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koostattoos · 4 months

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Endless Summer || j.jk

~ Pairing: jock!Jungkook x nerd!reader

~ Genre: academic rivals to lovers , fluff, angst, smut, college au, slowburn

~ Summary: Summer vacation was right around the corner. Being in a program that required you at the beach every day was a big pro. After seeing Jeon Jungkook at the same beach as you everything was ruined. Jungkook was the school’s heartthrob. Girls throwing themselves at him left and right, going to parties every other day, and coming in and out of those parties with different girls. Not to mention he’s the biggest dick you’ve ever met. Avoiding him was in your best interest. His being there threw avoiding him out the window. Summer can’t be that bad. Right?

~ word count: 13.4k

~ Warnings: golden era!jk (yes this is a warning) oral (m & f receiving), doggy, dom!jk, sub!reader, dirty talk, unprotected sex (be smart), aftercare, so much fluff!

~ A/n: God, this is my first time writing ever!! I really hope this finds the right audience and readers please enjoy. i pray this doesn’t come off as a boring story pls pls show some support, it’d be soooo appreciated 🫶🏼🫶🏼! Happy reading!

For the past thirty minutes you sat staring at your suitcase still trying to figure out what the hell to pack for the next months. The program that you joined had asked everyone if they wanted to go on a trip for extra credit to work for the beach down by Busan for junior year. Not that you needed it, you had zero plans made for this summer.

Niki’s out of town visiting her family for the summer and Sohee’s out doing what Sohee does, probably out exploring abandoned places or getting high somewhere. Who knows? You decided to get up and start packing. You walked over to your closet to skim over your outfits and carefully picked out a few outfits for the next few months. After two hours of packing, your phone dings with a notification from Niki

Niki: omg can’t believe it’s summer already! have fun on your little trip down to Busan. If anything happens call or text me right away! Luv ya!

You smile down at your phone. You and Niki have been friends for years, you first met in your freshman year of high school. She taught you everything, from how to do your make-up and style your clothes and all that fun stuff. Funny how you both got into the same college and ended up sharing the same dorm. She’s gone around the campus having different guys in and out. You would say you guys are complete opposites. You would rather stay in and watch a movie or something instead of going out and partying with drunk college students and grinding my body against sweaty skin.

After finishing up the last of your packing you respond.

Me: heyyy, omg I know! The school year went by so fast, say hi to your mom n dad for me and give Nani kisses for me! And of course, you’ll always be the first to know everything! Luv u too! Enjoy your summer ♡

Putting your phone down, you check when you are supposed to leave and meet everyone at the train station. The ticket said 8:00 am. You set your alarm for tomorrow and get ready for bed. Checking your phone for the last time you turn the lights off and drift off to dreamland.

Waking up to your alarm clock blaring in your ear. It’s near 6:00 am, you get up and start getting ready. Walking into the bathroom you bring out your skin care routine. After finishing up and brushing your teeth, you go back to where your vanity is and start with your makeup.

Choosing what to wear was easy, you chose a simple outfit. An oversized black hoodie, black parachute cargos, and white gamma forces. You come out of your room to the living room and take your bag off the counter and get the rest of the bags for the trip. The drive to the train station took longer than expected. Traffic was horrible. The ride was said to be only about 30 minutes, you ended up getting there about an hour later.

After blasting music on the way there you had finally arrived, you see a few of your classmates from previous classes and walk up to say hi. “Yunjin!” You shouted her name, catching her attention.

She waves at you and starts making her way over. “Oh my god hey girl!” She goes in for a hug and starts talking about the next two months. “This is so exciting! I’ve been waiting for this trip for so long, I hope we get free time because I’m too exhausted from all those tests.” She says with low shoulders. Out of nowhere she gasps and turns to you “You’ll never fucking guess who I just saw” You look at her with a curious face “Who?” she leans in closer “Jeon Jungkook”. Your face had gone red. Hearing Jungkook’s name coming out of her mouth left you shocked. Not forgetting the history, you and the boy had.

It all started in junior high in the 7th grade. You had finished your final tests of the year, and the scores were finally out for everyone to see. As you walked up to the board, expecting to read your name first as it always is on top of the board. Standing behind a tall boy with dark raven hair you moved to the side to peek at the score you had got.

Before you could even take a glance at the highest score the boy yells close to your ear. He jumps in the air and says “LETS FUCKING GO” he turns around and notices you, he looks you in the eye before walking away. You go up to the board and look for your name. Right above your name is Jeon Jungkook.

You couldn’t believe your eyes that he out of all people managed to score above you. You glare at him and say “Hey! Did you cheat?! There’s no way you have the highest score after me when you couldn’t even place last year!” He scoffs at you and looks at you with narrowed eyes “I’ve earned that spot being last doesn’t feel good right? Stop being such a conceited bitch and learn how to share the board. Accept you're not the smartest in the school” he snares and walks away. You had felt a surge of anger towards that day and couldn’t stand to be around him for the rest of your life. You promised yourself to avoid any contact with Jeon Jungkook and to make sure he never topped you again.

After staring at him for atleast five minutes you snap out of your thoughts. Looking over at Yunjin you say “What is he doing here? I’ve never seen him attend any of the meetings or give any interest in the program” she looks back at you after looking at him “Yeah, he and Yuno are close friends. I guess he brought it up to him and took it upon himself to ask Jungkook to the trip” she shrugs. You glance over at him again and see him talking to Yuno. You never noticed his pretty features. You hadn't seen him since you bumped into him at the café all those months ago. His hair got longer, he has more piercings, and a lot more tattoos on his right arm. Has he always looked this good?

No, thinking like this is wrong. You needed to remember all the cruel names he called you. You decided to look away after hearing the announcements on the speaker. “Train number 7 now boarding.” is heard. Going to grab your things a hand is placed on top of one of yours. You look up and you're met with those same eyes that looked at you with hate.

“You need help with that?” he smiles at you “No thanks I got it”. You quickly take the bag from his hand and board the train. Luckily, you had moved quickly enough so you could get a shared booth with Yunjin. You place your bags in the overhead compartment and get settled. It would take you about 3 hours to get there. Now settled in your seat you lay back with your head resting on the head rest and blast your music. Just as you became relaxed you felt your hoodie become wet with liquid.

“Oh shit, my bad” he says

You look up at the voice. Of course, it’s him. Jungkook looks up at you and rolls his eyes.

“Nice going dumbass” you say under your breath.

Yunjin grabs tissue from her purse to help and says “God, what the hell is his problem? He really had the audacity to walk away and not even apologies.” she said.

After heading to the washroom and putting on an extra T-shirt you had in your bag you walk back to your seat but not before you look up to see Jungkook, watching as you walk past him, you turn your head forward and sit back into your seat. This is going to be a long ride.

Arriving at the dorms was a hassle. Taking everyone's stuff off the train was a breeze but sorting everybody into two buses was more difficult than it should have been. Surprisingly enough you and Yunjin ended up sharing a bigger dorm with two other girls, Irene and Jini. You and Irene shared the same economics class and Jini had recently signed up for this program.

You walked around the building and noticed a pool and a hot tub placed in the back. The kitchen area was big enough for atleast fifteen people. Walking back to the common area, everyone went their own ways into their rooms and decided to meet up around one for lunch. After opening the door to your home for the next two months, you were met with the most beautiful window view. Looking out to the beach you could see the waves crashing against the shore and people enjoying their time with their families and loved ones.

After taking in the view, you walked over to your bag to pick an outfit out for lunch. You lift up one of the outfits you had picked out while packing. Touching up your makeup and getting your shoes on, you all leave to head down to meet everyone in the common area. As you walked out of your dorm, you were (yet again) met with the sight of Jungkook as you looked at each other. His dorm is right across from yours. Great! You had thought, this summer couldn’t get any worse. He looks at you up and down, smirks and walks away.

You walk down the stairs to see a few people waiting. As you were waiting, you met up with Irene and Jini, Yunjin was still getting ready as were a few other people. Looking around the room you catch Jungkook taking a glimpse of you with his hands in his pockets. He wore a fitted T-shirt with his arm full of tattoos on display along with cargo pants. You make eye contact with him for several seconds before looking away to find Yunjin.

Finally, everyone in count went into separate cars and explored what the city had in store for them. Busan was a big city; there was so much to do. An option you had was to look around for places you could eat at while you spent your time there. You decided to walk around and look at the stores. A small old lady had her hand out waving you over to her stand. “I have a beautiful bracelet that has your name written all over it,” she said.

“It’s really pretty but I'm not looking to buy anything right now” you kindly declined her offer

“Please have it for free, it compliments you so well” she raises her hand with the bracelet

It was decorated in white shells and blue starfish charms. You took the bracelet from her hand, and you thanked her. Finished figuring out where to settle you chose a restaurant that wasn’t far from where the car was parked.

Finding a table wasn’t difficult. The place wasn’t packed besides a few of the other students that chose the same spot were empty. The empty space was filled with the noise of the bell at the top of the door, you look up to see where the noise had come from and that’s when you see Jungkook. He stood there with Yuno and the rest of his other friends. He goes to sit at a table near yours.

You made eye contact, and he scoffed. You roll your eyes at him, and he speaks up

“Are you following me or something? You seem to be everywhere I am.”

You glare at him “Are you sure it's not the opposite? Every time I look up you happen to be where I am every single time”

He looks at you like you're mental “I think someone’s a little stalker we chose this place before you guys walked in” he sneered at you.

You look up to him and cross your arms, “I think the one obsessed is you, every damn time I look up there you are literally staring into my soul, what the fuck is your problem.”

“No problem here like you said I just happen to be here when you are” he shrugs

“Asshole” you mumble

Walking back to your table you feel his stare burning into the back of your head.

When you excuse yourself to the bathroom you couldn’t help but look up at Jungkook. He was laughing with his friends with his hands on his lap; manspreading. “God, damn it does he have to be so fine” You mumble under your breath

After freshening up you walk back to the table, and you see a girl next to him. She’s touching on his tattooed arm and giggling at what he said. You felt this weird sensation in your stomach. Was it jealousy? No way, but he can’t possibly be that funny she’s holding her stomach.

Walking back to the girls and sitting back down. Irene notices something off about your mood.

“Hey, are you okay?” Irene placed a hand on your back.

“You look a little red” You take your phone out to check your face. You needed to calm down.

“Oh, it’s just getting a little hot in here is all.” She gives you a soft smile and nods her head

After lunch was over, you decided to take a walk around the city to look around and find something to do to pass the time. Jini had found a photo booth near one of the stands selling handmade pictures “Guys!” she exclaimed “Let’s take some pictures!” Ten poses later, Yunjin found a bakery and got something to snack on while you looked around. After waiting for Yunjin and Jini you all decided to hang out and look at the scenery.

Walking back to the dorms it was sunset hour. The walk back to the dorms was breathtaking. The sun was setting low over the horizon, and the sounds of the waves crashing were soothing. When you got back to the dorms everyone filed to their rooms to relax and figure out the plan for what to do for dinner. You ended up texting Niki and telling her about today.

Me: Omg Niki, today was our first day of the beach program. We went out and explored Busan. It’s so beautiful over here I wish you could see for yourself.

Me: But you’ll never guess who I’m spending the next two months with

I wait for her to respond. It only takes a couple seconds until I see the three grey dots pop up on my screen.

Niki: Aww I miss you so much we should take a girl's trip soon! But pleaseeee tell me it’s not who I think it is

Me: Jeon Jungkook

Niki: NO YOURE LYING

You chuckle at her response

Me: I’m being serious

Niki: I thought he was stupid and didn’t show up to the meetings how did he know about this trip?

Me: Supposedly he’s friends with Yuno’s group and Yuno told him about the trip.

Waiting another few seconds until the three dots appear again.

Niki: Of course, he’s friends with them they all fuck around especially Jungkook

Me: You’re right, I should’ve known they were friends. Anyways I gotta get ready for dinner soon, I’ll update you if anything else happens.

This time she takes a few minutes

Niki: Alrighty! Enjoy your dinner and you BETTER tell me everything! I love you and stay safe!

You smile at her last text. Putting your phone down you start to get ready for tonight. The mentor wanted everyone to have dinner together so they could discuss the plans for tomorrow. Deciding to take a shower to wash off the sweat from today’s adventures and redo your makeup in a different style. You curled your hair and chose different shoes, deciding to go with low pumps to make walking around easier. The dress you had picked out was a simple little summer dress with small flowers decorated all over.

Walking downstairs you see Jungkook with Eunwoo talking. He’s cladded with a black blazer with a white shirt underneath paired with black dress pants and white shoes. In all honesty he looked handsome tonight. His hair is slicked back and he's wearing a chain around his neck with rings on his fingers.

As you make your way down the stairs, he looks up from Eunwoo to you. He looks back down and finishes his conversation with a smile.

“He looks like he’s about to eat you alive. I don’t blame him; you look so good” Yunjin says

You smile at her and compliment her back “Oh my God, are you kidding? You took my breath away the second you walked out of the room; I love your makeup” you say giggling. The mentor comes up and introduces himself when everyone seems to be present.

