwear. He slowly pulled them down until they were mid-thigh and couldn't go any further with the way you were sprawled across his lap.

Price shifted his head to the side, taking one of your nipples into his mouth as he took two fingers and ran them up and down your wet slit. You keened, looking down at him with a whimper of his name. He looked up at you, mouth suctioned around your tit, as he dragged two fingers through your folds.

He retracted, moving to repeat his actions on your other nipple as he gently pushed his two fingers inside of you. You released a moan from low in your throat, holding yourself steady on your husbands shoulders as he fingered you open. He continued to watch you, tongue and teeth against your sensitive flesh, revelling in the way your tight walls clutched at his fingers.

Drops of arousal pooled past his knuckles and through the lines in his palm. He angled his hand so the drops dripped onto his lap, and the heel of his palm ground against your puffy clit. You gasped, hand shooting upwards to tug on Price's hair, his teeth scraping the bud of your nipple at the same time.

"John, I need you." You whined, trying desperately to grind yourself onto the heel of his palm. He let you, the pressure on your swollen clit making your eyes drop closed and your mouth drop open.

"What do you want from me?" He asked in a whisper, curling his fingers inside you and making your body alight with pleasure. The base of your tummy drew tight as the pads of his fingers worked that spot inside you.

"Need your cock," you whined impatiently, your climax just inches away from you. "Please, please, need you to fill me up."

You clenched around his fingers as he continued to hit that spot inside you. He applied more pressure to your clit, throbbing in tandem with the heartbeat in your chest. Price changed the angle of your sitting arrangement, so he could now comfortably kiss up the column of your neck.

"Need my cock, eh? Just need me to fill you up?" He murmured into your ear as he fucked his fingers into you. "I'll fill you up, sweetheart, I will. Fill you up niceeee and full. Fill this pretty tummy with my kids, eh, baby?"

His words made you come around his fingers without much warning. You pushed yourself against him, orgasm knocking you off balance as it wracked through you. Price fingered you through it, his other hand on your lower back and keeping your body close to his. He kissed you and although you struggled to kiss him back, you were still moaning his name into his mouth.

Price kissed you again, and then peppered kisses across your face as he took his fingers out of you. He grabbed your hips in both hands and helped you off his lap, standing you on your feet as he followed. Your underwear dropped the rest of the way down your thighs, and you quickly kicked them across the room as you grabbed Price by the shoulders and pulled him back into you.

Price's sweatpants and boxers fell and he kicked them away too as he kissed you, wrapping his arms around you. Still kissing, he led you out of the living room and eventually, the two of you made it to your bedroom, breathless.

He pushed you down onto your bed, and you giggled as he immediately followed after you, pinning your body beneath his. The weight of him made your cunt throb, arousal sticky against your inner thighs. The warm, solid form of his cock against your inner thigh made you moan, scratching your nails down his back.

"Can't wait for you to have my kids... our kids..." Price drawled between lazy kisses as he notched the head of his cock at your dripping cunt, smearing your arousal around your hole. "You're gonna look so pretty as a mum, aren't you, baby? Gonna be such a good mama."

Price pushed into you in one solid thrust, knocking the air from your lungs. You arched your back, meshing closer to him, as the tip of his cock knocked up against your cervix. You mewled, grasping at his back, as he dragged his cock out. The sensation was slow and heavy and sparked something deep in your stomach. When he was all the way out, he playfully tapped the head of his cock to your clit a couple of times. You choked on your moan, before he was filling you up again.

"John–" You moaned outwardly, sickly sweet and making him grunt above you. He doubled his efforts, slamming into you, the rhythm rocking the bed against the wall.

His fat cock split you open, stretching your wet hole around him and pushing up into your womb. You could feel him in your stomach. You felt so full.

Price pressed a hand to your lower stomach, admiring the subtle outline of his cock beneath the soft mound of your belly. He moaned loudly, pressing harder, and the feeling made you moan as well.

"John, fuck, oh my god." You whimpered as he thrust into you, heavy and rough, dragging along the tight, wet walls of your cunt. You clenched around him, your hands desperately trying to bring him closer to you. His chest hair against your tits, his hands on your stomach and hip– you wanted, no, needed him close.

He removed his hand from your stomach, instead gripping your hips as he fucked you into the mattress. He was grunting and groaning above you, eyes never leaving the way your body and face were reacting.

"That's a good girl, taking it so well... Always take it so well, sweetheart, don't you?" Price murmured, eyes on your face. "Such a good girl taking my cock. S'like this pretty cunt was made for it, eh, baby?"

For emphasis, he increased his pace. The tip of his cock slammed into your sweet spot, and you let out an embarrassingly loud moan. His thrusts were drawing wet sounds from you, and you could feel your arousal being spread across your lower arse and inner thighs as he moved.

Your second orgasm approached quickly. Price fucked you hard, his noises of pleasure above you making you flutter around him. Your clit throbbed with a heartbeat, a thin layer of sweat settling over your naked body.

"John, John–" You tried to warn him, but failed when your orgasm slammed through you mid-sentence, rendering you speechless. You gushed around him, and he moaned, hips stuttering as your cunt squeezed around his cock, your orgasm dribbling out of you with each timed thrust.

He moaned your name. "Mmm there you go, there you go. My perfect girl, that's it. Feels good, sweetheart?"

You nodded, dizzy. "Yeah, y-yeah, fuck, so good, John, so good."

Price hummed, pleased. As you babbled, he shifted off of you for a second so he could hook his hands beneath your knees. Cock still stuffed inside you, he bent your legs and pressed them up against your chest, making you release a series of airy whimpers. He pressed his body heavily against you, holding the backs of your knees and literally folding you in half.

He began his thrusts again, and your eyes rolled at the new angle– his cock hit further, deeper inside you. The remnants of your orgasm were loud and wet as he rutted into you desperately, deep grunts falling from his mouth.

"Gotta fuck you deep, baby," he whispered, voice low. "Gotta stuff you full of my cock so it takes. Want it to take... want it to fucking take..." He punctuated each sentence with an extra heavy thrust, cock dragging against your slick walls. He groaned. "Gonna get you pregnant, sweetheart. Gonna get you fat with my kids. That's what you want, yeah? Want me to breed this pretty cunt?"

You hummed a yes. His words were making you even dizzier than you already were. You moaned and moaned, pleasure poisoning your veins as he fucked you towards a third orgasm. Your body was hot, damp with sweat. Price was warm too, strands of wet hair falling over his forehead as he looked down at you.

"Fuck, fuck," Price whispered. "You're my good girl, baby, you're my good girl. Want you to come one more time for me, okay? One more time n' then I'm gonna–" He cut himself off with a moan, but you understood.

Your body shook beneath him, your legs tightening in his grasp. Then, with a shattering moan of his name, you came around his cock. Your third orgasm fizzed through you, and it took a while to fizzle out as he rutted into you nonstop. The feeling of static pleasure lingered as he chased his high, and you whimpered quietly in his ear as he fucked your sopping cunt.

Your husband was cursing under his breath, moaning your name too. His balls slapped against the curve of your arse, sticky with your arousal, and the hands on the backs of your knees gripped tighter as his orgasm loomed. He imagined the future– you, round with his baby and looking so fucking pretty. He moaned at the thought, cock throbbing inside you.

"Oh, fuck– fuck, m'gonna come, mama," it slipped out through a moan. "M'gonna breed this pretty cunt nice and full. M'gonna give you my kids–"

Buried to the hilt inside you, Price came. A lot.

He filled you, just like he promised, and you felt the thick, hot ropes flood past your cervix. You moaned his name, and he slammed his mouth onto yours, shushing you with his tongue. He continued thrusting gently, stuffing his seed further inside you, plugging it up against your womb with the head of his cock. He groaned when you squeezed around him, gently dropping your legs from him.

Price pulled out of the kiss, resting his head in the crook of your neck. "Fuck, I love you."

"I love you too." You replied breathlessly, and the both of you lay in silence for a moment, panting like dogs in heat.

Fitting, really. The thought made you smile.

Price groaned into your neck, sucking a kiss to the skin. You pet his head gently.

"What's the matter?" You asked him, soothing the crown of his head as he bit and sucked at the curve of your shoulder.

"I just imagined you pregnant again," he uttered against you. "And now I'm hard again."

You laughed. "John, oh my god."

•º•

Several months of... trying... later, you sat in your bathroom, a positive pregnancy test in your hands. Happy tears rolled down your cheeks as you looked at the two lines.

Outside, Price knocked on the door. "You alright, sweetheart?"

You sniffled. "Yeah, m'fine."

"You sure?" Price asked as soon as he heard the slight waver in your voice. "If you're not feeling well, we can tell the boys we can reschedule dinner–"

You opened the door of the bathroom with the test behind your back. Price noticed the tears, cupping your face.

"What's wrong?"

You had always planned on revealing your future pregnancy to your husband in an elaborate way. You'd dreamed of it, actually. But, overwhelmed with excitement and relief, you simply took his hands off your face, and placed the pregnancy test in his palm. He took it, confused for a moment, eyeing it skeptically.

Then, his eyes widened, tears immediately springing to his waterline as he looked down at you.

"You're pregnant?" He was crying.

"Yeah." You were crying too.

He wrapped you in his arms, pressing you gently to him and burying his face in your hair, sobbing with happiness. Your heart clenched, the excitement rolling off of him. After a long moment, he pulled back, placing a sweet kiss to your lips.

"Told you I'd get you pregnant." He smiled, winking.

You rolled your eyes.

He laughed, then looked at the test again. He beamed, eyes twinkling. Then, he looked down at you again, eyes shining with mischief. You narrowed your eyes jokingly at him.

"What?" You fought a smile.

"Are we sure this is accurate?" He smiled. "We might, you know, have to try a couple more times, just to be sure."

"John!" You laughed.

And the two of you did have to reschedule dinner with the boys. You both got distracted.

•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•

#captainfern #captainfernsalutes #call of duty #captain john price #call of duty mw2 #captain price #fem reader #captain price smut #captain price x reader #price smut #captain john price smut #price call of duty #captain john price x reader #cod price #cod smut

4K notes · View notes

sergeantbarnessdoll · 16 days

Note

I can’t stop thinking about reader asking Bucky if he wants to go clothes shopping with her for a fairly formal event, and he immediately dismisses it. Well, just until he overhears Nat ask the reader if she’s ready to go bra shopping, anyway. Then, all of the sudden, Tony’s missing a credit card (or four) and reader has a personal chauffeur for the day

Changed My Mind » Bucky Barnes/Winter Soldier

Pairings: Avenger!Bucky Barnes x Avenger!Female Reader

Summary: You ask Bucky if he wants to go shopping with you and he says no, but he quickly changes his mind when he overheard you talking to Natasha.

Warnings: implied Smut (18+), language, mention of lingerie, flirting, kissing, pet names

A/N: Thank you to the lovely anonymous person who requested this🩵

Written on my phone. My apologies for any mistakes.

Header made by @buckys-wintersoldier

GIF IS NOT MINE! Credit goes to the creator.

MINORS DO NOT INTERACT!!🔞

“Bucky!” You exclaimed excitedly, walking in the conference room to see Bucky filling out a mission report from last week’s mission. “You’re just the person who I wanted to see.” You say, taking a seat next to him.

“What can I do for you, doll face?” Bucky asks, closing the file.

“I was thinking we could spend the day together.” You smiled. “Do you want to go shopping with me?” You asked. “I have a fairly formal event to attend next week.” You tell him.

“No, thank you.” He politely said. “No offense, but shopping is kinda girly to me.” He says honestly.

“Oh ok.” You pouted. “Let me know if you change your mind, Sarge.” You say, kissing his cheek before leaving the conference room.

Bucky watched you walk out of the conference room, not missing the way you swayed your hips. He shifted in his seat a little bit before going back to filling out the mission report.

Not too long after, Bucky was about to walk in the kitchen to get something to drink when he heard you talking to Natasha. He stopped just short of the entrance to the kitchen. He wasn’t eavesdropping. He just overheard what you and Natasha are talking about.

“Are you ready to go bra shopping?” Natasha asks you.

“Of course I am!” You replied. “Don’t forget the matching panties to go with the bras.” You say with a wink.

Bucky licks his lips, curious to know what you look like in the matching bra and panties. He couldn’t take it anymore. He walked in the kitchen. Yours and Natasha’s attention was turned to him.

“Oh hi, Buck-” You didn’t get a chance to finish your sentence, because Bucky picked you up and threw you over his shoulder.

You lifted your head to look at Natasha. She winked at you and mouthed “Have fun!”. You winked back.

“Where are we going?” You asked.

“Shopping.” Is all Bucky said.

“I thought you didn’t want to go shopping cause it’s too girly for you.” You teasingly said.

“I changed my mind.” He says.

Bucky finally put you back on your feet when you two got to the main entrance of the Avengers Compound.

“I got us a personal chauffeur to drive us around.” You tell him.

“How are you paying for that?” He asks.

“Reach in my back pocket and you’ll find out, Sarge.” You say, turning around.

Bucky put his hand in the left pocket of your shorts and pulled out four of Tony’s credit cards.

“These are Stark’s credit cards.” He points out.

“I know.” You grinned. “I may have taken them from his wallet when he wasn’t looking when I was in the lab earlier.” You say, still grinning.

“Your secret is safe with me, doll.” Bucky says in a hushed voice and winked.

You giggled and grabbed his hand, running out to the car. Bucky being the gentleman he is, opened the car door for you and got in after you, closing the door after he got in the car. You told the driver where you and Bucky are going and he started driving.

“Where are we going first, doll?” Bucky asks curiously.

“The mall.” You answered.

When you two got to the mall, you practically drug Bucky all over the place.

“What do you think of this dress?” You asked Bucky, holding it against the front of your body.

“Buy it.” Bucky answers, licking his lips.

You got a couple more outfits before going to the next store, which happened to be a lingerie store. Bucky couldn’t help but stare at the lingerie that was on the mannequins, wondering what the lingerie would look like on you.

“Bucky, stop staring at the mannequins!” You say, smacking his arm.

“I’m not staring.” He says, continuing to stare at the mannequins.

You playfully rolled your eyes at the Super Soldier and started to look at the bras. Bucky couldn’t help but snoop around in it.

“You should get these.” Bucky suggests, handing you a pair of panties.

“Bucky, this is a thong. You tell him.

“I know.” He says.

You bit your bottom lip, knowing what he’s trying to do.

“I know what you’re trying to do, Sarge. If you’re a good boy, I’ll model these for you later.” You whispered seductively in his ear.

That was the only thing on Bucky’s mind for the rest of the shopping trip.

“So about that event thing you’re going to next week…” Bucky starts. “Do you need a date for that?” He asks.

“As a matter of fact, I do.” You answered.

“I’ll be your date.” He says.

“It’s a date.” You say with a smile, kissing his cheek.

Later that day, you were in your room, taking your new clothes out of the bags and put them in your closet and dresser when you heard a knock on your bedroom door.

“Come in!” You say.

You looked up when the door opened, smiling when you seen Bucky.

“Hey, Buck. What’s up?” You say.

“I just wanted to say I had fun today.” Bucky tells you.

“I did too.” You say.

Bucky walked closer to you, placing his hands on your waist and pulled you closer to him. Bucky dipped his head down and kissed you hungrily. You moaned against his lips. Your hands grabbed onto his t-shirt, clutching the fabric with your fingers. He pulled away, leaving you breathless and wanting more.

“That’s a little preview of what’s to come after that event next week.” He says huskily.

“I can’t wait for more.” You say, biting your bottom lip and rubbing your hands against his muscular chest.

🪖🪖🪖🪖🪖🪖🪖🪖🪖🪖🪖🪖🪖🪖🪖🪖🪖

-Bucky’s Doll

543 notes · View notes

luviestarz · 1 year

Text

yang jungwon fic recs!

★ the language of flowers - @soobnny (jungwon’s just every bit in love with the student council president who keeps visiting his flowershop OR in which you find solace in a flowershop, and its owner’s grandson finds solace in you.)

★ GARDENING CLUB MASTERLIST - @snowbabys (you heard jungwon isn’t one of many friends, a silent and closed guy, and it’s not a surprise when he barely blinks in your direction when you join the gardening club. it is a surprise when he starts to show interest in you and does anything to be close.)

★ ❣︎ ⎯⎯ you’re mine . - @goldenhypen

★ infrunami - @jennaissantes (PROMPT: ‘fixing their tie’)

★ LOVE NEWS ! — YJW SMAU - @hanniluvi (BREAKING NEWS! valentine’s is right around the corner, yet you still had no partner. you didn’t think too much of it, you probably thought it was just another year where you’ll be single again. not a big issue at all. however, your favorite gossip account proves you wrong! what if you find out someone actually likes you? after gathering all the hints you’ve been given, you narrowed your list down to one person. that one person ended up being yang jungwon, one of your crushes. there’s no way, one of your crushes actually liking you back? will you believe it’s just fake or actual love news?)

★ ADMIRING YOU ! - @hanniluvi (You've never had good luck with dating. You just couldn't seem to make it work. You were led to believe that was how things would always be. You had no idea but, Jungwon, one of your classmates has been crushing on you for a long time. But because you are you, you never paid attention to him in class. After seeing him staring at you for a time, you finally identify him as a barista at the aroma café. Will anything ever change for you? Will you be able to establish a committed relationship at last?)

★ nice to meet you, boyfriend!◞♡ ⃗ y.jw - @delcakoo (when a strange man approaches you at the grocery store, you call for your "boyfriend", who has just cluelessly entered the store, unaware of his new relationship status with you, a complete stranger. hopefully he plays along…)

★ scaring a guy away - @delcakoo

★ cat boy - @jaeyunverse (yang jungwon is pissed his cat likes you more than him. or, in which jungwon’s cat plays cupid and sets you up.)

★ i’m your cat, meow - yang jungwon - @en-dazed (in which jungwon is jealous of a cat)

★ classmate au | yang jungwon - @soobnny

★ Baked with Love - @demusewriter (You once dreamed of having your bakery where everyone could use it as a safe refuge from reality, similar to the shop from your childhood. It seems to work as one of the famous boy groups uses it to hang out to temporarily escape the spotlight, especially by one member who seems to be fond of the place.)

★ in my head - yjw - @j1nniee (you’ve hated jungwon ever since you two met on the train to hogwarts back in first year; he’s self-centered, lazy, and always coming out for you. now in your seventh year, you’ve been named head girl (woohoo!). unfortunately, the head boy position was given to the one and only yang jungwon (boohoo…). with no other choice, you’re forced to face the annoyingly attractive boy and work with him for the rest of the year - if you can even last that long.)

★ A PIN STRAIGHT TO MY HEART - @snwpcktz (the famous decelis academy confession board is where students pin their written feelings on an anonymous sticky note in hopes of their crush reading it. for y/n, this is the perfect opportunity to finally come to terms with the feelings she has for her classmate--yang jungwon. she has everything planned out, from the color of the sticky note she would be using (blue, it's jungwon's favorite color) to the location she would pin it on the board (smackdown in the middle of the decorative heart the student council put up for valentine's day ages ago). but what happens when y/n sees jungwon pinning his own confession note mere seconds before she planned to?)

★ ⌗ attractive things jungwon does ⨾ - @aakomii

★ super shy - yang jungwon - @en-dazed (jungwon isn’t used to having company when he’s studying - especially when the company is one of the most popular girls in school)

★ ♡𓂃 START NOW ! - @loveywon (you and jungwon never really got along, but one morning you're in bed with him and you both don't recognize the room that you're in.)

#enhypen #enhypen imagines #enhypen scenarios #enhypen fic recs #enhypen x reader #kpop fic recs #jungwon #jungwon x reader #jungwon fluff #yang jungwon #enhypen jungwon #enhypen fluff #jungwon oneshot #enhypen oneshot #jungwon fic #enhypen fic #jungwon imagines #jungwon oneshots #enhypen oneshots

2K notes · View notes

hyper-pixels · 5 months

Text

How to Grow Up

A guide on how to grow up. It was originally posted by @/friendliness but half the links were broken. So I took what links weren't broken and added other links and more things to know.