“Hello everyone, my name is Mr. Kwan I will be in charge of everything that goes on around here and I will be announcing our activities for the next month or so.”

You look around and your eyes land on Jungkook. He’s standing next to Yuno now with his arms crossed. He must have felt your stare because he turned his head towards you and then to the floor. You can make out a faint smirk on his lip. You look away with a confused expression and take your phone out to check if you have something on your face. Not seeing anything you shake it off and turn your attention to Mr. Kwan

“Tomorrow is when we start your tasks. I will assign each of you to a job and that’s the task you must do for that week, every other week each group will switch tasks. You will get to have a day off as a break. Do I make myself clear?” Mr. Kwan says.

There's a mix of yeses and head shakes. He takes out a clip board and tells us what to do next. “Okay, I have two boards with the list of names, please take turns finding your name on either one of these” He places them down on a table and asks, “Any questions?” One of the many students, Vernon, raised his hand and asked, “Can we go out after hours?”

“No, everyone should be in their rooms with lights off, no sneaking out or bringing outside guest” As you walk over to the beach cleanup board and find your name nowhere to be seen. Finally walking to lifeguard duty, there your name was. But right under it say. Jeon Jungkook.

This means you’d have to spend the next two months in the presence of Jungkook. Shaking your head, you turn around back to Yunjin to figure out what she had gotten. But instead, you're met with a firm chest. Looking up to meet the face of the person you see him; he has his hands on your elbows to stabilize me.

“Watch where you’re going.” he says with furrowed brows.

He lets go of you and walks over to the clip boards. You hear him chuckle.

“What’s so funny?” You asked him.

He turns around to face me and says, “I have to spend my days at the beach with you? For two months? I’m going to die if I even spend another minute with you.” he shakes his head pinching the bridge of his nose.

“Yeah, well I’m not so fond of you either Jeon. So, stop bitching about it, I’m not excited about it either” with that I roll my eyes and walk away.

At the restaurant everyone picked their own tables. You see Jungkook a few more tables down from where you’re sat, thank God. You took your seat next to Yunjin and talked about the events for the upcoming week.

“What did you get for this week?” I asked her.

“I have clean up duty. I heard the weather’s supposed to be nice so I’m not too worried” You clear your throat and sit up in your seat. “I have lifeguard duty and guess who I’m with.” You look over to Jungkook and he has a grin on his face with his arms crossed and his head tilted down.

“Oh no.” she says placing a hand on your arm

“I have to spend the next two months with him every single day. I don’t know how I’ll survive” you say rubbing your head.

Nearing the end of the dinner everyone gets up to leave and go back to the dorms. The restaurant was only a few minutes away, so some decided to walk. Those ‘some’ being you and your group, Jungkook and his, and a couple of other students. As you’re walking, you see Jungkook walking aside Yuno.

He has his hands in his pocket and he’s looking out at the beach. It looked beautiful tonight, the moon lit up the sand and the stars were beaming. Not looking at where you were stepping, you had tripped over your feet and waited to hit the floor. But you never made contact.

Instead, you feel a strong set of arms around your waist, and when you open your eyes; you see Jungkook looking down at you. You stayed still for a few seconds before he lifted you back up. His hold tight around you tight

“Be careful, idiot” he said before letting go

I stared at him. You had question why he didn’t just stand there and let you fall. He turned around to catch up with his friends and continued to walk back to the dorms like nothing happened

Back at the dorms everyone goes to their respected rooms and gets ready for bed. As Irene went to turn off the light, she heard a knock on the door. You get up from the bed and check to see who it is. When you open the door and you��re met with Jungkook and Yuno. Yuno speaks up and says, “Were going out, if you wanna join us you can.” Irene and Jini walk up to me

“Who’s at the door” Irene and Yuno meet eyes. He smiles at her.

“Um, were just gonna go out and hang, I was just saying that guys can come and join us if you want.”

“Uh yeah sure” she says.

“Alright, cool meet you guys down there in a few” You go to look up at him, but Jungkook had already had his eyes on you looking you up and down smiling. That’s when you realized you’re in a Hello Kitty pajama set. Looking down you quickly push past Irene and Jini.

Yunjin was fast asleep already, quietly making your way to the bathroom to get the stuff you need and change out of your clothes. You end up wearing a plain gray T-shirt with black baggy sweats

Finally done putting makeup on, only putting on some light foundation and lip gloss, you put on some white sneakers and start to head out with the girls. Closing the door softly, you walk out and see Jungkook with his arms crossed and back against the wall next to his door. He looks up and says, “Where are your Hello Kitty pajamas?” he chuckles. you stopped to glare at him and walk away. Before you could reach the first step, you felt his grip on my arm.

“Aren’t you scared were gonna get caught little miss goody two shoes” he raised his eyebrows.

“Go away, I’m only going out because YOUR friend invited us, and all my other friends are going out with you guys. I don’t want to be stuck in the dorm not doing anything.”

“And don’t judge my Hello Kitty pj’s I saw the big ass plush sitting on your bed when I went to go downstairs earlier”

He stops for a minute as he watches you ascend down the stairs. Hearing his loud footsteps following close behind you. Reaching the bottom of the stairs you see your friends waiting for you.

“What took you so long?” Jini asked

“Ask him” you point at Jungkook

“So where are we going?” you asked

“There’s a bonfire my friend is hosting. There’s gonna be so much we can do, I can’t stay in that tiny ass dorm all day” Yuno exclaimed. As you’re walking to the beach you feel someone walking next to you. Jungkook looks straight ahead as you make your way down to the bonfire. His hair is still damp from the shower he took, he’s wearing a gray crewneck with black shorts. His hands in his pocket he speaks up “Why are you on this trip?”

“I could be asking you the same thing. I haven’t seen you at a single meeting yet now all of a sudden, you’re interested?”

“Oh? So you pay attention to me now?” he looks down smiling

“No, it’s just that you never cared or even bothered listening to what anyone said about this program so now do you feel the need to participate in it?”

He looks everywhere but you.

“I don’t know, I heard someone was going to be here and decided fuck it and signed up.” he shrugs with his hands behind his back. You look up at him with a curious look on your face. As you were about to speak up you hear Yuno’s voice

“Yo, JK we could use a little help over here”

Jungkook looks back at you and says “Gotta go, don’t go tripping when I’m not here to catch you” he winks at you

He runs down to help the guys and you’re left confused.

Everyone was surrounded by the fire, drinking, and having a good time. Jungkook is across from where you’re sitting and he’s laughing about something his friend said. He looks up and meets your eyes and you quickly turn your head to look away. From the corner of your eye, Jungkook stands up to walk to the cooler next to him. He picks up a cool beer and makes his way over to you. He hands you the beer and sits next to you.

“How do you like it so far?” he asked

“Why are you being nice to me? You acted like you hated me the whole day” your eyebrows furrowed

“What are you talking about?”

“You know what it’s getting late, and I don’t have time to deal with you right now”

He stands up as the same time as you and grabs your arm “Wait”, you stop and look at him

“At least let me walk you back to the dorms”

Hesitantly agreeing, he lets go of your arm and you both make your way back to the rooms.

It’s the first day of your tasks. Everybody separates into different cars. The beach you’re working at is only a 30-minute drive. All the seats are taken except for the one next to the person you prayed you wouldn’t have to see until you got to the beach. Jungkook looked at you and looked down on his lap. You finally went to sit down next to him. You put your earphones in and blast your music so you wouldn’t have to hear him talk.

You wake up with your head heavy against something. When you open your eyes and feel Jungkook’s head on top of yours and your cheek against his shoulder. Immediately you raise your head –waking him up in the process- and hop out of the car.

Taking in a deep breath you walk over to the ledge of the hill the cars parked at and look over the edge. You close your eyes for a moment to take in the salty air of the sea. The wind is blowing your hair out of your face. Little did you know Jungkook was staring at you; admiring the way you looked so relaxed. After a few more seconds you turn your head and walk over to the car to grab your stuff

You already had your swimsuit on under an oversized T-shirt and some shorts. It was an open back black one piece you had bought the day prior to coming on the trip. You carry your bag down the sand but feel it lift off your shoulder. You look up and see Jungkook carry it all the way down to your stations.

“Okay everyone, listen up” Mr. Kwan yelled

“I have assigned everyone a partner to work with for the next week, please come up to me and tell me your name”

As you walk up to Mr. Kim you tell him your name and he tells you who he paired you with. Surprise again you’re with Jungkook. He calls him over and tells him what he told you. Jungkook looks down at you and you look up at him. He smirks and walks back to where he set your things. Following behind him you unpack your things.

You grab your sunscreen, squeeze a dollop into your hand, and you rub it all over your body; starting on your front. Jungkook stands next to you as he takes his shirt off, showing off his body. You stare up at him and admire him for just a second. He looks down and catches your eyes

“Are you staring at me?” he chuckled

Looking away quickly you say “No, I wasn’t”

“Sure, whatever you say, you need help with that?” he says as he points to you struggling to get your back.

“Yes, please” going to hand him the bottle he squeezed some on to his hand and moves your hair to the side. He glides his hand across the span of your back. He starts at your shoulders and works his way down to the middle of your back. His hands moving slowly, getting closer to your lower back.

You clear your throat, and his hands are to himself now. You lay your hair in it’s original spot and you stand to look at the beach full of people. It was only 9:00 in the morning yet the beach was packed. Walking over to your stand you climb the steps and take a seat. Jungkook walks over next to the stand, and he has a floaty in his hand. A couple of minutes pass by in silence before he speaks up.

“When do you want to switch spots?”

“When we see someone drowning”

He sighs and sits down.

After nearly an hour later a group of girls walk up to him, and they giggle as loud as they can staring at him. He looks up at the noise and stares at them. “Excuse me?” one of the girls says “Yes?” she extends her arm out “Do you mind taking a picture of us?” Jungkook grabs her phone and angles it. “One, two, three” he takes the picture. The girl reaches for her phone and pauses to look at him.

“Hey, are you free tonight?” she asked him

Watching the interaction between the two you roll your eyes. What you don’t notice is that Jungkook looks up at you and back down to the girl

“Uhm, no actually, I do have plans for tonight sorry.” He rejects her offers and hands her phone back to her.

She has a disappointed look on her face and a sad smile plastered on her face. “It’s okay, I hope you have a good rest of your day”. With that she walks away.

Now at the end of the day and the sun getting lower, you and Jungkook switched spots through half of it. Taking turns every so often. He would try to make small talk, but you always managed to find a way around it. He looks up at you and calls your name

“You wanna jump into the water real quick” he says as he watches you make your down from the booth.

“No thanks, I wasn’t planning on getting wet unless I needed to.”

“Oh c’mon just real fast. The weather is nice around this time” he begged

“Jungkook I sai-”

Before you can finish your sentence, your body is being carried over his shoulders. You throw soft punches at his back and yell at him.

“Jungkook put me down! I’m not playing with you right now!” you screamed in his ear.

He ignores you and laughs loudly. His feet meet the water, once he's deep enough into the ocean he plunges you till you're soaked.

Emerging from the water you pull your hands back over your hair. Jungkook stops and stares at you. Admiring your beauty, when you catch him staring, he doesn’t look away this time. This time he stares into your eyes. It’s that has to look away.

“What?” you said

“Nothing” he clears his throat and looks down at the water

“We should probably head back to the car. The sun is starting to set”

You nod quietly and make your way to the shore. After one last glance at Jungkook, you walk over your things.

The walk back to the car was silent. He offered to carry your bags for you. You had rejected his offers repeatedly, but he insisted on carrying them up the steep hill back up. The way back was anything but smooth. The road was bumpy which ended with you and Jungkook bumping arms after every bump, it was summer which meant humid air. Your skin is slick with sweat. Wishing you were back to the dorms so you could soak in the hot tub.

When everyone got back to the hotel Mr. Kwan let everyone roam freely. You decided to head upstairs to your room to relax before going to the backyard spot of the building. When you open the room, you’re met with Yunjin and Irene.

“God, the sun has me so exhausted I could crash right now.” you said as you lay on your bed, body spread into a star fish.

“I know, who knew the beach would be full of that much trash” Yunjin complained

“Atleast we get to switch off, so we feel as equally as drained” you told her

“Yeah, lifeguarding was so easy. All we did was sat there in the sun and waited for someone who needed help in the water” Irene added

“Well lucky you guys, I literally took laps around the whole beach and still managed to find a piece of trash in the place I was already in.” Yunjin rolled her eyes playfully

“Well if you guys aren’t tired, you wanna join me in the backyard area?”

“No, you guys go ahead. I think I’m just gonna crash after I clean myself up. My body’s gonna be so sore tomorrow” she complained

“Yeah, I was planning on walking into the city and look for more things we can do while were here” Irene said

Looks like it was just you tonight.

When you woke up from your nap you looked at the clock and it read 8:00 pm. It was much later than you anticipated it to be. You get up from your bed and walk over to the bathroom. Turning on the sink you splash some water onto your face to wake yourself up a little more. You walk over to your drawer and pick out one of the bikinis you have packed.