This is USA based resources

Personal

Reasons to Stay Alive – A Tumblr post of 116 reasons to stay alive by @/friendliness.

How to Get Better At Asking for Help – Website is Harvard Business Review. The article is “5 Ways to Get Better At Asking for Help” by Wayne Baker.

What to do if you Can’t Afford Therapy – Website is Psych Central and the article is by Steven Rowe.

How to Quit Smoking – “The 22 Best Ways to Quit Smoking” by Debra L. Gordon and David L. Katz M.D. from the Healthy Digest.

How to Legally Change your Name – Website is Forbes.

Wanna Learn Something New? – A Tumblr post made by @/hamletthedane with various new things to try from language learning to ballet.

Free Harvard Courses – Harvard University’s free online courses.

Getting a New Computer? – A quick and dirty comprehensive guide by WIRED on what to look for.

How to Sew – Website is Autodesk Indestructibles. The article is “How to Sew” by Jessyratfink. Having a small sewing kit (that you can pick up from nearly any craft store) is super handy and has saved my life and clothes.

What to Look For in Clothes A YouTube video by Alyssa Beltempo titled “How to Identify High Quality vs. Poor Quality Clothing | Slow Fashion”. Here’s a WikiHow [x] if a YouTube video isn’t your style.

Dealing with Executive Dysfunction – A Tumblr post made by @/compassionatereminders. It's a list to more links on how to deal with executive dysfunction.

Another List Like this One – A Tumblr post made by a now deactivated account. It's a list much like this one.

Home

What’s a mortgage? – Website is realtor.com and the page is called “What is a Mortgage? Home Loan Basics Explained” by Cathie Ericson.

First Apartment Checklist – A checklist PDF. Here’s another link to a Tumblr checklist [x]

What to Ask Landlords Before Renting? – “25 Questions To Ask a Landlord When Renting a Home” by Morgen Henderson.

What’s Renter’s Insurance? – Website is Forbes Advisor. The article is by Jason Metz and titled “How to Get Renters Insurance”.

Plant Care – A master list of how to care for plants made by @/difficults

Job

Time Management – Website is Entrepenuer and has 10 time management tips. One I personally recommend is keeping a physical calendar book on hand. I keep mine in my bag with a designated pen.

Finding the right job – Website is The Muse and it has 13 free career assessment tests.

Make a resume – Website is Resume Now. Many hirers look at your name, the middle of the page (where your experience list is) and skim the rest.

Job Interview Tips – Website is Linkedin. The article is titled “10 Job Interview Tips to Land The Career of Your Dreams” by Caren Merrick.

How to Write a Cover Letter – Website is The Writing Center. University of Winsconsin, Madison. It’s titled “Writing Cover Letters” and I can’t find the author.

Money

Couponing! – Website is Coupon Database :: Southern Savers. It has a list of mobile apps for coupons to places.

Call 211 for Help – the website leads to 211.org. It's anonymous and can help you get connected to food programs, paying bills and things like doctor appointments. Here’s a Tumblr post about it [x] by @/poessionisamyth

Groceries! – This is a Tumblr meme post, but scrolling through tags/reblogs/replies and there’s plenty of good tips. The post is by @/charlotten

What To Do if You Can’t Pay Your Bills – Website is Nolo. The article is “When You Can’t Pay Your Bills: Thiings To Know” that was updated by Amy Loftsgordon.

Are You Paying Too Much for Your Phone Bill? – An article by Beht Beverman titled “How Much is Too Much to Pay for a Cell Phone Bill?”.

54 Ways to Save Money – Website is America Saves.

How to Do Taxes – Website is Wiki-How.

The 70/20/10 Method – Website is Business Insider. The Article is “A Beginners Guide to the 70-20–10 Budgeting Method” by Paul Kim.

Side Hustle Ideas – Website is Forbes. “30 Side Hustle Ideas To Make Extra Money In 2024” by Krista Fabregas.

Emergency

Your Rights When a Cop Pulls you Over – Website is Business Insider. Cops are allowed to lie to you, and they will, so be careful.

Hotline List – The website is DoSomething.org. Depression/Suicide, domestic abuse, child abuse and runaway/homeless/and at-risk youth hotlines.

What to Keep in Your Car – Website is MentalFloss. I live in a snowy area that gets blizzards and bad ice. I keep blankets, water and other aids in my car as well as a knife and road flare. I also own a self jumping car battery and it has saved my ass more than once. Heimlich Maneuver – A one minute video by the Mayo Clinic.

The Heimlich Maneuver on Yourself – A one minute video by The List Show TV.

What to Keep in Your Wallet – Website is PureWow. The article is by Rachel Bowie. Keep your drivers license, medical insurance card, and an emergency contact in your card. If you have a pet home alone make sure that you have a card detailing this. Free printable one here [x]

Traveling

Packing List – Website is Smarter Travel.

Traveling with Little to No Money – Website is Nomadic Matt.

How to Pack a Suitcase – Website is Real Simple. The article is by Thersa O’Rourke.

How to Apply for a Passport – Website is WikkiHow.

Making a Travel Budget – Website is Travel Made Simple. “How to Make a Travel Budget” by Ali Garland

#how to grow up #list #housing #living on your own #insurance #traveling #may update more and refine over time

416 notes · View notes

pink-sparkly-witch · 10 months

Text

Tequila

Summary: Tequila has a lot to answer for when Y/N wakes up naked in Dean’s bed, but once the shock wears off, she realises that maybe it’s not such a bad thing.

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Female Reader

Rating: Teen

Warnings: alcohol consumption, mentions of smut, angst, fluff, feelings, friends to lovers

Word Count: 1k

A/N: Another December Drabble for you all to enjoy!

My Masterlist AO3 Ko-Fi

Consider reblogging to spread this far and wide around this Hellsite, or leaving a comment. It really does fuel a creative’s muse. If you’re too shy or too cool for people to know you read fanfic and you don’t want it showing on your blog, you can submit an anonymous ask or drop me a DM 💖

The sun streams through the motel’s threadbare curtains, rudely awakening you from a deep, drunken sleep. Your head is pounding, and there’s a ringing in your ears that comes with the vague memory of the loud music playing at the bar last night.

It’d been a hard hunt to stomach: Lamia, a child-eating demon, had decided to take up residence in Grangeville, Idaho, and once you’d blasted her ass back to hell, you and Dean really, really needed to let off a lot of steam.

Luckily, there was a dive bar next door to the motel, so neither of you had to stay sober enough to drive home, and you’d both been well and truly shit-faced. You’d hustled a small fortune playing pool; he’d sung karaoke, and there were tequila shots… lots and lots of tequila shots.

A snore from behind you made you freeze. It sounded like Dean, but that couldn’t be right. Why would you and Dean be in the same bed? Whoever it was rolled over and slid their arm over your waist, pulling you into their body. You could feel something hard poke the back of your thigh… at least he’s packing, you thought before the mystery man spoke.

“Good morning, sweetheart.” Suddenly, the whole night’s events come flooding back to you at once.

One tequila shot turned into two. Two turned to four. Four turned to six, and before you knew it, you were stumbling through the door to Dean’s room, lips attached to his, nails raking through his hair and over his scalp and neck, tongues dancing a passionate tango while your clothes flew in every direction.

Dean made love to you so deliciously good. He was sweet and gentle at times. Rough and hard when you needed it. In all the years you’d known him, this was the first time you’d ended up in his bed, yet he knew your body better than you did.

The green-eyed hunter had known how to pleasure you better than anyone had before him. Touching places no one had ever touched before. Taking you higher than you’d ever been, making you scream his name so loud the occupant next door had banged the wall.

It’s overwhelming, and you can feel last night’s alcohol swirl dangerously in your stomach, threatening to make an appearance. You lifted the covers and glanced down. Yep, definitely naked.

Pulling the sheet tighter to your body, you cautiously turn around, your worst fear confirmed as Dean’s twinkling green orbs and cocky smirk greet you.

“Well, this changes things!” he grins, and you can’t decide if you want to punch his painfully beautiful face or kiss him.

“Oh, God!” you gasp, covering your face with your hands. “This can’t be happening.”

“Y/N?” Dean asks, concern evident in his voice. “You okay?”

“I can’t believe I did you—I mean that. I can’t believe I did that,” you mumble.

“Come on, don’t be like that! We had a great time. I got you off six times, sweetheart! That’s a personal record for me!”

Dean’s words are meant to be comforting, but they do the opposite and only embarrass you more. The urge to kiss him is gone, leaving you wanting to punch his painfully beautiful, smug face.

“Seriously, Y/N, are you okay? Did I hurt you in any way? Did you not want that to happen? Because I gotta say, you were all over me at the bar, and I get that we had a lot of tequila and were drunk, but I thought you wanted me, too?”

Now that Dean had put his cocky persona aside and the real Dean was in the room, you’d changed your mind again and wanted to kiss him.

“No, Dean. I wanted it to happen. I have for an embarrassingly long time. What I don’t want is to be just another notch on your bedpost. It’s why I’ve never given in to your very persuasive charms over the years. Because I want to be more than just one night to you. And I know that’s not what you want—”

“Woah, Y/N, slow down!” Dean shot up on the bed and turned you to face him. “Did you not hear me when I said this changes things? Do you honestly think I’d risk what we have for one night? I’ve wanted you since the day we met, and last night was the first time since we met that you’ve shown any interest in me. And sweetheart, I haven’t been shy in pulling out my best moves for you.” His words and body language are so expressive and genuine, and you know he’s not feeding you a line. He likes you and he’s wanted you for a long time. All of his flirting and come-ons were real.

“And I thought ‘this is it. I finally get to call her my girl’. Maybe I shouldn’t have followed through with it when we were drunk, but I don’t regret taking my chance with you. Please tell me you don’t regret what happened.” Dean cups your cheeks to keep your gaze on his. The pain crossing his features breaks your heart. You want to tell him you feel the same way, but it’s risky.