It was a simple black two piece with bows on both sides of the hip. Covering your body up with only a T-shirt you make your way downstairs with a towel in hand and slippers on your feet. You open the gate and walk past the pool area to get to the hot tub. Before you left you grabbed a small speaker you planned on bringing and placed it next to the table near you. Playing calm music, you sink down into the water and relax your muscles.

It’s not a few minutes later you hear the gate crack open. You open your eyes and your met with the sight of Jungkook. He hadn’t put a shirt on before coming down there. His abs were out for display, his tattoos pretty as ever in the moonlight. His biceps are so visible that you almost faint. He looks to see where the music was coming from and catches sight of you in your bikini. Shirt thrown over the table with the speaker close to you. He walks over to you.

“Hi” he says lowly he stands behind you and his arms are leaning against the edge of the hot tub. His face hovering over yours. Your breath hitches as you realize how close he is.

“Hi’ you say quietly.

He moves so he can climb into the pool with you. Jungkook sits on the opposite side of you and relaxes in the water as you did. After a beat of silence, he speaks up

“I haven’t properly talked to you since” he pauses

“Ever actually”

You scoff and turn your head to the side in disbelief

“Yeah, I wonder why”

“Do you really hate me that much? All of that happened years ago, why can’t you just let it go?”

“Jungkook you called me names and you made me miserable. Not having those top grades; I would be punished so harshly because I wasn’t smart enough for my parents. I still hate you to this day because you never realized how much hurt you put me through?! There were so many times I've overheard you talk so lowly about me. Jungkook we didn't even know each other!"

"So, to answer your question, yes, I do hate you. Stop trying to talk to me out of the blue and act like we're friends because we're not. Leave me alone" Before you can get up to leave you feel his grasp tight around your wrist.

"Hey, look, I'm sorry. Okay? I'm sorry I did all of that. But cut me some slack, I was failing and I finally got my shit together until you came in with your perfect grades and knocked me down. But like I just said this is all in the past. Can you please forget it?" he pleads

You pause for a moment, were you overreacting? Possibly. But you will never forget the cruel words he spoke about you. One last look over at him and you retreat back to your dorm.

It’s been a week since your last encounter with Jungkook. He hasn’t made any moves to try and talk to you. Your group was now doing trash pick-up around the beach. It was supposed to be hotter than the week before now that it’s getting later into the summer.

As you were walking around the beach to do your task you had a slight feeling of dizziness, but you decided to ignore it. You brushed it off as a headache due to skipping lunch and only having water. It was then that you realized that wasn’t the case because before you could lean back up from picking up a piece of trash you stumble back. Jungkook notices this and quickly runs over to you.

He stood behind you support you with his arm wrapped around your neck.

“Are you okay? You look pale, do you need water? Or I brought a few snacks in my bag before we left, do you want me to grab one for you?” he said quickly laying you down on the sand.

“Water is fine, thank you”

He walks over to his bag to give you his water bottle he drank from earlier. You quickly took a few gulps and retracted it from your lips. Jungkook looks down at you with a worried look.

“Look, I’m fine just give me a few minutes and I’ll be up good as new.”

“No, just stay here there isn’t that much left to be picked up. Stay in the shade until I come back. I won’t be too long” He walks away to finish your tasks with gloves over his hands also with a bag, and a trash scoop.

It’s minutes later that he’s back kneeling in front of you check how you were feeling.

“You don’t look so pale anymore. We should be done for today; the sun is already starting to set, and we should be heading back now.” he says as he looks at you.

He turns his back still in a kneeling position and you look at him confused.

“What are you doing?”

“Get on my back. You’re too tired to walk up the hill, I don’t want you passing out.”

“I’m not gonna pass out Jungkook. Stop being so dramatic” you say in an annoyed voice.

“Just get on my back” he demands.

You sigh and hop on his back like he asked. He had his bag swung around to the front of his body. He stands up and carries you like you weigh nothing. After reaching the top of the hill he sets you down and you thank him quietly. You both walk back to the car where everyone else is and drive back to the dorms.

As you and Jini were done putting on your face masks you hear and sudden knock on the door. When you open the door, you’re face to face with Jungkook. He looks up to see your bare face. It takes him a minute to get his words out

“My friends and I were gonna head out to get some drinks if you wanna join us”

You look at him with astonishment. Thinking back to your conversation from a week ago. Before you could decide against it Jini walks up to the door.

“Hey, Jungkook. Why are you over here so late? Shouldn’t you be in your dorm?” she asked

“Uh, yeah, I am but I was just asking if you guys wanted to come out with us tonight. Were just going out for drinks at this club I found not too far from here.”

“Oh sure! We’d love to go!” she says as she looks at you

You sigh and smile at her.

“Okay great come down whenever you're ready and meet us in the common area.” he says before walking away back into his room.

After you close the door, you walk over to the other girls and ask them if they wanted to go out with you.

“Oh yeah! Sure, we haven’t been out drinking in a while. And it’s nice to get out and away from the program and the dorms for a little bit.” Irene replied

“Yesss, I need to get out. I’ve been couped up in this building for far too long.”

Now with everyone’s agreement you all get dressed pretty for your night out. Grabbing a dress, you took out a SKIMS black dress that fitted you perfectly. You threw a cropped leather jacket with it and black heels. Your neck was decorated with a small chain, and you put your hoops on. The makeup look you went for was light. It consisted of eyeliner, mascara, and natural colored lipstick.

Once everyone was dressed you all headed downstairs to meet up with the guys. As you landed on the last step you look up at everyone. More specifically Jungkook. He had on a black jacket with black cargo pants. He also had chucky sneakers to go along with it. His ears were clad with multiple earrings, and you look down to his lip and see his lip piercing. He looked extremely good for tonight. He makes his way over to you.

“Are you guys ready?” he asked everyone, but his eyes stayed on you.

Yuno had ordered an Uber to drive to the club everyone jumped into the car and that left you sitting next to Yunjin. Jungkook was sitting by the window with Jini in between him and Eunwoo. Yuno and Irene had to order a seperate car because they wouldn’t fit into the car you were all in.

At the club there seemed to be a long line. Eunwoo knew a quicker way in and you followed behind him. You entered from the back way, where no one else could see you.

“Why don’t you guys go find a seat. We’ll get the drinks for you” Jungkook yelled over the music so you could hear better.

“Okay” you yelled back as you looked around for a big table.

The room was filled with strobing lights and heavy-based music. The dance floor was full of sweaty bodies. The air around you was humid "I feel so suffocated in here" you said aloud

" You wanna go outside for a minute" Jungkook came up beside you and placed a hand on your back.

"No, it's fine I'll get used to it" you smile at him.

The boys came back with your drinks and set them down in front of you. They had bought multiple shots and took them one by one.

Once you all had a decent amount of alcohol in your system you moved to the dance floor. Irene led everyone as they all followed behind. Jungkook was closest to you. He tried his hardest to keep his hands to himself, but you were making it difficult.

Your hips move to the beat of the song. He watched as you dance like you didn’t give a damn about anything. He smiled as he watched you in your own world. Jungkook starts to dance along with you, and you turn around and move with him. His hands now on your waist as you put your hands around his neck. His hands moved down to clasp around your lower back. He leans his head forward so it’s now resting against yours. You look up into his eyes and then down to his lips. You lean in closer, and then you're interrupted.

“You mind if I cut in?” a random man from the crowd asks

You now feel uncomfortable as you let go of him. He walks in front of you and stands protectively with one hand on your arm. Jungkook looks at the guy and his jaw clenches.

“Look man were just trying to relax and have fun. Leave us alone” he defends. You look down and see his hands clutched into a fist.

“I came out to have some fun too.” You turn your head towards the man

“And it looks like she’s getting a little bored” he laughs

“She’s fine, look if you don’t get the fuck out of here there gonna be a fucking problem” Jungkook yells.

The man starts to walk closer and extends his hands up to you. You clutch the back of Jungkook’s jacket tightly. He moves forward and swings at the man.

“What did I tell you. Get the hell out before I knock the shit out of you.” he yelled.

“Jungkook stop, let’s go” you grab his arm and try to pull him away.

Before you can move him away the man stands back up and tries to hit him before he can dodge it. He moves a little too slow and gets punched. He looks down to his hand and sees red cover his fingertips. Jungkook goes in for another swing and knocks him to the floor.

“Jungkook!! Stop it, just leave it alone so we can go” He looks up at you and turns away. You walk back to the table to collect your things so you can leave the club. You reminded yourself to text the others to let them know that you left. Jungkook sits on the curb, and you kneel in front of him. You pull out a tissue from your purse and put it up to his nose. After a beat of silence, you were the first to speak up.

“You know, I think I hate you a little less now” you say with a smile

He looks up at you and chuckles

“Thank you, for doing that. I don’t know what I would’ve done. And I’m sorry you got hit”

“Don’t mention it. As long as you’re okay, then I’m good” he says.

You smile to the floor and decide to order an uber so you could go back to the dorms

As you’re about to walk into your door you turn around and stop Jungkook before he could enter his room

“Jungkook, thank you again. I had fun tonight, minus the fight” you giggle

“I’m glad you did, goodnight” he smiles

“Goodnight Jungkook”

You’re back on lifeguard duty this week. It’s a bunch more calm than the first week of lifeguarding. Instead of sitting and switching spots for hours and not doing anything, you were able to roam around. As you were sitting on the chair you spoke up

“Hey, are you thirsty? I was gonna walk over to that hut to get something to drink” you point into the diretion of the stall.

“Nah, I’m good, thank you.”

Standing to walk away, Jungkook can’t stop thinking about that night as he watches you make your way. He couldn’t stop thinking about the way you had your arms around. And how you trusted him to protect you. How close your lips were before that guy interrupted. He shakes his head from his thoughts and thinks about something else.

When you walk up to the stall you order a lemonade. You pay the man and wait for your drink. Looking around to see if anybody else was around, you see a guy. He’s about your age and much taller than you. He notices you looking at him and you turn your head back to the bar. From the corner of your eye you see him make his way towards you.

“Hey” he said as he tries to catch your attention. You turn your head towards him and greet him back.

“Hi” you smile at him

“Are you around here? I’ve never seen you before”

“Ah no, I’m not, I’m here for a program I volunteered for. I’m a lifeguard.” you told him

“Oh really? That seems like fun, I’m Kai by the way”

You tell him your name “It may seem like fun, but really all I do is sit and watch the people enjoy their time as I bake in the sun.”

He laughs at that. He clears his throat and speaks again

“Um, my friends and I are playing volleyball further down the beach. If you want to you can join us?”

Before you could answer Jungkook comes behind you and puts a hand around your waist. You look down to his hand up to him. He’s wearing his sunglasses over his head.

“Actually we have to get back to our dorm after our shift. We’re a bit busy at the moment.” he says with a smile on his face.

Kai looks at him with a surprised expression on his face. He looks down to you, you aswell have a look of confusion plastered across your face. Kai looks down and chuckles.

“Alright, sorry for asking.” with that he walks away his ego a little bruised.

“What the hell are you doing?” you look up at Jungkook.

“I was getting thirsty. And you were taking forever so I wanted to check on you.” he shrugs.

“You didn’t need to check up on me. I was fine” you roll your eyes at him

“Plus he was cute. I was so close to getting his number”

After hearing you say that Jungkook’s jaw clenches. He absolutely hates that he feels this way right now. Deciding to brush it off you both make your way back to your spot. Getting closer to the end of your shift. You start to pack your things as the beach dies down.

Back at the dorms Mr. Kwan decided to gather everyone for dinner to celebrate your hard work for the past month. Once you and Jungkook make it back he helps you take your things out of the car and follows you up to your room.

When you turn your back to him he waits for you to unlock the door; “Thank you” you say to him. He hands you your bags and stops for a minute. The air is stuffy around you. You wait for him to speak up and say something. But his lips never move.

Before you know it, his face is leaned over yours, and your lips are over his.

The kiss is soft. Your heart is beating out of your chest, and you need to stop to catch your breath. Parting from his lips you look up into his eyes, noses touching; he takes a deep breath before walking away to his room, leaving you dazed and speechless; not knowing what to do you stand there and try to comprehend what had just happened.

Yunjin is on the other side of the door when you walk in. She looks up at you. “What happened?” she asked. You unintentionally ignore her and walk to the bathroom. Your face is burning with rosy cheeks. You replay the kiss in your head. It was completely out of the blue and caught you off guard. How were you supposed to act normal the next time you saw him. The dinner was in less than 3 hours. With all the extra time you decide to get ready and drift your mind elsewhere.

After everyone had finished getting ready. When you and Irene make it down the stairs Irene heads straight to Yuno. The night of the club you never heard her come back to the dorm. You suspected she had spent the night with him. She had her arms around his waist looking at him with hearts in her eyes.

Now by yourself you look around for any of your friends. You see Jungkook; he looks at you, but he doesn’t do anything. He meets you eye and looks away to his friend. The feeling you felt in your chest was confusion, anger, and a little hurt. How could he kiss you like that and act like it didn’t happened? Turning your body to find Yunjin; she walks down the stairs and her face lights up when she spots you.

“Okay, are you ever gonna tell me what the hell happened before you walked through our door or what. Your face was so red.” she asked curiously

“I’ll tell you later, I don’t want to think about it right now”

She looks at you with a worried look and shakes her head. Everyone gets into a car and the driver drives to the restaurant.

Once all the students were seated, Mr. Kwan raises his glass and clinks it with the back of a butter knife. “I would like to praise you all for working so hard for this past month” he says enthusiastically. He raises his voice an octave higher “With all your hard work I would like to give you the last 3 weeks of this month free, please relax, enjoy yourseleves, and have fun. You all earned it” he announces. A bunch of chattering is heard all around. “Now, please enjoy your dinners”

From across the room you see Jungkook laughing and chatting with his friends. Looking at him made you feel this sense of anger. Why are you mad at him when you hate his guts? Why are you did you feel that way when he had his soft lips over yours? Why were you feeling those emotions when you saw that girl flirt with him down at the beach? Why are you feeling all these things about him now?

Why

Why?

All of these questions spiraling through your head like a mantra. Not taking the overthinking you walk out the resturaunt to get some fresh air. When you walk past his table he sees you walk to the exit. Jungkook excuse himself from his friends; he stands and walks into the direction you took.

He looks through the glass door and sees you pacing with your hands on your hip and a hand in your hair. You turn to the sound of the door opening. Jungkook stood there and walked closer to you. But, you take a step back.

“What was that” you ask him.

“What was what?” he has a confused look on his face

“Why are you playing dumb?! You’re just gonna act like you never kissed me and... and I wouldn’t do anything about it?” you exclaimed at him. Your emotions were all over the place. You had no idea how to handle them

He says your name quietly “It was just a stupid kiss, no big deal”

Suddenly, you felt a burning sensation in the back of your eyes. You didn’t know for sure how you felt. But you were sure there was something there.

“Okay” quietly

“I was just being stupid and thought something different but I guess I was wrong” you nod your head and make your way back into the resturaunt.

The tears dropping down onto your cheek made you feel pathetic. Pathetic for making you think that Jeon Jungkook had changed over the years. For thinking that Jeon Jungkook had real feelings for you. Before you walk back to the table you check yourself one last time to make sure your eyes weren’t puffy and your nose wasn’t red. Right now you weren’t in the mood for questions.

Sitting back down at your table and you see Jungkook come back from where you left him. He has his head down with a look of sadness on his face. He sits down next to his friends; less content than how he was before you left to go outside.

On the way back to the dorm Yunjin notices that your mood has dropped significantly since you came back into the resturaunt. When you finally settle into your dorm she asks you again, “Okay, for real this time, what the hell is up with you. You’ve been acting so different lately”

And that’s when you explain everything to her. From the kiss and to your conflicted feelings. In all honesty you don’t even know where you stand with Jungkook anymore. You’re between hating him and possibly having the fatest crush on him.

It’s then when it’s later into to the night you decide to call Niki. You missed talking to your best friend. It’d been a while since you last spoke to her.

After three rings she picks up the phone

“Hey babe! How’s the trip been so far? I haven’t spoke to you in so long is everything okay?” she speaks in a soft voice. That’s what you loved about her. She was there for you anytime of the day. You would be okay even if you hadn’t spoke to each other for days at a time. That's the type of friendship you had with her.

“Ugh Niki, I miss you so much. So much has happened and I need to tell you.”

“Oh no, what happened? Did something bad happen?! Did you get hurt?!” she says panicked.

“No no, I’m okay but something did happen.” you reassure her.

“Okay please tell me, you’re scaring me”

“Jungkook kissed me” the line is silent for a moment before it’s not.

“HE WHAT?” she yells into your ear

You have to pull the phone away because of how loud she was.

“He kissed me after one of shifts today. I confronted him about and I feel so stupid for thinking that he liked me because right after I asked him about it he said ‘it wasn’t a big deal’.” you tell her in a sullen tone.

“God is he dumb? Why would you kiss someone randomly and admit that it was nothing?” she sounded irritated.

“Exactly my thoughts. I’m so confused Niki one moment I don’t care about him and the next some girl is giggling next to him touching his arm and I feel so annoyed”

She sighs and calls your name calmly “I may be wrong but it sounds like you have feelings for him”

You pause and register what she just said. You? Had feelings for Jeon Jungkook? Everything is starting to come together in your head. You finally speak up

“Yeah, I think I do”

It’s been about a week since the dinner. You hadn’t seen Jungkook. The only few times you’d seen him was when you went downstairs to eat breakfast or when he left his room to go elsewhere. But tonight was different. With the free time you were given you spent it at the beach. You hadn’t gone swimming in the ocean for quite some time so you decided to put on a bikini, threw on some clothes you had laying in your drawer, and grabbed a towel from one of the cabinets in the hall.

You made your way down to the beach by yourself and brought your mini speaker with you. The playlist you had put on was a slow playlist. You watched the sun set while the song My Love is All Mine by Mitski played in the background. While the sun was still out you decided to take off your clothes and go into the water

From afar Jungkook spots you standing near the water; the waves are calm; he admires you from where he’s standing. You, completely unaware of his presence you dip your body into the water until it touches your waist. Your hair flowing in the soft wind. Behind you, you hear the water moving. When you turn your body to the sound; there he is. He’s standing with his shirt off arms out to see and his abs for show.

Completely in awe you snap out of it and turn back around.

“What do you want” you ask quietly.

“What? It’s a public beach. It’s not like you reserved this spot” he retorts back

“No, Jungkook. What do you want.” You hear him sigh. He takes a deep breath and finally says

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry that I kissed you so suddenly, I’m sorry I made you feel the way you did after I said that kiss was nothing, I’m sorry because that kiss made me feel so much.” he pleads. He places his arms on your waist and continues. “I’ve wanted to give you that kiss since I first saw you at the train station. I haven’t stopped thinking about you since we bumped into each other at the café”

It had been several months since that incident.

You walked in on a cool spring day. The bell chimed at the top of the door as you made your way over to the counter. After you had made your order, you turned to walk over to a table. But before you can take a step you bump into something –or more something- you look up and see Jeon Jungkook. You hadn’t seen him since the beginning of sophomore year. He looks down at you with an irritated look; but when he sees your face his expression drops. You looked so cute with your double layers on; making you look so soft and hugable; your hair was up in a clip and your cheeks were rosy from the cold.

“Sorry” you had told him quickly and made your way over to your table. Jungkook was surprised it was you. You had grown into such a beautiful woman. He couldn’t take his eyes off you. From then on, he couldn’t get you to escape his mind.

“I heard from Yuno about this trip and figured you’d go, I thought this would be my chance to make things right between us. I’m so sorry I said all those things to you while we were growing up, I was stupid and let my ego get in the way. So, when I first saw you it’s like I couldn’t see anything else but you.” he confesses.

All of this new information being thrown at you, you don’t know what to do with it. You had thought for all those years and all this time the hate between you two was mutual. You couldn’t have been more wrong.

“I want you to understand my feelings for you. I want to try and make it w-” before he can even finish his sentence you pull him by his hair and connect your lips. He raises his eyebrows and sinks into the kiss. His tongue slips into your mouth. He places his hands under your jaw and his other on your waist. Without breaking the kiss, he picks you up; you wrap your legs around his waist. The sun has set by now and it’s starting to get cold. He let’s go of your lips and look into your eyes. You move your lips closer to his ear and whisper “You wanna go warm up somewhere else?”

Quickly, he drags you out of the water while you giggle into the air. He places you down and hurriedly picks your things up. He grabs your hand, and you make your way back to his dorm. His roommates are supposed to be out tonight; you had the whole room to yourselves.

Pushing you against the door he smacks his lips against yours. You sneak your hands under his shirt and feel his abs flex against your fingertips. You move to lift his shirt off his body. He kisses down your neck; he lifts your shirt over your head and your left with your bikini top and your shorts. He lifts you off the floor and manhandles you onto his bed. You lay on your back and look up at him. Your legs are spread with him standing between them. He glides his hand up your thighs and he drags your shorts down your leg.

You’re left with just your bikini on now. He kisses you on your inner thighs close to where you need him the most. Jungkook grabs the bow that ties your bikini together and undoes it. Your heat is exposed to the cold air. He kisses your hip getting closer to your pussy; his hot breath touches your lips, and you gasp quietly. Finally, he makes contact; he glides his tongue through your folds, and you make small sounds of pleasure. His tongue makes figure eights over your clit; he moves his hand under your thighs to pull you closer to his mouth. His strong grip has you breathless.

Jungkook squeezes your inner thigh and gives small kisses around your cunt. He dives back in and the only thing in the air is the sound of him slurping and licking up your slick. You moan his name out loud and place your hands in his hair.

“Jungkook” you moan out loud

“Say that again, baby. Let me hear you” he says

“Ugh, Jungkook please, please don’t stop.” you plead desperately

“Yeah, that’s it. Who’s making you feel good?”

“You! You are Jungkook!” you shout

You start to feel the pressure in your lower tummy. You tightly close your eyes, and you see stars. He pushes you through your orgasm and finally pulls away after you pull on his hair so he’s hovering over your face. You bring him down to kiss you. He slips his tongue in and kisses you softly. You can taste yourself on his lips. Jungkook pulls away and scans your face. Your fucked out gaze looking up at him. He places his hand over your cheek and stares at you.

“You’re so God damn beautiful. So pretty like the stars. I can look at you forever.” he says to you lowly. You look up into his boba eyes, you can see the galaxy in them. He looked so pretty up closely.

He leans in and kisses you next to your cheek. He kisses your neck and then, he pushes himself up. He’s on his knees in front of you. You can see his outline through his shorts. You go to sit up and place a hand over him. He looks down at you and you place soft pecks over his covered cock. He groans loudly; you then start to play with the waistband of his shorts; slowly you pull them. He’s left bare in front of you. You move your hand to stroke him. Feeling his prominent veins; you thumb at his throbbing tip and place soft kisses over it.

“Baby, what are you doing to me.” He looks down at you and strokes your hair.

“Can you take me in your mouth? Or am I too big for you” he teases

You laugh at that “I don’t know, why don’t we find out”

You like a stripe down his length and stop at his tip. Looking up into his eyes; his lips are parted and he breathless. His hand is placed on the back of your head. Finally, you take him into your mouth, starting slow. He moans and tilts his head back, his grip on your hair tightens. You bob your head back and forth, using your tongue and swirling it around his tip. Your hand moves to fondle his balls, and this makes his cock twitch. Hips moving to the rhythm of your mouth and his hand guiding you to his dick.

“Can I fuck your mouth baby?” You look up at him and nod.

“Tell him if I’m hurting you. Tap on my thigh if you want me to stop” With that he slams his cock to the back of your throat. You take deep breaths as you gag on him. Your nose hitting his pelvis he speeds up his thrusts.

“Fuck yeah, that’s it sweetheart. Doing so good for me” he praises you.

When you reach down to your pussy you can feel you’ve gotten wetter. He looks down to your where your hand was and pulls you away for a second

“Nuh uh, who said you could touch yourself? Only good girls get what they want if they behave” he reprimands

He pulls you back onto him and starts at the pace he was at before.

Before he can finish in your mouth, he pulls you away.

“Fuck I need to finish inside you. Can I do that, baby?” he asks you for reassurance

You nod up to him.

“I need you to say it, honey”

“Yes, please” you moan

“Turn around, ass up face down” he demands

He looks down between your ass and his cock. He then looks up between your shoulders. Your hair thrown over your shoulder and your top still on. Jungkook moves his hand along your back and unties what’s left of your bikini.

“Fuck” he says under his breath. Finally, he takes hold of his length and drags it along your folds. You whimper silently patiently waiting for him to enter you.

He strokes himself a few more times; you feel him enter you. Gasping loudly, he groans into your ear and moves at a slow pace.

“More, Jungkook, please” you beg

“Since you asked nicely” Suddenly he pounds into your hips. You can feel him in your stomach. His pace is rapid; hard.

“You’re so deep Jungkook, fuck!” you moan.

Repeating his name repeatedly like a song. You can feel his cock twitch inside of you. You can feel every vein that around him. Every thrust you feel them against your walls. He lifts your body until your back hits his chest. His hands over your tits squeezing. Rolling your nipples between his fingers. He kisses your neck, and he places his hand over your abdomen. “God, I can feel myself inside of you, baby” you whimper into his neck. And that’s when you finally snap. You tighten around him.

“God! Jungkook! You make me feel so good, baby” you cry.

With three final thrusts he finishes inside you. Breath heavy he slowly moves, milking himself in your tight cunt.

He places you down on his pillow and slowly removes himself from you. You whimper quietly from the loss of the feeling of him inside.

“I need to clean you up and you need to go pee” he says

Picking up his shirt that you threw across the room he wipes you down and you twitch from sensitivity. When he’s done, he looks over your face and giggles.