“Honestly, I don’t remember much from last night, just bits and pieces, but I know enough to know that if that happened, I wanted it to happen,” you say, trying to ignore the look of Dean’s disappointment at your lack of memory from the night before.

“Do you really want me?” you ask, terrified this was a tequila-induced dream.

“Since the day I met you. And if you’re interested, I’d like to see where we’d go. Together. As a couple.” For once, Dean looks incredibly shy and vulnerable, making your heart swell.

“I’d like that too, De,” you smile, giggling when he grins boyishly.

“Yeah?” he checks, and you nod.

“Yeah,” you confirm.

“Then, I think you should lay back and let me refresh your memory of last night,” Dean grins as he gently pushes you back down on the mattress and pulls your legs apart.

Tags: @acitygrownwillow @akshi8278 @ashbatz @candy-coated-misery0731 @chriszgirl92 @deans-baby-momma @deans-spinster-witch @deansbbyx @deanwanddamons @duncanhillscoffeecups @foxyjwls007 @giggles1026 @globetrotter28 @hobby27 @hoboal87 @impala67rollingthroughtown @iprobablyshipit91 @jackles010378 @jamerlynn @jc-winchester @k-slla @kazsrm67 @kmc1989 @lacilou @ladysparkles78 @leigh70 @lyarr24 @michecolegate @mrsjenniferwinchester @nancymcl @negans-lucille-tblr @nelachu2423 @octoberclidan @perpetualabsurdity @roseblue373 @sandlee44 @sexyvixen7 @snackles87 @spnbaby-67 @spnwoman @stixnstripesworld @stoneyggirl2 @suckitands33 @synmorite @tristanrosspada-ackles @twinkleinadiamondsky @waters-2567 @winchestergirl1720

#tequila #december drabbles #dean winchester x female!reader #dean winchester x reader #dean winchester fic #dean winchester

594 notes · View notes

amakumos · 1 year

Text

CUPID'S CHRONICLES — an enhypen smau series.

with the help of cupid's corner, a twitter account where you can send anonymous confessions to your crush, finding love is easy at decelis academy.

author's note. this series is recommended for you to read in order! please check the taglist status on the main post of a specific smau, not here. this post is just to organise all 7 smaus and put them all in one place to show that they're one series : ) taglists will be opened according to a specific smau, so unfortunately being tagged in general for all 7 won’t be possible :( apologies! please check the main post for EACH smau to know if the taglists are open, not here!

RIKI'S CONFESSION — CUPID'S CORNER (COMPLETE)

synopsis. because he’s a little shit, nishimura riki sends a totally embarrassing confession about you to “cupid’s corner”, a twitter account that posts anonymous confessions from decelis academy students. but when that joke confession suddenly makes a bunch of people confess to you on cupid’s corner (for real this time!) riki finds that he’s jealous — and oh… he can’t believe it took him a fake confession to realise that he’s crazily in love with you.

JUNGWON'S CONFESSION — CUPID'S CONFLICT (COMPLETE)

synopsis. as the man behind cupid's corner, jungwon is responsible for getting majority of the couples at decelis together (namely, riki and his girlfriend.) but there's one person that always gets in the way of half of the couples that jungwon sets up together — you. you are the polar opposite of yang jungwon, affectionately called "evil cupid" by your friends, as you have the unfortunate ability to break any couple up within a couple of weeks just by taking a picture with them. it's not intentional, you tell jungwon. what's also not intentional, is when jungwon finds himself crushing on you.

JAKE'S CONFESSION — CUPID'S CURE (ONGOING)

synopsis. as the new admins of cupid’s corner, gunwook and eunchae make it their mission to get back some of the couples that jungwon’s girlfriend had unintentionally broken up. one of the couples on their list are you and jake sim, also known as the self proclaimed “rizzler of oz”. you haven’t talked to jake since the breakup — because one, you don’t think you’re quite over him yet, and two, you have zero reason to speak to him! that is, until eunchae works her “magic” — she decides to post a confession (apparently coming from jake himself), saying that he still loves you.

HEESEUNG'S CONFESSION — CUPID'S CONNECTION (IN PLANNING.)

synopsis. the volleyball team is hell-bent on setting up lee heeseung with someone, but they don’t know that heeseung’s already deeply infatuated with someone in his accounting class — you. but when heeseung tells the team who you are, he’s completely shocked by what he learns about you. you’re logical, rational and has great common sense — so how the hell are you hyungyeom's older sister?

SUNGHOON’S CONFESSION — CUPID'S CRUSHED! (IN PLANNING)

synopsis. former competitive figure skater park sunghoon has been crushing on you for years. even though he doesn’t skate anymore, and even though he never really sees you around school, you’re always stuck in the back of his mind. so, when jake’s girlfriend introduces sunghoon to all of his friends, sunghoon immediately hits it off with taerae — with jake even stating that he’s been “replaced”. apparently, you’re close friends with taerae too — and sunghoon only realises that you’re taerae’s ex when he’s fallen too deep.

JAY'S CONFESSION — CUPID'S COURT (IN PLANNING)

synopsis. everyone knows that jay loves soccer — maybe a little too much. but, when jay sees that you insult his favourite sport on twitter, he’s deeply offended. despite having zero positive feelings towards you, he makes it his mission to change your mind about soccer, because in his opinion, it’s the greatest sport of all time — but he finds that he ends up falling for you instead.

SUNOO'S CONFESSION — CUPID'S CALLING (IN PLANNING)

synopsis. kim sunoo is very single. it’s not like he’s seeking for a relationship though — it’ll come when the time is right, he thinks. but when he gets a phone call from a random number one day, with the other person on the line starting a conversation, sunoo thinks he might’ve just fallen in love. slight issue, he doesn’t know who you are, and he also doesn’t know that this was another one of eunchae’s antics to get all of her friends into a happy relationship.

2K notes · View notes

commanderfoxdeservesbetter · 2 months

Text

Time Loop Headcanon

Glasses clink for a toast. The sour taste of whiskey goes down Fox's throat with a smoothness he doesn't feel. Laughter rings around the table as Rex spills his drink down his shirt.

White teeth gleam in the dark bar from clones all around celebrating the death of the Sith and the start of a new beginning.

Fox watches his brothers with detached delight and wonders why a piece of him feels missing.

He sets his glass down, a small clink clouded out by the music pouring through the place.

He slides out easily with a comment of "getting some air" towards Cody to prevent him from following. He exits 79s with more than one shove, wiping at a stain on dress uniform. It shouldn't matter but still he grimaces at the sight.

"Stupid shinies," he mutters, shaking his head.

A clatter from the side of the building has him pausing. Fox tilts his head and debates. It's his day-off; he's not technically on duty and therefore, whatever is there is not his responsibility. A phantom crushing on his heart, a ghost breeze to his hand: it has curiosity building in his veins.

"Hello?" Fox calls out, walking slowly towards the sound. His hand goes to his belt and he inwardly curses at the lack of a blaster there.

"Who's there?"

In for a credit, in for a mile.

The shadows of the alleyway does little to hide the body standing there. His cloak however doesn't. It covers the person's face and a glance down shows his hands nowhere to be seen. Fox swallows and chances on the hope that he won't be killed immediately.

"Are you okay?" Fox can tell by the leaning of their body weight on the wall that they must not be in the best of shape. "Do you need help?" He's sure there must be a medic somewhere in the bar. Would they be sober?

Probably not but better than nothing, he supposes.

"Kot'e." Fox stops at the word. The head raises just a bit for a line of gold to pass through. "That was your brother's name before he changed it."

Fox's heart skips at the words. At the non-Vod voice that emitted it. Only the Vod'e know about that, and even then, it's not many who remember it.

"Ruse," he starts again, "was the name you wanted but-"

"Who are you?" Fox doesn't ask so much as demands.

The natborn grunts, their steps unsteady. The urge to reach out has Fox's fingers twitching but he holds back. He doesn't know this man.

"You told me," he stops. Starts again. "I thought-" he mumbles before huffing. Huffs then lets out a choked laugh. "Doesn't matter." he says loud enough for Fox to hear. "It never matters."

Fox isn't fast enough to stop his fall when he crumbles to the ground. His hood comes off, dark locks spread in a halo. For a darker man, he's pale and it surprises Fox to see blood when he lifts his hand back up.

He presses against the wound and the man grunts in pain. Fox opens his mouth to yell, call for a medic or help, or anything, but the man shakes his head.

"No." The word has Fox's teeth clinking together in a shut. "Please."

Fox can't move his hands to do the actions needed to stop the bleeding, to make it better.

He knows basic first aid and yet...his mind is blank. Completely blank. Except for the dark eyes that meet his.

It's the most beautiful color he's ever seen.

A tear slips down his cheek and the man chuckles. "'I've never seen you cry before."

Fox shakes his head slowly. "We've never met before." Despite the anonymity of this natborn, grief squeezes Fox's heart like a vice.

The man smiles slow, half-formed almost.

"Now that’s a lie." He swallows a cough, his chest rising in protest. "We're meeting right now." Fox hates the blood that splatters his teeth.

"Besides," he starts up again. "I know all about you." Fox raises a hand to the man's cheek when he coughs again and he leans into it as though he's been deprived of touch. "You're Commander Fox of the Coruscant Guard. Best soldier the Corries have and worst cook to ever step on Coruscant."

The chuckle that Fox lets out does nothing to stop the sob that comes after. Only his batch knows of his disastrous skill.

"Who are you?" He asks again and the man breathes through his nose.

He doesn't answer for several moments and Fox wonders if he ever will.

"If I tell you, will you promise not to leave?" Fox furrows his brows but nods nonetheless.

The man smiles. "Quinlan Vos. I married you three time loops ago."

Fox blinks. No clone has rights to their own body much less to marry. He's never met this man before tonight; nor, with a quick glance to the man's hand, does the man carry a ring.

Thoughts rush through Fox's head, question after question despite his analytics to the phrase.

Yet the only thing Fox can think to ask is "what's a time loop?"

The man laughs. Coughs again, blood staining his chin and Fox's dress uniform. "Hopefully, nothing you'll be caught in."

The man curls into himself as the next wave of coughs leave his shaking, and blood pours from the unknown wound.

It's this that snaps Fox out of his thoughts and he grabs the cloak to press against where he thinks the blood is coming from. "Medic!" He screams, and the man bitterly laughs at the call.

Fox's continuous yells gather enough clones to create action. A medic who's stupid drunk chugs water in an attempt to sober up but all it causes is puking and shouts.

Desperation digs into Fox's veins and he tries to stop his cries from being frantic. He can't crack.

He has to be calm. He has to help.

Why did he not call for help sooner?

"It's no use," the man says despite being crowded by useless clones. He pulls Fox close, hands shaking on his collar. He pulls Fox close enough to whisper in his ear. "I'm glad I got to love you, Ruse."

Fox's hands don't stop shaking for days.

#star wars #tcw #the clone wars #commander fox #quinlan vos #star wars vox #time loop #I wanted to write from the perspective of someone who’s not in the time loop #who has to deal with #the aftermath

181 notes · View notes

yandere-daydreams · 1 year

Text

Title: Insecure.

Written for a very lovely anonymous commissioner.

Pairing: Yandere!Toxic!Wanderer x Reader (Genshin).

Word Count: 5.0k.

TW: Modern AU, AFAB!Reader, Non///Con, Public Sex, Oral Sex, Possessive Behavior, Wildly Unhealthy Relationships, Unbalanced Power Dynamics, Intimidation, and Self-Oriented Victim Blaming From Reader. Dead Dove: Do Not Eat. No Seriously Dude Those Doves Are So Dead.

[Part One]

“This is boring.”

“Uh-huh.”

“It’s too hot to be outside. And this place reeks.”

“You’re wearing long sleeves in the middle of summer, and it’s a college campus. I don’t know what you expected.”

“You look hot.”

You let out a disgruntled groan, leaning back in your seat and bringing a hand up to your temple. Kunikuzushi seemed to drink in your agitation, crossing his arms, the corners of his lips pulling up into a smug grin. “How did you even know I was here?”

His answer was immediate, non-verbal. He held up his phone, the screen blatantly and proudlydisplaying a simple grid-map and, of course, a little blue dot settled into the grey backdrop. You felt something start to ache in the back of your skull. “You’re tracking my phone?”

“Yeah, right, your phone.”

You started to buckle into yourself, but stopped yourself. You were in public – tucked into the smallest corner of your campus’ most out-of-the-way common area, sure, but still in public. There was a group of students gathered around one of the bigger tables less than ten feet away, and another couple just behind them. You used to fight with Kunikuzushi so often. You’d never resorted to public screaming matches, but you’d never had to think twice before storming out of bars and cafes, never thought twice about blocking his number or throwing away his flowers or telling anyone who’d listen that you were absolutely, definitely, totally going to break up with him for good, this time. Now, you couldn’t find it into yourself to be so brash. You couldn’t stand the idea of being seen with him, let alone calling more attention to yourself. It felt like you were one slip-up, one arm draped around your waist, one ring of bruises wrapped around your neck before someone saw through you, guessed what kind of person Kunikuzushi was and confronted you about why you’d stay with someone like that. You were afraid of him, sure, but you were more afraid of what would happen if people realized just how scared you really ought to be.

Not that you wanted to be with him. You wanted to move across the country, to burn your clothes and cut your hair, to change your name and pretend he’d never so much as lookedat you, but your options were limited. He’d taken care of your internship the day you’d moved in with him, and he bought you out of your lease within the same week. The few friends you still had after Kunikuzushi sunk his teeth into your social life were pushed to a distance, and the thought of running back to the same people who’d told you to stay as far from Kunikuzushi as you could get was enough to make you feel dizzy and exhausted, light-headed and glued to the floor all at once.

Even that, the idea that you could go to someone for help, was delusional. He barely let you go to class, and even that was a tedious connection, a privilege that could be revoked with a phone call and a new deadbolt on the door to his apartment. He didn’t like it when you had things to think about that didn’t revolve around him, and while keeping him happy was in the best interest of your safety, dropping out wasn’t an option. You could find another place to live. You could find another internship. But, if flunked out, if you failed too many classes, you’d lose your scholarship. If you lost your scholarship, you wouldn’t be able to graduate. If you didn’t graduate…

You had to graduate. You had to.

You weren’t sure you’d ever be able to get away from Kunikuzushi, if you didn’t.

You heard a scoff, felt the table shake as Kunikuzushi drove his heel into one of its legs. “Y’know, it’s rude to ignore people. ‘specially after I came all this way just to spend time with you.”

You must’ve zoned out. You hadn’t meant to, you never wanted to give Kunikuzushi an excuse to shorten your leash even further, but it’d been happening more and more. On your best days, you could keep yourself grounded, stay in your own body long enough to make it seem like you were managing what has left of your life. On your worst days… well, you didn’t remember much of your worst days. You usually couldn’t bring yourself to get out of bed. Kunikuzushi loved your worst days. “Sorry,” you mumbled, more out of reflex than any genuine remorse. “Why are you here, anyway?”

“Like I said, I wanted to spend time with you.” He shrugged, still grinning. “You should drop out.”

Just like that, your heart dropped into your stomach. If you hadn’t been in public, if you weren’t so disconnected from what went on in your own mind, you might’ve cried.

Instead, you bowed your head. Your voice was quieter than you wanted it to be, but it was a small miracle you could force yourself to speak at all. “I… don’t think that’s a good idea.”

“Since when do you think for yourself?” He wasn’t fazed. The question was accompanied by a slow, breathy laugh, a flash of teeth as he leaned forward, propping his head on his fist. “I mean, c’mon, it’s not like you’d actually use a degree. I’m already taking care of you.” He dropped lower, taking on a raspy lilt. “All you’ve gotta worry about is keeping me company and taking my—”

You cut him off with an indignant huff, already recoiling. You moved to stand, to get away from him, but felt a pair of hands cover your eyes before you could. There was a familiar laugh, the feeling of curly hair bruising against your cheek, and then a melodic voice playing just beside your ear. “Guess who.”

For the first time that day, you couldn’t help but smile. “I know it’s you, Ajax. You’re the only person lame enough for this.”

There was a hum before he let you go, bracing himself on the back of your chair and leaning over you. He was dressed like he always was – which was to say, like it was the middle of winter, his coat long enough to reach his ankles and thick enough to make you shudder with sympathy pains, your agony unaided by the scarf wrapped loosely around his neck. Maybe you shoulddrop out, or transfer, at least. Between him and Kunikuzushi, you were starting to think there was something in the air that made people want to get heatstroke. “Hey, I’m just trying to surprise my favorite study-buddy. You looked like you could use a little cheering up.” He glanced toward Kunikuzushi, then flashed you a knowing grin. “I know this guy tends to bring down the mood.”

Kunikuzushi sunk into his seat, his smugness immediately overshadowed by agitation. “Oh, you know each other?”

“We’re coworkers,” Kunikuzushi answered, glaring daggers toward Ajax.

“Wait, you have a job?”

He didn’t indulge you with a response, only scoffing and throwing his head to the side. Ajax took up the mantle. “Honestly, I’m more surprised to see him hanging out with someone outside of work. Always struck me as the ‘lone wolf’ type, if you know what I mean. If I knew you two were friends, I would’ve made more of an effort to drag him to our—"

As he spoke, his hand came to rest on your shoulder, but he’d barely touched you when Kunikuzushi pushed himself to his feet, already snarling. “Keep your fucking hands to yourself.” Reflexively, Ajax pulled back, holding his hands up defensively, and with a ragged breath and a half-hearted effort to calm himself down, Kunikuzushi went on. “Didn’t anyone ever teach you not to touch someone’s fiancé, idiot?”

This time, Ajax’s laugh was slightly more strained, his posture slightly more stiff. “Yeah, uh, right. My bad, dude.” He moved to ruffle your hair (his most common send-off, no matter how often you groaned and complained that you’d look like a mess for the rest of the day), but stopped himself quickly – rubbing the back of his neck. “I… didn’t realize you were engaged.” Despite his stiffness, he managed to offer you a small smile. “See you in class?”

“Save me a seat.” And then, letting your eyes fall to your feet, “Sorry about him, he’s…”

“Territorial, I get it. I’d be a little jealous too, if I managed to get a ring on your finger.”

He winked, and before you could roll your eyes, he’d turned on his heel and disappeared around the nearest corner, melting into the throng of milling students. Once he was gone, you turned back to Kunikuzushi, still seething. That was one of the worst things about being with Kunikuzushi. It wasn’t enough to make your life miserable, he had to make sure you didn’t have anything left to live for. “Why would you tell him we’re engaged?”

“I’ll get you a ring.” You opened your mouth, but he was talking before you had a chance to cut in. “This is why you shouldn’t bother with this shit. All you’re going to do is waste your time and get hit on by desperate losers trying to get their dicks wet.”

“As opposed to staying home with you, where I can get hit on by one desperate loser trying to get his dick wet.” You shook your head, but shut your mouth and stood up before he could pull you into a real argument. Throwing your bag over your shoulder, you turned away from him, starting in the direction of your lecture hall. “I have to get to class. We can talk about this later.”

Before he could protest, you made your way out of the common area. There was a beat of silence, a brief moment of respite. Then, you heard his footsteps pick-up behind you, settling into pace with your own. You glanced over your shoulder and, predictably, found Kunikuzushi walking behind you. “What do you want now?”

“You’re going to class,” he said, a smug grin already tugging at the corners of his lips. “I’m coming with you.”

You frowned. “It’s a general credit. You’ll be bored out of your mind.”

“I don’t care.” He took your hand in his, squeezing gently when you tried to pull away. Immediately, you stopped resisting, hyper-aware of the way his blunt nails scraped against your skin, of how intensely his eyes burnt into yours. “Is it a crime to want to spend as much as time as I can with my fiancé?”