“Come on, honey. I’ll help you shower when you’re done.”

“Okay” you say softly.

After your shower you and Jungkook lay in his bed. He’s not expecting his roommates to comeback; they had gone out clubbing and he assumed they’d be out all night in someone else’s bed. Your head placed over Jungkook’s naked chest you draw shapes over his chest. Jungkook grabs your wrist and notices one of the bracelets you're wearing.

“You never thanked me for this” he says holding your wrist still

“What are you talking about? This old lady gave it to me for free a few weeks ago when we first got here”

He chuckles at you “That was me, I paid for it and asked her to play a part. Apparently she played her part well because you had no idea.” he boops your nose. You scrunch your face; you look up at him in disbelief.

“I can’t believe you do that, what if she talked to the wrong girl, huh?” you said amusingly

“Then some random girl would’ve gotten a free bracelet” he shrugs.

You laugh at him. “Well, thank you for this” you look up at him and peck his lips.

He digs his face into your neck and mumbles a small “Of course”

Then, you feel his lips press small kisses into the juncture of your neck, you start laughing. All of a sudden, he stops. He lifts his head so he’s looking at you.

“What are we?” he asks

Realizing you never really told him how you felt. Isn’t it obvious though?

“I could ask you the same thing Jeon”

Whispering your name, he says “I really like you; I want to make up for my behavior throughout the years I’ve known you. I feel so guilty because of the way I treated you. I’m sorry I ever said those mean things to you, baby” he wraps he arms around you; cuddling you.

“I forgive you” you hug him around his broad shoulders. “I like you too, Jungkook. Can we forget all of that? I want us to focus on the future only now.”

He nods at you and smiles. “Sooo, does this make you, my girlfriend?” he asks with a cheeky smile.

Giggling at his silly smile you nod “Yeah, I guess so, boyfriend”

He buries his into your neck again and sighs contently. It’s not long before you two are cuddling in the sheets and hes whispering sweet nothings into your ear as you drift off to sleep.

The next morning, you wake up to the other side of the bed empty. The sun is shining brightly in your face. You look down to your body and see the shirt Jungkook must have put on you while you were sleeping last night. You get up from the bed and walk over to the bathroom; but you don’t register the already running water turning off. When you walk in you see Eunwoo naked walking out of the shower. “Oh my god, I’m so sorry” you cover your eyes and quickly walk out. Picking up clothes that were thrown across the room from the previous night you manage your way back to your own room.

Thankfully, the girls are out doing their own thing. You walk to your own bathroom and clean yourself up a bit before walking downstairs to the kitchen. The air is filled with the smell of pancakes, eggs, and bacon. Turning the corner you see Jungkook in a fitted sports t-shirt, over the stove cooking.

You walk up to him and wrap your arms around his torso.

“Good morning” you say in a sleepy voice

“Hi, sweetheart” he turns his body so he facing you now. He leans down to peck your lips. His nose brushing against yours. You smile at him.

“How did you sleep last night?” Looking up at him with an amusing look

“Well you put to sleep pretty damn good last night so I’d say a ten out of ten” you laugh as you get your coffee ready. He sneaks up behind you and puts his hands around your waist.

“I did, huh?” he lowly says into your ear.

He sways you side to side and digs his face into your neck.

“I was thinking maybe we can go out today and we can hang out in the city. We haven’t been here in a while; I want to see if they changed anything.”

This was Jungkook’s hometown. He basically knew everyone. When he finished cooking your breakfast you both sat together in comfortable silence and ate.

Finishing up your meals, you volunteered to clean up the dishes, but he was persistent in doing them himself. After fighting for about ten minutes, you give up and walk upstairs to get ready for the day. The outfit you chose was perfect for the weather. Your makeup was simple, and your hair was casting down your shoulders. When you finish putting on your shoes you hear a knock on your door.

Walking up to open it you see Jungkook wearing a big puffer jacket, white tank top, and light blue jeans. His hair slightly covers his eyes. The chain around his neck and his piercings does something to you. You look up at him and smile.

“Hi” looking at him with stars in your eyes.

You look so undeniably cute. With little bows in your hair and your soft cheeks looking at him. He looks down at you and leans in to peck you on the lips.

“C’mon, let’s go”

The weather today wasn’t as harsh as those other sunny bright days. It’s a bit colder than the last few weeks. It was a good thing you brought an extra jacket just in case. You cand Jungkook walk down the streets hand in hand. Looking around for the places you used to hang out at with your friends when you were still in grade school.

When you found the –now small- playground you and Niki used to play at, you let go of Jungkook’s hand and ran to it.

Gasping out loud you say “Oh god, it’s so much small than I remember. I haven’t been here in years.” amazed by how time flies by so quickly. Jungkook watches you with a fond smile as you reminisce on the old times. You sit down on the swings and gently swing your legs back and forth. Jungkook stands next to the swing as he watches you. The sun was shining on you and he looks at your eyes they’re glowing as you look down the sand with a smile on your face.

He goes to stand in front of you and holds on to the chain and stops you from swinging. You look up at him when you see his shoes appear in front of you. His hands over yours and he leans in close to your face.

His lips locking with yours in a soft kiss. He pulls back and he says “You’re so beautiful.” he places a hand on your cheek.

He looks into your eyes and he makes a promise.

Saying your name in a low voice he says “I promise you, I will to take care of you for as long as you let me. I promise I won’t hurt you. I promise to stay”

You look up into his eyes with tears laying on your water line. Moving your head to lay on his forehead.

Then, you pull him into a kiss.

“I promise, I don’t hate you Jeon Jungkook”

a/n: ahhh okay, i realllly hope you guys liked it, this idea came out of no where and I kinda made the plot up as I wrote, please show some support by reblogging, liking, commenting, and giving some feedback! I'd appreciate it so much

#jungkook angst #jungkook smut #jungkook fluff #jeon jungkook #jungkook fanfic #jungkook #bts jungkook #bts fluff #bts #bts au #jungkook fic

3K notes · View notes

intoxicated-chan · 9 months

Note

Miguel O'Hara x f!reader smut request

Our dearest Miguel breaks the headboard during sex. That has for sure happened to him once or twice!! At least it's true in my headcanons!

Tell Me How U Feel

✿ฺ Paring ➳❥ Miguel O’Hara x F!Reader

✿ฺ Summary ➳❥ You’ve told him many many times that he must watch his strength whenever it comes to sex. It seems Miguel doesn’t like listening.

✿ฺ (A/n) ➳❥ Inspired by “Tell Me How U Feel” by Black Dresses. Two posts in one day, especially smutty ones. Thanks for reading!! I used Spanishdict so please let me know if there is anything wrong!!

✿ฺ Word Count ➳❥ 430

✿ฺ Content Warnings ➳❥ Female reader, p in v, little obsession from Miguel, no prep, fluffy, restraints, hickies, bruising…..

Want more Miguel content? Check out my MASTERLIST!

“Las cosas que haría por ti.” (The things I would do for you.)

A yelp comes from your lips as you fall back, caught by surprise by the springiness from his bed. You push yourself up on your elbows, you look up at him to see him staring right down at you. The two of you were already nude.

Miguel crawls forward on the bed, he looks over your hickey littered neck and the bruise already forming on your hip. His eyes then came into contact with yours, he stopped when he was on top of you and pushed you back to lay back on the bed.

He takes your arms and moves them upward until your wrists are pushed against the headboard. You can feel the weird substance of Miguel’s webbing retrain your wrists.

His tongue runs over his lips as he grabs your legs, spreading them further. He didn’t tease or give any kind of warning, he slammed right into you.

Miguel let out a growl like sound, his pace quickened immediately which earned more and loud moans from you.

“Quiero todo de ti.” (I want all of you.) Miguel hissed, his hands moving to clutch the headboard as he slammed right into you, over and over again. You can hear the headboard slamming against the wall.

“Te quiero solo para mi.” (I want you to myself only.)

That’s when you heard the crack and your arms fall from the headboard, it makes Miguel stop his moment and click his tongue in annoyance.

“Dammit, Miguel!” You groan, “I just bought this frame!” You look at the damage, carefully moving away from the splinters and broken pieces of the wood, “Seriously?”

“You should’ve bought a better frame.”

“I shouldn’t be buying more frames if someone could watch their strength.” You retort, “Untie me.” You sit up and push your tied wrist to him.

He grabs your wrists, “No puedo controlarme cuando estoy contigo.” (I can’t control myself when I’m with you.) He uses his claws to pry off the webbing.

“Great! Now I have to get a new frame.” You get up from bed and gather your clothes.

“Where are you going?” Miguel asked, grabbing his clothes and putting them on when he’s following you out the door.

You manage to put on your clothes, “To buy a new frame.” You grab your keys and put on your shoes.

“Can’t that wait?” But Miguel doesn’t follow you when he steps out the door.

“No.” And you shut the door, off to buy a new frame. You leave Miguel feeling frustrated.

7K notes · View notes

katiexpunk · 2 months

Text

Desert Dust | Pairing Joel Miller x Fem!Reader

Summary: You're a small-town waitress in a highway town in Arizona with a standard, safe life. You never really thought you needed more -- until you met Joel Miller. Warnings: Joel is a consent king in this one. No age gap mentioned (make it your own). Self-deprecation. Toxic coworkers. Attempted assault (not by Joel)/nothing too graphic (please be responsible about what you consume). Joel beats up a bad guy. References to blood and first aid. Alcohol. Pet names. Flirting/slow burn. Objectification of Joel by readers coworker. Inexperienced reader. Body hair. References to taste of vagina. Smoking/cigarettes (it's bad, don't do it). References to shitty past hookups. Oral (f receiving). Praise kink. Size kink. Rough sex. Sex on a desk. Just a really passionate, filthy fuck. Creampie (shocker, I know). No use of Y/N, no use of daddy. TLOU au. Reader has no physical descriptions apart from female anatomy. W/C: ~8K. Sorrrrrrry, not sorry? A/N: Hi, hello. It's been a hot minute since I've been here! I took a hiatus for the past few months because life was, well, life and I was busy getting married. Happy to be back. This one was inspired by a drive through the Arizona desert. Special thanks to @syd-djarin for being a slut with me on this one. Masterlist | Read on AO3 | Notifications | Read Joel's POV

Humans rely on cooperation, communication, and mutual aid for survival and well-being. Without that, it’s like being cast adrift in a hostile sea without the safety net of community and companionship.

You know this.

And so that’s why you stay, that’s why you’ve always stayed.

Even if most of your days feel lonely, at least you have the comfort of predictability.

++++

"I’m goin' on my break, Tracy," you call out, tossing the words casually over your shoulder as you grab your hoodie and a pack of American Spirit cigarettes from behind the counter. Sometimes you think the only reason you still have the damn vice is for the excuse to step out of the suffocating walls of the grease-drenched building they call a restaurant.

Tracy responds with a touch too much of feigned enthusiasm, pouring a steady stream of black liquid into the mug of the customer sitting in the booth before her.

With a nod of acknowledgment, you slip out the restaurant's back door, the hinges creaking softly in protest as you step into the crisp Arizona air. The sun hangs low in the sky, casting long shadows across the dusty ground as you light up your cigarette, the flame dancing in the breeze.

As you inhale deeply, the familiar taste of tobacco fills your lungs, calming your nerves and grounding you in the present moment. Leaning against the weathered brick wall, your thoughts drift as wisps of smoke curl lazily into the sky.

In the distance, you can hear the faint sound of laughter and chatter drifting from inside, a comforting reminder of the community that surrounds you. Here, amidst the tumbleweeds and endless blue skies, is a place you’ve called home since you ran away from yours at sixteen. It’s not much, but it’s something. Something is always better than nothing, right? People know you by name when you go to the grocery store, and know your order at the only coffee shop in town – big-city girls don’t get that.

As you take one last drag from your cigarette, you try to summon feelings of gratitude for what you do have, but as the smoke dissipates into the desert air, a lingering sense of restlessness gnaws at the edges of your mind.

It's only when you stamp out the cigarette in the dirt below, watching the embers fade into darkness, that you dare to entertain the notion that perhaps you could have more.

++++

You step back into the restaurant, and your eyes adjust to the fluorescent lights above, a stark contrast from the natural light of the sun. Carefully tucking your hoodie away and readjusting your apron strings, you prepare to dive back into work.

As you glance around, you notice Tracy frantically pacing back and forth behind the bar, her demeanor tinged with a hint of frazzled energy. It's not the busiest you've ever been, but for her, every customer that walks through the door feels like a tidal wave of chaos – especially when it’s just you two on the floor.

With a sympathetic smile, you nod in understanding as she thrusts a stack of menus into your hands, followed by a piping hot coffee pot. "Be a doll and go take table three’s order, will ya?" she says, her voice tinged with urgency. Before you can even acknowledge her request, she’s off, stacking her forearms with plates, yelling that she’ll be right there honey to the patrons by the door.

You make your way over to the table, weaving through the maze of booths and tables with practiced ease. As you approach, you notice a lone figure sitting hunched over in a worn leather jacket, eyes fixed on the menu in front of him. He sits up to full height and adjusts himself in the booth, eyes still on the sticky plastic in front of him, giving you a full view of his side profile.