You shuddered involuntarily. You couldn’t tell if jealously staking his claim to you during a minute-long conversation with your classmate and his coworker was genuinely his idea of a proposal, or if he just took joy in the way you flinched every time he threw that word around. Either way, you didn’t like it.

“Fine, whatever.” You shrugged open the door to one of the more rustic buildings on campus, dragging Kunikuzushi along with you. “Just don’t cause a scene, okay? I’m really not in the mood.”

He only smiled, letting his head lull to the side. You forced yourself to tear your eyes away from him, focusing on the crowded hallway in front of you instead. Your class was in one of the larger lecture halls on campus – stadium style, oppressively beige, the rows of desks curved around the raised stage at the front of the room. It was already mostly full, too, thanks to how long Kunikuzushi had held you up. You made a brief effort to find Ajax before deciding you didn’t want anyone you knew by name to see you latched onto your moody boyfriend and moved toward one of the middle rows, but he stopped you, digging his heels into the floor. “Sit in the front.” You sent him a look that said ‘what the fuck do you want now?’, and he grinned. “What? I’m trying to do you a favor.”

“You can do me a favor by letting me get through this with minimal psychic damage.” You dragged him to the back of the hall and slid into a relatively empty row, trying to stay as far away from the other students as you could. In spite of his stubbornness, his preference to control everything down to how often you blinked, he didn’t fight it, just slipping into the seat next to you, leaning back and watching on as you pulled out a half-mangled notebook and a couple pens. You knew you wouldn’t be able to focus, much less take notes with Kunikuzushi hovering over your shoulder, but you wanted to at least pretend you didn’t care about him and his leering for the next two hours. It wasn’t like he’d leave you alone once you got back into the confines of his stifling, barren apartment, so you had to take advantage of what little peace you’d be able to get, today.

By the time your class started, he was fully reclined, his arms crossed and his expression slack in boredom. The rows hadn’t been crammed as closely together as possible, he might’ve propped his feet on the desktop, shut his eyes, done everything he could to show just how disinterested he was in the lecture he’d demanded to sit through.

By the ten-minute mark, he’d pulled his chair next to yours, watching over your shoulder as you jotted down what little of the professor’s lecture you could hear over the sound of your race heart. You didn’t like it when Kunikuzushi got so close to you, anymore. It was hard to remember why you ever had.

Twenty minutes in, you felt his hand ghost over your leg, his fingertips grazing past your thigh. You tried to brush it off, to ignore him, but his hand settled onto your knee and you snapped up to glare at him. “What are you—”

He shushed you, leaning against your side. “Keep your voice down. We’re in class, remember?”

You frowned, but relented, turning your attention back to the front of the classroom. You resigned yourself to pointedly ignoring him, jotting down incoherent notes and attempting to drown out Kunikuzushi’s looming presence with the professor’s droning lecture. You’d almost blocked him out by the time he started moving, again, kneading the plush of your thigh gently, his dull nails burrowing into your skin just a little too deeply to ignore. Determined, you didn’t react, but that didn’t faze him. His hand only crept higher, catching the hem of your shorts and toying with the thin fabric, forcing you to acknowledge just how little you’d done to fend him off. If you’d known he was going to visit you on campus, you would’ve worn jeans, or made more of an effort to avoid him. If you’d known he was going follow you into class just to harass you, you would never have gotten up in the first place.

You jumped as his fingers slipped under the fabric, fanning out against your skin. With an airy sigh, you leaned back, already swatting away his hand. You spoke under your breath, trying to hide the way your voice shook. “Fine. If you’re going to be a brat about it, we can go home.”

“And ruin your attendance?” His tone was pleading, muted but dripping with something thick and saccharine. “I can’t let you do that, baby, not when your grades are so importantto you.”

You tried to get up, but he drew back, throwing an arm over your shoulders and pulling you back into your seat. “I tried to take you home, but no, you decided that sitting in a dusty room with that fucking redhead was more important to you than me.” He hauled you closer, holding his mouth next to your ear. “If you decide to go home now and waste more of my time, I promise, you’ll be in for something much worse than anything I can do to you here.”

For the second time that day, you froze, suddenly unable to move. Kunikuzushi took your silence as submission, kissing your cheek before his hand fell back to your thigh.

This time, he was kind enough (or cruel enough) not to play coy, not to try to hide what he was going to do. He squeezed your thigh with enough force to bruise before delving into the space between your legs – his middle finger tracing over the seam that ran over the length of your cunt, only pausing to rub circles into your clit through the material. You really, really should’ve worn something else, something thicker, something that would’ve put you at a distance from his invasive touch. You would’ve given anything not to feel that slow, painful friction, not to recognize the aching curl of arousal starting to form in the pit of your stomach. Kunikuzushi was an asshole – a possessive, controlling asshole – but he knew you. He knew your weak points. He’d held you down and exploited them until you knew that as well as he did.

With two fingers, he pressed into your clit, and you jolted into yourself. Reflexivity, you tried to clench your thighs shut, but Kunikuzushi caught you by the knee and spread your legs farther, making more room for him to work between them. “Play nice.” He was whispering, but you wished he wouldn’t talk at all. You wished he’d keep his mouth shut and let you suffer in silence. “You don’t want to make this into a show, do you?”

You didn’t. God, you didn’t. You couldn’t imagine anything worse than getting caught, than having someone notice and scream and draw attention to what Kunikuzushi was doing to you. In the best case scenario, he’d stop and you’d have plausible deniability, pretend that you believed you could say your overly affectionate boyfriend was just being touchy and someone would buy it. In the worst case scenario, in the most likely scenario, he wouldn’t, and you didn’t know how you be able to live with yourself if someone saw you like this. Would you have to appear in front of the dean to apologize that your boyfriend had fingered you in front of a captive audience? Would there be paperwork? Would any of the blame fall on Kunikuzushi, or would you be the one held responsible for what he couldn’t stop doing to you?

You shook your head frantically, clenching your eyes shut and balling your hands into fists. Kunikuzushi clicked his tongue, cooing in mock-disappointment. “That’s just mean, baby. First you don’t want to admit we’re in love, now you don’t even want to be seen with me. Next, you’ll want to forget I exist altogether.” He flicked his wrist, and you dug your teeth into the inside of your cheek. “And you remember how well it went for you last time you tried to ditch me, right?”

It was a labored effort, jerky and jolting, but you forced yourself to inhale, to straighten your back, to curl your hands around the corner of the desktop and make a passing effort to ground yourself, but Kunikuzushi wouldn’t let you have your peace for very long. You let out a small sigh as he pulled back, but your relief was short-lived – ripped away from you the moment his fingers found your waistband, slipping into your shorts before you could so much as delusionally hope he'd show you mercy. There was a breathy laugh, two fingers pressed into your clit. “Christ, you’re soaked,” he muttered, his delight audible. “I still can’t believe I turned you into such a fucking slut.”

You tried to shrink into yourself, to cross your arms over the desktop and hide your face, but Kunikuzushi caught you, keeping you upright and leaving you to bury your face in his shoulder. The desk would’ve been more soothing. He was moving too quickly, his arm shifting uncomfortably against your chest as he rubbed tight circles into the sensitive bundle of nerves, as he fell lower – his ring and middle fingers dipping into your drenched pussy in quick, shallow thrusts that only seemed to make you more aware of the slick starting to drip down the inside of your thighs. Your professor was still talking, but the lecture was incomprehensible, drowned out by the wet squelching of Kunikuzushi’s digits thrusting into you, somehow barely audible and skull-crushing deafening all at once. No one else could hear it. It just wasn’t an option; it wasn’t a possibility. You couldn’t let yourself start to think about what would happen if someone else heard it.

He was merciless, grinding the heel of his palm into your clit as his slender fingers pumped into you. He didn’t pause, didn’t experiment, just held himself to the same monotonous, uniform thrusts, punishing you with a brutal pleasure you just couldn’t seem to escape. His fingertips scraped against something soft and needy inside of you and reflexively, your hands shot to his arm, your nails burrowing into his sleeves and biting into his skin. If he felt it, he didn’t seem hurt. Kunikuzushi only laughed, resting his head against yours and falling into a brutal, unfaltering tempo.

Distantly, you heard paper sliding against wood, pages turning, then a low whistle. “Why didn’t you tell me you could draw?” If you’d been able to think, you might’ve been angry. If you’d been able to do anything, you might’ve pulled your notebook away from him and made sure he couldn’t taint any part of you he hadn’t already ruined, but you couldn’t so much as imagine opening your eyes, much less trying to get away from him, again. “It’s cute. If you’re good, I’ll get you a real sketchbook – better than this cheap shit.”

It shouldn’t have felt as patronizing as it was. It shouldn’t have stung, just to know he was looking at something you’d never thought to keep away from him. It shouldn’t have hurt any more than anything he was already doing to you, and yet, you shrunk into yourself, something in your chest withering and dying off as he continued to flip through your notebook, to split you open on his fingers. A third digit was added, his touch now deep enough for you to feel the chill of his rings against your entrance. There was a pang of tension, a slight pain to accompany the stretch, but the buzzing in the back of your mind, the knot pulling tighter and tighter as he pulled his way deeper into you. You curled around him, something hot and piercing rising up from your core, creeping into your veins until—

Until Kunikuzushi pulled away without warning, only pausing momentarily to drag his hand over your thigh and smear your own slick across your skin. If you hadn’t known him so well, if you hadn’t been with him so long, relief might’ve softened your confusion, but you weren’t naïve enough to think that he’d suddenly found a pocket of kindness in his cold, stony heart. He didn’t try to tease you, either, to string you along and make you think that he’d let you go with an anti-climax and a few probing comments. He was cruel, but he didn’t like to waste his time. He didn’t have to pretend he didn’t want to play with his favorite toy.

With a small smile and a darkglint in his eye, he took your notebook and achinglyslowly, slid it off of the desk and watched passively as it toppled to the floor. Seconds after it landed, he sighed, shaking his head before pressing a fleeting kiss into the corner of your mouth. “You’re so clumsy, babe. I just don’t know what you’d do without me.”