Fuck – he’s gorgeous. Handsome in a way that unmoors you.

Rugged, weathered charm exudes from him. He turns to look at you and oh. His salt-and-pepper curls frame a face weathered by sun and wind, a beard streaked with grey adding an air of distinguished maturity. His eyes are soft and brown, enveloped by small creases in the corners.

Your thighs come flesh with the edge of the table, and with the coffee pot in hand, you can't help but feel a flutter of anticipation in the pit of your stomach, settling there like a stack of pancakes eaten way too fast.

Clearing your throat, you offer him a tentative smile. Get a grip – he’s just another customer, you silently plead with yourself.

"Hi," you say, your voice a little softer than usual. "Can I get you something to drink?"

As his eyes meet yours, a brief but intense connection crackles between you. There's something in his gaze, a depth that you can't quite decipher, leaving his thoughts shrouded in mystery. His face remains stony, and unreadable, like the weathered cliffs that dot the desert landscape.

Your breath hitches in your throat as you follow his eyes drifting down your chest, lingering for a moment on the nametag pinned to the worn cotton of your uniform. Heat rises to your cheeks under his scrutiny. You wish you would have opted for your cleaner uniform this morning. You’ve never been one to care too much about your looks, mostly because nobody looks at you, not really. All catcalls from drunk men in bars and the occasional flirty customer. But you’re suddenly hyper-aware of the attention he’s giving.

His eyes finally settle on the coffee pot in your hand, a subtle shift in focus that breaks the spell of tension between you. "Just coffee, darlin'," he says, his voice honey-thick, low, and raspy like the rumble of distant thunder.

You nod silently, the words caught in your throat as you turn to pour him a steaming cup of coffee.

“You let me know if I can get you anything else,” you whisper, letting the corners of your lips turn up into a small, cordial, smile.

“Just coffee for me today, sweetheart, thank you.”

Walking away, you can’t help but notice the feeling of the weight of his gaze lingering on you long after you do.

He sits in silence, nursing his coffee with a quiet intensity that commands attention. His presence seems to cast a shadow over the room, drawing the gaze of both patrons and staff alike. You steal glances at him between customers and try not to read into the fact that his eyes are usually on you by the time you find him. He’s not staring – he couldn’t be – why would he be? You shove the thought down and focus on your tasks at hand, him calling you sweetheart playing like a broken record in your mind, over and over.

Tracy, usually bustling about with the frenetic energy of a hummingbird, is unusually attentive to him. She stops by his table more often than necessary, refilling his cup with a gentle touch and addressing him with a warmth you've rarely seen her reserve for anyone else. You swear you even saw her push her tits up behind the wall before going out to him – but you can’t blame her, you’d probably do the same if you had as much to work with as she does.

As you work behind the bar counter, wiping down tables and clearing plates, Tracy tries to engage you in conversation about the mysterious stranger. "Been a long time since we've had a man like that in here," she says, a hint of gossip in her voice, wrapped pretty in a bow of objectification. She reminds you of a praying mantis, attempting to draw in her prey before she eats him.

"Yeah," you murmur, not quite wanting to talk about him, especially not with her.

Excusing yourself, you slip into the bathroom, the wooden door offering a momentary respite. Leaning against the slightly sticky surface, you close your eyes and take a deep breath, trying to regain some semblance of composure. But despite your efforts, you can't shake the feeling that something has shifted. Looking at the reflection in the mirror, you can’t help but feel the twisty weird tug that pools in your lower belly, and the uptick in your heart rate. You attempt to fix your hair and pinch your cheeks to add some volume to your face. You slip on a touch of chapstick and assess yourself. This is so fucking stupid. He’s a customer. Just a customer. You’re just bored, horny, and alone.

But maybe he is, too?

No. Stop.

After a moment, you emerge from the bathroom, only to find his table empty, a worn $20 bill – more than enough to cover his check – left behind as a silent farewell. Your heart sinks at the realization that he's gone, slipping away like a ghost in the night. Shit.

You didn't even catch his name, and now he's just another fleeting memory, a stranger passing through your life like a whisper in the wind. And though you try to convince yourself that it doesn't matter, that you'll forget about him by morning.

But when dawn breaks the next day, he’s the first thought that crosses your mind.

++++

The days turn into weeks, each blending seamlessly into the next in the endless cycle of small-town life. But amidst the monotony of routine, there's a flicker of anticipation that ignites in your chest every time you step foot into the restaurant – the hope that he might, too.

Stupid, silly little small-town girl.

You’re in the middle of bussing a rather messy table, throwing empty plates and glasses into a bucket after the lunch rush when the sound of bells above the door and heavy boot steps echoes through the restaurant. Not looking up from the table, you yell out take a seat wherever you want, throwing the final pieces of flatware into the bin. Raising it to your hip, your attention finally snaps to the customer and fuck –

You freeze there.

His hand lifts in a simple greeting.

His presence is a magnetic force that shifts the air in the room. Clad in the same worn leather jacket and a dark tee, he exudes a silent, sturdy confidence. You know nothing about him, but you feel like you’d trust him with your life.

“Oh, hi. Um, go ahead and take a seat, I’ll be with you in just a second, just gonna drop this in the back,” you say, trying to hide your smile, your excitement.

He’s a customer. Not a bored and horny customer. Just a customer.

As he settles into the booth next to the window, you can't help but feel a rush of excitement coursing through your veins. You greet him again with a smile, your voice warm with genuine affection, and he nods in return, his gaze lingering on you for just a moment longer than necessary.

But before you can exchange more than a few words, Tracy swoops in like a hawk, eager to monopolize his attention. She's quick to bring him a menu, bring him a coffee, and offer him a selection of homemade pies, her enthusiasm bordering on overwhelming.

You watch from afar, a pang of frustration chewing at the edges of your composure like a moth to cloth in an old closet. It's as if Tracy has staked her claim on him, leaving little room for anyone else to form a connection. And yet, despite her best efforts, you can still feel the weight of his attention on you, a silent reassurance that you're not alone in this silent dance of whatever the fuck this is.

You think that maybe it’s all in your head – maybe he is into Tracy, and you’re confusing his affection for something it’s not. It wouldn’t be the first time. Lord knows you’re no stranger to having one too many vodka sodas and pining after the affection of the first person who looks at you, crying in the passenger seat of a truck of some guy who gave you attention hours before.

Lord know how many nights you check your phone every three seconds just to be disappointed. Too busy begging for the love of someone who doesn’t want you, and never will. Yet you’re just so hopeful. Hopeful that one day it might not feel this way, hopeful that someone will want you back.

You wonder if you want so desperately to be seen, that you’d twisted every lingering glance, smile, and hello, for something it’s not.

When you enter the dining room, your heart once again sinks when you notice him rising from his booth, getting ready to leave. His eyes catch yours and you give him a small wave goodbye. He holds yours while he tucks something under his coffee cup, giving you a nod, letting you know that he wants you to pick it up. His face is unreadable when he eventually walks out.

Walking over to the table, you notice cash tucked neatly under an empty coffee mug. But you notice something else, too. A worn business card for Joel Miller, CEO of Miller Brothers Contracting. It’s a simple card, just his name and an email on the front. But when you turn it over, you’re surprised to find a phone number scribbled on the back.

Maybe it’s not all in your head. ++++

Later that night, standing in the dark alley of the restaurant, the cement damp from the afternoon rain, Tracy's words hang heavy in the air like a dense cloud of cigarette smoke. You listen in silence as she talks about him, her tone laced with a confidence that borders on arrogance.

"I think I'm gonna ask him to get a drink," she says, her voice carrying a hint of excitement. "I think he's into me. I mean, come on, who else stops in and only orders coffee, and leaves a tip like he does? Even caught him looking at my ass once."

Her words cut through the stillness of the desert night, harsh and abrasive in contrast to the quiet solitude that surrounds you. Tracy has always been one to flaunt her looks, to revel in the attention of men like Joel who pass through the diner's doors. There aren’t many.

But as you listen to her speak, a knot forms in the pit of your stomach, a silent warning that this pursuit of Joel may lead to heartbreak for one or both of you. You've seen the way he looks at you, the way his eyes linger on you when he thinks no one else is watching. You slip your hand into the apron and thumb over the paper of his business card.

You want to warn her, to tell her to tread carefully, but the words catch in your throat like smoke caught in a breeze. Instead, you offer her a weak smile, masking the turmoil brewing beneath the surface.

"Yeah, Tracy," you say, your voice tinged with forced enthusiasm. "Go for it. You deserve someone who appreciates you."

But as she stubs out her cigarette and heads back into the restaurant you can't help but smirk knowing he gave his card to you.

It’s finally your turn to be wanted.

But you don’t call, or text him. You want to, you do, but you don’t know what to say, or where to begin. You’re so out of practice when it’s something that matters. It’s easier to pretend he still wants you if you don’t break the illusion—or that’s the lie you tell yourself, anyway.

++++

Some weeks later, you find yourself alone in the empty restaurant – Tracy having called out for the night. It’s slow. Way too slow. The late hour weighs heavy on your shoulders. George, the cook, went home almost an hour ago. You work to check off the tasks on your list before you leave for the night, and eventually accomplish everything except filling the salt shakers.

You could have sworn you turned off the neon open sign and locked the doors until the familiar sound of bells chimes through the empty restaurant.

“We’re closed,” you yell out, twisting the final cap on the last salt shaker.

Your eyes flicker up to find a large man stumbling through the door, his presence heavy with the unmistakable scent of whiskey and cigarettes. He doesn’t look so good, his skin is pale and damp, eyes glassed over.

You rise from your booth, a sense of unease prickling at the back of your mind as you approach him. Despite your better judgment, you tell him to take in any booth of his choice, while you head behind the bar to grab him a glass of water. When you set it down in front of him, he bristles at your gesture, his words slurred and tinged with aggression at the fact that you brought him fucking water. Your patience wears thin as he rebuffs your offer, his tone sharp and abrasive.

"Just trying to help you out here" you snap, a hint of irritation creeping into your voice. You’re not sure where the irritation is coming from, but it feels right – natural – a built-in defense mechanism. But instead of backing down, he responds with a menacing snarl, his hand shooting out to grip your wrist in a bruising hold. Panic surges through you as you try to pull away, his grip tightening with each futile attempt.

"Let me go," you plead, the fear evident in your voice as he rises from the booth and crowds you against a nearby table, condiments spilling over the edge of the table. His hands move to grip your upper arms with a forceful intensity. You stumble slightly, the weight of his presence pressing down on you like a suffocating blanket, your head turned to the side to avoid having to look at him. “I’ll tell you what, you little bitch –”

You feel the rapid beat of your pulse, the thrum of blood in your veins. You struggle against the man. Your inner voice screams danger, but just as you feel the panic rising in your chest, the familiar sound of chimes rings through your ears. Within seconds, a new figure looms into view, his broad frame casting a shadow over the scene unfolding before you – to you. With a swift movement, he pulls the man off of you, his voice a growl of warning as he asserts his dominance.

“I’d think twice if I were you before you try and win this one,” Joel says, voice low and threatening.

It's him.

Relief floods through you at the sight of him, a silent thank you echoing in your mind as he stands between you and the aggressor. And as he faces off with the man, his protective stance speaks volumes. Your mind goes a little fuzzy from the adrenaline as you watch the man struggle in his grasp, followed by a slur of cuss words, ultimately ending in Joel punching him in the face, the harsh sound of bone to face.

It shouldn’t turn you on, the violence of it all, but it sort of does. The outward display in your defense appeals to the primitive, underived part of your brain, the way a knight would defend a maiden’s honor.

He drags the man out of the establishment, and you hear him tell him to get the fuck out and never come back.

He locks the door and turns to face you. Your arms come up to grab yourself in an instinctual hug, your body is a little shaky from the interaction. Without saying anything, he walks over to you, bringing both of his hands to the sides of your arms – the same place where the man had grabbed you – but his touch feels different. Gentle, reassuring, safe.

“You alright?” he says, a deep crease between his brow as he looks down at you, his eyes filled with concern.

“I’m alright – tha,” your words break a little, and you start to feel hot tears cling to your lashline, “thank you,” you manage to blurt out, avoiding looking at him in the eyes, not wanting him to see yours all teary.

He brings a hand up to cup your cheek and uses the edge of his thumb to tilt you up to look at him. You bring your hand to meet his on your cheek and notice a sticky sensation under your palm. You grab his hand and bring it down to your eye level, noticing the blood on it, a giant split down the middle of one of his knuckles. Jesus, if his hand looks like this, what must that guy’s face look like?

"You're hurt," you say, the tears in your eyes now replaced with genuine concern. "It's okay, don't worry about it, doesn't hurt," he reassures, but you can tell he's probably lying.

"We've got a first aid kit in the back. Let me clean you up," you insist, nodding towards the rear of the room.

"It’s alright sweetheart, you don't have to, really…" he protests.

"You just defended me. Bandaging your knuckles is the least I can do to thank you," you tell him firmly, leaving no room for refusal.

Interlacing your fingers with his on his left hand, you guide him through the restaurant.

Navigating through the kitchen, smelling of oil and french fries, you caution him to watch his step on the freshly mopped yet always greasy floors.

In the small office, you flick on the light switch and rummage through the cabinets until you find an old first aid kit tucked away in the back. Joel leans against the desk, quietly observing you. "Ah, got it," you say with a hint of excitement that you found the kit, a little surprised there was even one stashed away. Though most of the bandages and finger condoms are missing, there's still plenty of gauze and alcohol wipes.

He stands silently, watching as you work to open the kit, his eyes fixed on you, particularly when you rip open the alcohol wipe with your teeth. "This might sting a bit," you warn, meeting his gaze with genuine care.

“You can make it up to me later,” he whispers. His tone, the intention behind his words sends an exciting zap down your spine. There’s shared silence. As you’re patting the blood on his knuckles, that same feeling of raw want, painted with uncertainty, settles in your stomach.

“Can I ask you something,” he says, and you flick your eyes up to meet his for a moment before lowering them back down his hand. You let out a soft mhmm in response, knowing his question before he’s even asked it.

“Why didn’t you call?”

The boldness of his question stops you. You close your eyes and take a deep breath. “I wanted to. I mean, I almost did – I typed out so many texts to you it’s borderline embarrassing,” you pause for a second to grab the gauze from the counter behind him. You lean in close enough to catch the scent of him – cedarwood and fresh cotton, the earthy scent of desert dust clinging to his clothes.

“I guess I’m just not used to being wanted. Don’t know how to do this kind of thing. I’ve been alone for so long, and I guess, I don’t know, Joel,” you affix a little piece of tape to the gauze, before dropping his hand, all finished.

You stand before him, looking at his chest and the bare skin on his neck that’s dotted with freckles, avoiding his eyes.

“I didn’t want to embarrass myself. Not sure why a guy like you would even want a girl like me to call him anyway…” you trail off, letting out a small cough to hide the emotion creeping up in your throat. Have you always been this self-deprecating?

His hands float up to your hips, and he tugs you in closer to him, body weight still propped up against the desk, his thick thighs bracketing yours. You still avoid his eyes, your gaze fixed on a button on his shirt in front of you.

“Look at me, sweetheart.”

The bandaged hand trails up over the side of your body, and his fingers land under your chin, his thumb tilting you up to look at him. You’re sure you must look like a mess, eyes tired from a long shift, mascara smudged from your tears. How pathetic you must look. The pad of his thumb caresses over your lips and you hold your breath.

There’s so much he could say, so much he wants to say. He wants to build you up, to tell you that you’re worthy of the whole world. That you’re beautiful and kind, and that any man would be lucky to have you. He doesn’t even have to deeply know you to know those things.

But he can tell from the look in your eyes that it’s not what you need right now. He’ll tell you someday. He’ll tell you every day if you’ll have him.

But no.

Right now you don’t need someone to tell you how gorgeous you are, you need someone to show you.

“Joel,” you say, your voice just above a whisper. His thumb is still on your lower lip.

“Ki–” Before you can continue, his hand drops, and his lips crash into yours and he groans. He wants to rip you open, eat you raw, to devour every inch of you. You’ve had plenty of kisses, but none like this – none full of such heat, a fiery intensity, a need. He wants you. Joel wants you.

He sucks your bottom lip into his mouth and you let out a little whimper. The sweet sound goes straight to his already hardening cock. He holds you tighter to his chest, thick and capable hands on your hips as he dips his mouth to your neck, kitten-kissing you as delicately as a man his size can. He skims his injured hand underneath your shirt, caressing the skin between your shoulder blades. Your breath hitches in your throat as he nips at your jaw, eliciting a soft moan from you. And oh – he likes that.

“Fuck, baby. Wanna go slow with you, take my time. Do it right,” he says, his voice a little wrecked already and he’s barely touched you.

His hand trails up and pulls the shirt of your uniform down over your breast, exposing the simple lacey bra you’ve had for far too long. You would be embarrassed about him seeing it if you weren’t so aroused, drunk on his touch. You continue to let out little moans as he kisses your neck, and thumbs at your nipple beneath the fabric.

“Wanna show you what you’re worthy of sweet girl, in all the ways,” he groans into your chest.

His words melt into you like butter, making you feel all soft and weak-limbed, fuzzy in a way that’s new to you.

“I want you to fuck me so badly,” you blurt out, lost in the delusion of arousal. The words come naturally for a girl who never really had more than a one-night stand or some shitty fuck from a guy who drank too much whiskey – his dick half-hard, promising he’ll rock your world.

That does it for him.

Joel’s cock is rock hard, with an almost painful stiffness. He wants so badly for you to just fall to your knees in this tiny little office and suck it. He wants so badly to hold the column of your throat while he shoves his thick cock into your wet and waiting mouth, feel him deep down your throat.

But as much as he needs that right now, he knows he has an obligation. To make you feel good. To make you feel good about yourself in every way.

He hopes to god that you’ll chant his name like a prayer when he unravels you like a spool of thread. He can hear it in his head now, as he licks your soft skin and holds you against him. He can’t stop thinking about how pretty you’ll sound when you come for him.

“Patience, angel baby. You’re in good hands,” he purrs. If you weren’t so hazy you might’ve made a joke about him only having one good hand at the moment. He would chuckle at that, you briefly think, before his husky voice speaks again.

“Can I undress you?” he asks. You’ve never been asked that, most of the other men we’re quick just to take your clothes off. Too sloppy, too eager – careless. You’re starting to realize how hot consent is.

You toe off your beat-up sneakers and work to take off your shirt and bra, all while Joel unbuttons your skirt. You wiggle your hips to assist him in removing the barrier. After what seems like no time at all, you’re nearly fully nude in front of him, bare save the thin cotton of your panties. As a reflex, you cross your arms over your chest in an attempt to hide your body, wishing you could blend into the wallpaper.

“God damn, sweetheart. Look at you,” Joel says, taking a small step back and admiring the view. He looks at you like you’re a masterpiece, a piece of art holding court just for him to gaze at.

He gently grabs the arm you’re covering yourself with and exposes your bare chest. Goosebumps collect like pebbles on your skin from the cool air, and your nipples harden from the significance of the moment.

“No need’ta hide from me,” he assures you. You believe him.

You push your chest out to him, for him. He accepts your offering; swipes a calloused thumb across your plush, silky nipple, and crouches to catch the other in his desperate mouth. He groans into your chest the second your nipple meets his lips. You can’t control the deep hum that escapes from your throat. Joel smirks at the sound, lips still attached to your breast.

“Feels so good, Joel,” you moan. You have of course played with your nipples when you touched yourself, but you’ve never had a man pay so much attention to them, to be gentle and firm at the same time.

He trails kisses down the valley of your breasts, across the soft swell of your stomach, whispering sweet praises as he does. You drape your hands over his broad shoulders and thread your fingers through the curls that gather on the back of his head as he works his way down to the band of your panties. Much like your bra, you’d wish you opted for a cuter pair of underwear. Not like you own any anyway, but something tells you he could give two shits about that right now.

On his knees, he places both of his hands on the curves of your hips and holds you steady while he looks up at you. He looks up at you with a softness you’ve never seen in a man, his pupils so dark they edge out most of the brown, his hooded eyes are almost a plea for you to let him continue.

“Can I take these off, baby?” he asks, already hooking his thumbs in the band of them, awaiting your permission.

You pause with your mouth agape a bit, not quite sure what to say. Every fiber of your being wants you to say yes, yes, yes. But you’re nervous – you haven’t shaved, and you remember Tracy saying something about men not liking hair on women, especially not on their pussy — a man won’t even eat you out if you’ve not been properly groomed.

What if you taste weird? What if he doesn’t like it? You’ve only been eaten out once if you can even classify it as such, and he was down there for maybe two seconds before he was rising and wiping his mouth off with the back of his hand, claiming whatever you’re wet enough before shoving his rather average cock into your pussy, paying no mind to you or your pleasure.

“You, um, you don’t have to. It’s okay, really…” you shy away, trying to give Joel an out.

His prominent nose presses into your mound and he moans, moans, at your smell.

“Smell so sweet, need to taste you, sweetheart. I won’t if you don’t want me to, but fuck, I would love to,” he says, the truth behind his voice evident in his tone. His cock twitches against the confines of his jeans.

He suspects you’ve never had a real man take care of you, taking the time to pleasure you to your heart’s content. A damn shame, he thinks.

“O-kay,” you say on an exhale. You’re determined to not let the negative thoughts swirling in your head win.

“I gotcha, don’t worry,” he rasps out, his voice equal parts gentle, and gruff with desire.

He gently tugs the fabric down over your thighs, the fabric gathering at your ankles. You take a small step out of them, and he gently caresses up the back of your calve, and back of your thigh, his hand landing on the curve of your ass. He tightly grabs the flesh there. He gently guides your leg up onto one of his shoulders, and you press back into the wall and lean your pelvis closer to him.

“Fuck, what a pretty little pussy,” he praises, before leaning in to place an experimental kiss on the top of your mound. You let out a soft little sound at the feeling of his lips on your skin. He looks up at you once again, making sure you aren’t uncomfortable, before once again returning his attention to your cunt.

He gets bold with his kisses, and once you’re comfortable with his mouth on you, he glides the middle finger of his non-bandaged hand through your wet slit before flipping it so it’s wrist up, pausing with the pad of it right at the entrance of your tight hole. You look down at him with lusty doe eyes and bite your lower lip in anticipation, still a little nervous. He looks at you and gently nudges the nip in, he holds it there for a brief second, before fully thrusting it up into your core, holding your gaze as he enters you. You gasp.

“Fuck angel, you’re tight,” he moans as he continues to feel you, eventually putting his mouth back on your pussy, his lips sealed around your puffy clit. His large finger pumps in and out of you as his tongue flicks and swirls where you need him the most.

“More,” you moan, “Fuck–please, Joel, give me more,” you mewle.

“That’s my girl, gonna stretch you out, get you nice and ready for this cock,” he whispers against your wet skin as he slips another finger in, one you greedily accept. He devours you, licks at you like you’re the sweetest thing he’s ever tasted. It’s so precise, so overwhelming, so fucking good.

Heat pools in your lower abdomen, and the world goes a little fuzzy at the edges of your vision. You’ve had an orgasm before, you think, but you don’t remember it feeling like this.

You moan as he sets a relentless pace with his mouth and fingers, slowly tightening the coil inside of you in a way you’ve never felt before. Time slows for a brief moment and your vision goes white, little specks of light dancing behind your eyelids, heat rushing up to your chest and cheeks.

Until –

“Holy shit, yes, I’m coming, oh my god, don’t stop,” you unravel for him, a babbling mess of pleasure, he holds you steady as he works you through it. And when he’s satisfied that you’re satisfied, he gently hoists your leg off of his shoulder and rises to his full height.

“Such a good girl for me, you come so pretty,” he whispers against your neck, nipping at your jaw until his lips find yours. You taste yourself on them, feel the wetness in his beard. He slips his tongue into your mouth and you moan. It’s so hot to taste yourself on him, dizzying that he’s not wiping it away. He wants you. Joel wants you.

The daze of your release wears off, hurling you back down to earth. Joel kept his promise, he did show you what you’re worthy of. No more mediocre, subpar sex for you. You are worthy of that. Deserve that and more. It’d be rude of you not to return the favor.

On jelly-like legs, you begin to kneel before him, wanting nothing more than to be a practitioner of pleasure, to elicit another good girl from him. He stops you before your knees touch the floor.

“You don’t want me to suck your cock?” you ask, feeling a sting of rejection.

“Oh angel baby, I would love to feel those sweet little lips of yours wrapped tight around my cock, hold your throat as you choke on me,” he coos.

You bring your palm to cup him through his jeans and he groans, your hands trace over the thick shape. He’s big. You watch as his jaw tightens and his head falls back as you work over him. You can’t help but feel excited when you feel a damp spot on his jeans, the place where his pre-come has gathered.

“But there’s something I want more right now. Feel what you do to me?” he says, pressing your hand harder down onto him. “Need to feel that sweet, tight cunt of yours around me first,” he says with intensity, an urgency in his voice. You make quick work of undoing his belt buckle and slip off his jeans and boxers in one swoop.

Truly seeing him, the sight of his heavy cock in all its glory, makes your mouth water a little.

“Yo–you’re so big,” you say, a little intimidated. He grabs you by the hips and holds you tight against him, his cock pressed between your bodies against the bare flesh of your tummy. You think you might actually feel him there when he’s inside you at this rate.

“It’s okay, sweetheart. You can take it,” he says, using one hand to grab the back of your thigh and tapping the other. You get the memo. He lifts you and spins you around so you’re sitting on the mahogany desk behind you, your damp skin sticking to the mess of customer receipts and supply lists underneath you. He stands between your legs, holding himself by the base, pumping himself slowly up and down his length. “I’m on birth control,” you say, blurting it out. “And I’m clean, you don’t have to use a condom, I mean, if you don’t want to.” And shit – that’s music to his fucking ears.