Realization dawned on you like blood rising into the back of your throat. You hugged his arm closer to your chest, hoping beyond hope that he’d see your distress and for once, hold himself back from taking what he wanted. “Kuni, please don’t do—”

“Save it.” He didn’t even hesitate, tearing his arm out of your vice-grip without so much as a trace of strain. “You can thank me when we get home.”

You didn’t get another chance to protest before he dipped down, slipping out of his seat and below the desk. You spared a glance in either direction. You were in an aisle seat. Your row was mostly empty, and you could only hope that the people sitting behind you couldn’t see Kunikuzushi between your legs, his mouth already pressed into the inside of your thigh. Without someone to hold onto, you were left to cross your arms over your chest and try to school your own expression, to look like you hadn’t just had your orgasm torn away from you, like your ex-turned-overly-attached boyfriend wasn’t on his knees with his face buried between your legs. It was a small comfort, knowing he couldn’t do anything worse than this, not unless he wanted to bend you over the teacher’s desk and fuck you with an audience.

It was terrifying, knowing he couldn’t possibly do anything worse than this.

Your breath hitched as you felt his fingers curl underneath your shorts, dragging the flimsy material down your legs and letting it pool around your ankles. You were wearing an oversized shirt, and your jacket was long enough to obscure everything above your mid-thigh, but you still shuddered, still had to fight the temptation to snap your thighs shut as soon as you felt the cool air against your slick cunt. Kunikuzushi was quick to block that out, too. You felt the flat of his tongue lap over your entrance, a soundless moan reverberating against your pussy and up the length of your spine. This time, when you bit down on the inside of your cheek, you didn’t stop until you tasted blood.

Now, now, he decided to draw out your agony. You could feel his searing breath against your pussy as he chewed bruises into your thighs, painting love bites across your vulnerable skin that you could only hope wouldn’t be visible when you were finally able to shamble out of this lecture hall as a mangled, fucked-out wreck. When your legs twitched, his hands found their way to your ankles, pinning your feet to the ground as he latched onto your clit, dragging his tongue in loose, careless patterns as he sucked gently – giving you enough stimulation to leave you irritated and antsy but still withholding any anything real, anything satisfying. If you’d been in his bed, or on his kitchen counter, or laid across the backseat of the car he barely knew how to drive, you could’ve hidden your face in his sheets or clawed at his shoulders or screamed bloody murderer while he sucked and licked himself into a pussy-drunk stupor. You were never overly vocal – you couldn’t be, when you knew Kunikuzushi would take and abuse anything you said under the influence of his harsh affection– but now, you couldn’t afford to so much as tear-up, to rake your fingers through his hair, to whimper as his tongue thrust into you, just as awful as his fingers and twice as hot. You made the mistake of glancing towards him, of letting him catch your eye as a wide, arrogant smirk spread across his parted lips, a dark flush now painted across his pale cheeks. You looked away as quickly as you could, but it didn’t matter. His hands came up to your knees as he dragged your legs apart, giving himself more space to work between them. That had to be the worst thing about Kunikuzushi. No matter what you did, no matter how little you gave him, he’d always find a way to get off on it, to convince himself it was just your little way of retuning his fucked-up love.

Desperate for something to latch onto, you crossed your arms over the desktop and clawed at the polished wood. The bridge of Kunikuzushi’s nose ground against your clit and you buckled into yourself, burying your face in your arms and forgetting for just a fraction of a second to care whether or not you’d ever be able to show your face in public again. It took long, agonizing seconds to find the strength to raise your head, to frantically glance around the lecture hall for something, anything that would help you block out what he was doing to your body. Rather than a saving grace, you found a head of bright, ginger hair a few rows in front of you, the chair next to its owner vacant. Ajax, already staring over his shoulder, his piercing eyes wide and his expression blank with horror. As your gaze met his, as Kunikuzushi let out another throaty moan, the pressure mounted, that string of tension in your core snapping before you could attempt to hold yourself together. With your teeth grit and tears streaming down your cheeks, you came undone on Kunikuzushi’s tongue, a breathless whine forcing its way out of your throat as you collapsed back into your arms, completely limp.

Kunikuzushi nursed you through it, taking long moments to untangle himself from you, to press another kiss against your thigh, to pull your shorts back into place. You didn’t care. You were numb, your body humming with an awful sort of static, only interrupted by the weight of Kunikuzushi’s hand against the small of your back as he hauled himself back into his seat, pulling his sleeve across his mouth. Your notebook was still at your feet, splayed open and abandoned. You couldn’t seem to bring yourself to pick it up.

There was a kiss to your shoulder, then the top of your head. “Is it time to get out of here?”

You forced yourself to nod. You felt his arms wrap around you, one stringing under your knees and the other bracing against your back, keeping you pressed into his chest as he side-stepped back into the aisle and started for the door. A few students turned their heads, a couple stopping to ask if you were alright, but Kunikuzushi ignored them. Whatever. It wasn’t like you’d ever see any of these people again.

Kunikuzushi was taking you home, and as far as he seemed concerned, you’d never be leaving again.

#yandere #yandere x reader #yandere x you #yandere imagines #yandere oneshot #yandere genshin impact #yandere genshin x you #genshin imagines #genshin impact #yandere genshin #yandere genshin imagines #scaramouche x reader #yandere scaramouche #yandere wanderer #wanderer x reader #yanderecore #yancore

983 notes · View notes

muzansfangs · 1 year

Text

I would do it again.

Starring: Kokushibo x f!reader; Yoriichi x f!reader (mentioned)

Warnings: nsfw, modern au, cheating, slight angst, pregnacy, breeding kink, unprotected sex, possessive behavior, alcohol, vaginal sex, vaginal fingering, oral sex (Kokushibo receiving) morally grey reader, dom!kokushibo, sub!reader, revenge, implied reference to inferiority complex.

Plot: you were married to Yoriichi. You loved him, you really did, but your relationship grew colder as he had to spend months away from you for work. No calls, no texts, no chances to meet up somewhere. You were on your lowest when his brother, Kokushibo, showed up at your place. He told you he was going to stay for a while and that you would have not even noticed his presence around. However, loneliness and the twisted desire of taking a bite from the forbidden fruit brought you two together. Your secret, sinful affaire did not stop when Yoriichi returned. You got pregnant and you knew who the father was. Kokushibo left then, not forgetting about you and the child his brother would have claimed as his. He had taken his little satisfaction over him, he had you and your heart, no matter what.

﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏

Three months. You had no idea of where he was. You knew right from the start it would have been hard, but you did not expect to spend your whole life without him. He did not call you even once a week. Nor texts, neither letters, nothing. Whenever he had to leave, it felt like you had never even married him. He always said it was necessary, claiming he did it because he wanted to keep you safe. At what cost, though? If it was not a bullet through your head, it was his absence killing you instead.

You missed him. You still loved him and, apparently, he did too. It was absurd how he could act as a loving husband around you and then turn into a cold-hearted man you barely recognized, as soon as drove off to the airport.

“Fuck it…” you muttered, downing the third shot of vodka you had poured yourself to forget about the broken heart in your chest. You could not do this anymore, you knew it. Your house was too big for you to live in it alone. You clutched the fabric of one of shirt in your hands, sinking your nose into it in search for any trace of his existence. The creased item still smelled strongly of his favorite perfume.

It was not healthy.

You sobbed, curling yourself up in a ball on the couch and cursed yourself for having fallen in love with him at college. How could you not love him, though? He was the most handsome, brilliant, shy and kind person you had ever met in your life. Your hearts matched. He was the missing piece you had been searching for since you were born. Where was he now, then?

To snap you out of your stream of consciousness was someone knocking on the front door. Could it have been Yoriichi? You scoffed, wiping away your tears with the hem of your sweater as you reminded yourself that he would have never knocked. He had the keys, he always unlocked the door himself.

You still had to wait to see his face again.

You hopped down from the couch, your bare feet touching the cold floor as you sneakily made your way to the kitchen and grabbed a knife, just in case you had to defend yourself. What if Yoriichi was right? What if it was someone who wanted to hurt you, to hurt him? What if they had found you? You heart thrummed in your chest as you approached the front door, your grip on the hilt of the knife tightening.

“Y/N, are you home? It’s me… Kokushibo” the deep, hoarse voice of your husband’s twin pierced your ears.

Michikatsu. It had been two years since you last saw him. Just like your husband, he lived a life of danger, anonymity. Maybe it was even worse than Yoriichi’s one. He had to change his name for it. What did he want from you now, in the middle of the night?

You unlocked the door, dropping your hand still holding the weapon down your side and your droopy, puffy eyes met his maroon ones. There he was, Koksuhibo, the stolid Tsugikuni twin, the opposite of your husband. He stood on the porch, a luggage at his feet and a black raincoat embracing his slender, yet muscular frame perfectly. He held no sympathy in his eyes as he stared back at you. His eyes scanned your face attentively, then travelled down your body and you frowned at the way he averted his eyes from you.

You were about to ask him what was wrong, when the cold winter breeze made you realize how inappropriate your attire was. Your legs were completely exposed to the icy air, to his gaze. The blue, oversized sweater you were wearing only reached the middle of your thighs and your cheeks flushed up as you stepped behind the door and gestured for him to enter.

“Hi” you feebly said, as he picked up his heavy luggage and crossed the threshold.

“Did I wake you up?” he asked, taking a look around the silent, dark living room. It was oddly tidy. It looked almost if no one lived in here. Except for the coffee table in front of the couch. Photographs, empty bottles of liquors and an half-eaten meal laid on it.

You sniffed, closing the door behind you and weakly shook your head “No, I could not sleep – you whispered, eyes downcast not to meet his gaze – What brings you here?” you asked him, walking over to the counter and throwing the knife into the sink.

“I need a place to stay for a while. Don’t worry, you are going to forget I am even here – he stated, taking his black leather gloves off – Where’s he?”.

He. Right, how could you forget the rivalry between them? It was one-sided, yet evident. You had tried to ask your husband about it, but all he said was that Kokushibo had a serious inferiority complex. It was not much of an answer and you were sure there was more about it that Yoriichi did not feel like talking about, or share. Not even with you.

“He’s left three months ago. I haven’t heard from him since then” you quipped, walking past him to slump back into your couch. However, your unexpected visitor had other plans for you.

You felt his hand wrap around your wrist in a iron-grip and you were forced to halt. You could feel his intense gaze boring holes on the back of your head and gulped down, waiting for him to speak again and allow you to slip back into your catatonic loop of saddness, fear and loneliness. A self-destructing coping mechanism, indeed.

“How’re you, Y/N?” he inquired, making your breath hitch into your throat.

“I’m fine”.

“My brother might be blind, but I am not. What the fuck are you doing?” he asked again, swinging you around roughly. You hissed, wriggling your arm in his grip as your eyes met his ones for a split second. He seemed genuinely concerned about you.

How did he notice it in five minutes? How could he see your pain, when your husband did not?

“I’m going on, let me go” you blurted out, opting for keeping the eye-contact with him. Fighting was pointless. He was shamelessly strong and stubborn. There was no way in the world he would have let you go. Not until you had dignified him with a proper answer, at least.

“Drinking and crying yourself to sleep is not the answer. You are hurting yourself” he sternly replied, tugging you closer to him until you almost bumped against his broaded chest.

His cologne, God, his strong cologne pierced your nostrils in the same alluring way your husband’s one did in the past. That was another reminder for you of how distant you two had become: your sex drive had totally died out. He did not touch you, he did not worship your body as he used to when you got married. No.

You missed the physical contact you had with him.

And you cursed yourself for the way you were feeling now, under Kokushibo’s touch. It was immoral, wrong. You were ashamed of yourself. Then again, you were half-drunk, tired, drained. Could you really blame yourself for it?

“Why do you care about it, huh? It’s not your problem! You never gave a damn about me!” you snapped, swallowing the lump in your throat preventing you to properly breathe.

He tensed, his lips reduced to a thin-line at your harsh words “Because it should have been me. You should have married me, not him” he bitterly retorted, darting his hooded eyes down on your writhing frame.

You parted your lips in disbelief, tears welling up in your eyes as you banged the fist of your free hand against his chest in frustration. Why? Why did he have to say that? Why was he playing with you again? What was he talking about? He never showed interest in you.

“How dare you? Shut up, just leave! Were you not supposed to make me forget you are here? Let me be, let me–…” you yelled at his face, but you never finished the sentence.

Before you could vomit your anger on him, your back hit the wall behind you, the air knocked out of your lungs for a second, as his lips connected with yours in a fiery, fervent kiss. Your eyes grew round as his tongue brushed over your lower lip to ask for the permission to enter your mouth. You wanted to deny it, but your body craved it. You craved him, you craved the warmth of a body over yours.

You craved love and he was providing you it.

You returned the kiss with equal passion, your hands cupping his smooth cheeks as you hoisted your leg over his hip to pull him closer. He grunted in your mouth, one of his hands caressing the bare skin of your thigh as he grounded his groin down onto yours. A throaty moan fell from your lips as he repeated the action and his mouth assaulted your neck.

You did not care about the marks he was leaving behind him, on your once flawless skin. They would have faded sooner or later and, surely, your husband would have never known about them. He was not there. He was not coming back for a long time.

“What are we— Argh! What are we doing?” you breathed out, fumbling with the buttons of his raincoat and helping him to take it off.

He discarded it carelessly behind him on the floor, hooking his hands underneath your thighs and picking you up effortlessly. You gasped, wrapping your legs around his waist instinctively as he made his way to your bedroom.

How many times you had walked down that corridor, hoping in vain that your husband would have joined you and showered you in affection between the untouched bedsheets of your bed. You remembered the fire within his eyes, back when you got married, when he made you feel on cloud nine. Where was that fire now? It had died out.

“I’m doing exactly what I had to do ages ago” Kokushibo uttered, between hot kisses as he let you down onto the bed and carefully crawled on top of you. You trembled, your hands reaching up to tear his shirt open. The buttons flew across the room, lost forever under the bed, as your eyes contemplated his chiseled body. He was deadly handsome. You blushed and Kokushibo stroked your cheek, half-lidded eyes soaking in your features barely enlightened by the dim moonlight seeping through the courtains.

You were so beautiful. How could that bastard not see it? How could he let you crumble down like that?

He got rid of his shirt and he grasped your hand, leading it to lay flat onto his chest “You can touch me, Y/N” he murmured, watching you bite down your lower lip softly, probably still trying to ponder if what you were doing was right or wrong. You were cheating on your husband, you were stabbing his back by fucking his brother in your bedroom, on your shared bed.

On the same bed where you had told him you loved him.

“Michikatsu…” you called his name, making the man’s eyes widen even so slightly as you said his real name. No one had done it in years. No one had ever whispered it so sweetly, so lovingly. He knew you were different. You had never insulted him, you had never hurt him.

You were supposed to be his right from the start. He would have treated you better, he would have loved you better.

“Make love to me” you added, staring deep into his shimmering eyes. You wanted it, you trusted him, you were willing to nurture this new spark between you two. Could you forgive yourself for it in the future?

He did not reply, his fingers slipped between the waistband of your panties, dragging them down your legs and exposing your aching cunt to his vicious eyes. You felt embarrassed. No man, except for your husband, had seen you naked in a long time. The idea of displaying your wet folds to Yoriichi’s brother sent shivers down your spine.

He did not waste time in dipping his fingers into you. He groaned at the way they slipped into your core smoothly, effortlessly. You were made for him. Your mouth hanged open, your back arching as he pumped his colloused digits in and out of you at a regular pace. The pleasure engulfing your stomach could not be compared to the small amount you felt when you touched yourself on Yoriichi. It was defferent, on another level. Kokushibo knew perfectly what you needed. You moaned out his name as he added a third finger, curling them into you to stimulate your spongy walls.

“M-More. Michikatsu, please— Give me more” you pleaded him, craning your neck in ecstasy.

His eyes clouded over in lust as he pulled his fingers out of you and suddenly flipped you over on your stomach, hastily unbuckling the belt of his trousers. You heard him unzipping them and before you knew it he had his hands on your hips, roughly pulling them up to assure himself a better access to your pussy. You closed your eyes, a yelp leaving your swollen lips when he smacked your ass and dragged the tip of his shaft along your folds to collect some juices. You could tell he was big, maybe even bigger than Yoriichi and it only meant one thing: it would have hurt, especially after a long period of not welcoming a cock between your walls.

“Be a good girl for me, Y/N. – he cooed, pressing the tip of his length to your entrance – Act like you’re my wife, as you should’ve been right from the start” he added, before slowly pushing past your folds. He grunted at the way your walls squeezed him tightly and he clenched his teeth not to bottom out completly with one thrust.

You writhed beaneath him, whimpers of pain and pleasure mixing together on your tongue as he conquered more inches, until he gave you one last hard thrust and you felt your ass pressing up against his navel.

He stayed still a minute, maybe two, to give you enough time to adjust to his massive size, drawing soothing circles on your back to make you relax. Your cheek was pressed down onto the pillow, your back arched to a painful angle, but it did not matter. It was worthy.

He gave you no warning as he started thrusting into your from behind, the sound of his thighs slapping your ass as he slammed you down into him was vulgar, lewd, shameful. But the unholy mantra you chanted as he filled you up, as he stretched you out until you were loose enough for his girth was heavenly.

“Michikatsu!” you cried out, the pressure coiling into your stomach was unbearable as he picked up the place and his hands left marks onto the soft flesh of your hips.

You could not hold on anymore. Your walls clamped down his cock as you reached your orgasm, milking his cock. Your breath was uneven, your mind fuzzy as he grabbed you by the back of your neck and pulled you up, until his lips brushed against the shell of your ear.

“I’ll fucking cum inside you. I’ll fuck a baby into you, Y/N. You are mine. He has no more rights over you” he rasped, giving you a few sloppy thrusts before he released his seed into you. You did not protest. Your silent consent screamed out his name as you both collapsed onto the bed, out of breath.

It did not stop that night. For two months he fucked you everyday, making sure his seed did not leaked out of your hole. He was loving out of bed, a beast into the sheets. You grew to love the taste of his cum, when you knelt between his legs and bobbed your head up and down his dick. You started to love him, in the same wicked way that he loved you.

Everywhere you looked around the house, you could picture him taking you in any possible position. You straddled him on the couch, he bent you over the counter in the kitchen, he had you held up against the wall in the shower. He had owned you in every way you vould have ever imagined.

After another month of being away, Yoriichi finally came back. Surprisingly, he did not take notice of the way his brother looked at you, or how your skin smelled like him most of the times. He was just happy to be reunited with his wife and how could you deny him the affection you had longed for during his absence. You made love to him, the night he had come back to you. You had done it the day before with Michikatsu and only God knew how much you loved him.

Two weeks later, you found out you were pregnant. The good news was that the period of conception coincided with Yoriichi’s return. Nevertheless, you knew who was the father.

You watched Kokushibo leave a few days after the news. The bond with his brother seemed to have weirdly developed into a stronger one.

“You should visit us more frequently! And, please, I’d appreciate it very much, if you could keep company to my wife, when I’m gone” Yoriichi said, smiling contently at his brother.

If only he knew.

Kokushibo faintly smiled back at him, his eyes locking with yours for a few seconds, before he nodded his head to his brother “I will take good care of her, brother”.

I would do it again, Michikatsu thought then, hopping into his car. Yoriichi’s life was now his.

AUTHOR NOTE.

Hi there! I know I should’ve posted Douma’s one-shot earlier, but somehow I felt inspired and completed this project. Ugh, poor Yoriichi, but … I wanted to write something different for Kokushibo. He deserves to be happy too. No matter the cost!Likes, comments and reposts are appreciated!

#kokushibo x reader #yoriichi x reader #michikatsu x reader #michikatsu tsugikuni #demon slayer smut #kokushibo smut #kokushibo x you #kokushibo x y/n #yoriichi smut #yoriichi x you

2K notes · View notes