“Okay. Open your legs wide for me, baby. Wanna see you,” he says, and you do. He juts his head down and spits onto it, using his fist to work it onto himself. You hold your legs open in a V, bracing yourself with your arms behind you. Your ass hangs slightly off the edge of the desk, just enough for him to have full access and view of your glistening slit.

He positions himself at your entrance and gently pushes his hips forward so the tip of him is inside of you. He pauses there, giving you a second to adjust. Your heart throbs in your chest, and your eyes flicker closed.

“Eyes on me, baby. Wanna see you as I take what’s mine,” he says, his voice a wreck. When you open them, he sinks even deeper. Halfway inside of you, he pauses again.

“Okay?” he asks. You nod.

You can tell he’s holding back, not wanting to hurt you. And while you may be out of practice, you know your body was made for this. You feel so full, so content, you just want to feel all of him. After he’s confident you’re ready, he pushes his hips forward once again, fully burying himself deep inside of you.

Your pussy walls clench against him, and your jaw goes slack. You were right, you do feel him in your tummy. He’s so fucking big, but god, it feels good. It’s like he’s stuffing and filling all of the lonely spaces that have been hiding inside of you for so long. Like he was made for you.

He sets a slow and steady rhythm at first, dragging in and out of you. You can tell he wants to fuck you harder, deeper. You can tell that he’s waiting for you to take it there, to give him that permission.

“You can fuck me harder, Joel. ‘M not gonna break, I promise,” you coo. His hand at your hip flexes tighter, and that’s all he needs. “Shit, c’mere,” he says, helping you off the desk, steading your legs. He flips you over and presses you against the desk, your bare breasts flesh against the cool wood, your hips perfectly positioned at the edge, bent over and waiting to once again be stuffed.

He stands behind you, angles your hips up slightly, and once again buries himself in you.

“Such a perfect cunt,” he groans, beginning to set a relentless pace. Something about this angle does something for you, too. His cock fits just right, pushing and gliding over the spongey spot inside of you that makes you see stars. He holds your hips tightly as he pumps in and out of you, eliciting throaty moans from you. The air is filled with the filthy wanton sound of skin slapping against skin.

“I –” you mew, “I think I’m gonna come again,” you say, breathless.

“Come for me, baby. Be the good girl I know you are and show me how pretty you are when you come on my cock,” he says, a little out of breath, voice deep.

Good girl. Pretty. Come for him.

And you do. Your pussy pulses around him as the wave of your orgasm takes over you, your mind hazy and filled with nothing but the thought of the way he fills you just right.

His movements begin to slow. You can tell he’s close.

“Where do you want me, baby?”

“Inside, please. Want you to fill me up, make me yours,” you rasp, beg.

After a few more thrusts of his hips, he begins to stutter and slow. He pauses buried to the hilt inside of you and groans as his cock paints your insides with thick ropes of come.

He holds you there, both of your breaths coming a little ragged, his body shaking and jolting a little. You feel him pulse inside of you. You’re not sure you’ve ever felt this content, utterly blissed out from the feeling of him – all of him – deep inside of you.

When he pulls out, you let out a small moan, a little sad your pussy has nothing to clench around anymore. He tells you to stay there for a second before he returns with a handful of paper towels from the kitchen to help clean you up.

He kisses you again. It’s different this time, not as intense as the first few, but just as hot, just as passionate. The same pull you felt the moment he first entered the restaurant.

He helps you get dressed, and you fasten his belt buckle for him and check the gauze on his fist. You both stand there in silence, not quite sure where to go from here, until he offers up.

“Wanna smoke?”

++++

“So, how long have you lived here’?” he asks, holding open the lit zippo from his back pocket to you. With the cigarette dangling between your lips, you steady it between your fingers and lean in, the dim glow of the fire illuminates your features.

“Too long,” you mumble, taking a big drag. Now you get why in movies after a really good sex scene the characters always want a cigarette. You watch as he lights his own.

“And you, where are you off to next?” You don’t want him to leave.

“Not sure, the contract job my brother and I have in the county over ends in a week or so. Was thinkin’ it might be nice to head south, maybe Austin,” he responds, smoke dancing in the air around him.

Your stomach twists a bit at the thought. Don’t go.

“Although, ‘M not so sure anymore. Starting to think I might have a few things I need to take care of here first,” he says, shifting his gaze from the ground until his hooded eyes find yours.

He gives you a subtle wink. You smile.

You stand there in comfortable silence, leaning up against the wall next to him, taking in the crisp desert air, enjoying being next to him.

And when it’s time to go, he offers you his hand and a ride home. You accept.

But this time when you stamp out the cigarette, watching the embers fade into darkness, you fully entertain the notion that not only could you have more.

You will.

Especially if Joel has anything to say about it.

END

Or if you want, you can read Joel’s POV here.

Tagging some moots cuz I'm sure Tumblr will probably fuck my engagement on this one since I haven't posted in forever :/ If you like this, please consider a reblog (dm me if you want to be removed): @endlessthxxghts @theoasisofthings @pedrostories @bastardmandennis @milly-louise @ghostwritesthings @josephquinnswhore @drunk-and-capable @hellishjoel @survivingandenduring @hotgirlbedtimescenarios @ohheypedrito @joeldjarin @nerdieforpedro @amyispxnk @paleidiot @ghostwritesthings @kulekehe @darkheartgatita @goldenhxurs @javiscigarette @morallyinept @ro-nahime-things @gwendibleywrites @missladym1981 @auteurdelabre @morgaussy

ily.

#joel miller smut #joel miller x reader #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller the last of us #joel miller one shot #pedro pascal character #pedrohub #pedrostories #consent #joel miller #joel miler x fem!reader #joel miller fanfic

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lollixp0p · 3 months

Text

The Video (18+)

Pairing: Best friend!Hwang Hyunjin x afab!reader

Genre: Smut (MDNI), bit of feelings

Word count: just under 3k!

Warnings: Idol!au, subby!Hyunjin, slightly perv!reader, recording, (maybe a bit dub con because he doesn't mean to send it but reader watches it anyway), mommy kink, masturbation (both but separately), Hyunjin fantasizes about reader, reader fantasizes about Hyunjin, lmk if I missed anything!!

Summary: Hyunjin finally gets some alone time after weeks of hard work and decides to use his time to... relax. The next day he ends up sending you something on accident that sets off a big change in your lives, with or without either of you really realising.

Note: My first ever fic!! :3 Inspired by a video I saw on phub. (@cbini (Ems isn't on Tumblr rn she still wanted to be tagged so I hope it's ok), @comet-falls, @hyunsvngs, @mnwrld and @skz-hell lmao hello everyone, writing blog reveal!!😁 here's this fic I've mention to all of you as an anon<3 (depending on who you are I'm either ❄️anon, 🐾anon or sounding anon😳)). To anyone reading this please give me literally any feedback (comment, reblog, anything!), I want to know if this is good or not since it's my first fic🙏😣

Please do not under any circumstance copy, translate, or repost my works!

It's been exactly three weeks since Hyunjin's had any time for just himself, though it feels like months at this point.

Recently everyone's been running around like headless chickens and between vocal trainings, dance practices and the studio, there hasn't been much time to just relax and recharge. Preparing for a new album really is the busiest time of an idols life.

There hasn't even been time to see family or friends, which is common during busy spells like this, but always dissapointing to think about. Now even more so, with how much he's been wishing to spend time with you, one of his closest friends... who also happens to be his crush. Not that he'd ever let you know though, not in a very long time.

It feels almost like a blessing, getting back to the dorms from practice late in the evening and realising... he's got the place all for himself, at least until his roommates get back from the studio.

Changbin had messaged him earlier, telling him that they'd probably be there well past midnight, so there was no use waiting up for them. To him though, this was the very opposite of an issue. With that much free time, he'd definitely be able to... make himself comfortable, so to speak.

See, not having time to relax also means he'd basically had no time to get off. The best he'd been able to do had been quick little sessions barely once a week in the shower right before passing out on his bed from the exhaustion of working hard.

The realisation that he'd be able to do anything he wants during his time alone is enough to get his dick twitching in his jeans and he decides the shower can wait until later.

Hyunjin goes to his room and locks the door after himself even though he's alone, it's just become a habit after so many years living with his members. He sets his bag down next to his bed and thinks through his plan.

Hyunjin has a little secret, which is that he loves recording himself do dirty things that range from more vanilla to much less vanilla. Something about the thrill of being recorded even if no one will ever see it just... makes him so fucking horny.

He opens the camera of his phone, puts it to video mode and presses record. Moving his hand off the lense and setting it down where he normally sets it, on the carefully placed pile of books on his desk, he sits down on his bed.

"Hmm... I hope the angle's good... It's been so long since I've had time for this", Hyunjin sighs with a pout and brushes his hair out of his eyes. He knows the camera won't see it though because he's made sure the stand, his pile of books, is at a level that cuts off his head perfectly.

Hyunjins hands run down his body slowly and he exhales deeply, just loud enough to get picked up by his phone. Once they reach his jeans he unbuttons them, unzips the zipper, then pulls the jeans down just enough to expose his underwear. Hyunjin pulls his shirt up over his stomach to be held in place under his chin, rubs his hand over his bulge and hums.

It's been so long since the last time he's been able to take his time making himself feel good. It's almost embarrassing how quickly he's getting hard.

He takes his dick out his boxers and then spits on the palm of his right hand. It's dirty and wet but it just turns him on even more. He grabs his dick with the hand and slowly moves his fist up and down, to spread the saliva and precum all over his dick to make the slide easier and wetter but to also get himself to full hardness.

"A-ah, ohh... that's so good... Feels-fuck, feels so good", Hyunjin sighs. It really won't take him too long to cum, he just knows it. He's been pent up for far too long.

He tries to think of something to help his issue and immediately thinks of you, no matter how embarrassed or dirty it makes him feel.

When you first started showing up in the dirtiest corners of his mind he felt so ashamed. Now it doesn't matter to him anymore. You'll never find out so why feel bad?

He continues to move his hand on his dick while thinking of you. The last time the two of you had time to hang out together you'd worn the lowest cut shirt he'd ever seen on you. He had tried so hard to act normal around you but whenever you bent down he'd been able to see into your shirt.

"Haah, fuck..." , he squeezes himself a little harder at the memory. Everytime you moved he could see your bra poking out from the top, black and lacy. The entire time he'd been doing his best to not bust in his pants. Oh, what he'd give to be able to see your tits. They always looked so soft and they'd probably fit perfectly into his palms.

Whenever the both of you would hang out at yours, watching movies and just hanging out, you never bothered to wear a bra. Why would you? It is your house where you want to be as comfortable as possible.

The feeling of laying down on your couch watching a movie with you on top of him, in just a t-shirt, will end up driving him mad one day. Everytime he'd felt your nipples poking into him he'd almost moaned out loud.

"Hngh... Oh my god, please... m-mommy!", he lets out pathetically, moving his fist faster. God he just wants you to use him, to do anything you want to him. The thought makes him whine desperately.

One of the most common fantasies for him is you on top of him using him to get off, not caring about if he's close or not. You'd sit on his face and ride it until you cum. He could probably cum untouched like that. All he'd need was tasting you and seeing you cum, just for him.

All the sudden he remembers the phone recording him and he shudders. He imagines what your reaction would be to seeing him like this. Would you be disgusted or delighted? Would you tell him what to do and how to touch himself? Maybe you'd touch him... He hopes you would.

"Mommy... please touch me, aah- oh!", he runs his thumb over the head of his cock just right and his thighs twitch but he keeps them open, in perfect view to the camera.

Throwing his head back he imagines you riding him. You'd be so tight and wet around him. Maybe you'd tie his hands behind his back so he wouldn't be able to touch you... he'd really like that. You'd feel godly around him, Hyunjin thinks.

"Fuck, oh fuck! Mommy I'm-haah, I'm so close, please!", his dick twitches desperately. You're so gorgeous, to him you're the sexiest person he's ever seen. He feels himself getting so close that tears spring to his eyes.

"Ah- 'm gonna... mommy, gonna cum...!", he whines out long and loud. It takes Hyunjin two more strokes to let go and he cums the hardest he's cum in weeks. He doesn't even register whispering your name. Hyunjin leans back on his left hand and keeps stroking himself through it.

The feeling is overwhelming, so much so that his thighs start twitching pathetically and the tears in the corners of his eyes fall. He's getting incredibly overstimulated but he keeps going, wanting to keep enjoying the feeling, just a bit more.

He squeezes himself one last time and suddenly everything on him feels gross and dirty. He's just had the best orgasm in weeks so it's no surprise that he came a lot, everywhere. He even managed to get some on his chin.

"Fuuck... Did you-haah... did you enjoy that?", he chuckles to the phone. It takes a while for him to come down from the high, the twitchiness and the feeling of euphoria lingering in his body. Once he's capable of standing up again he stops the video.

With his body feeling like jelly, he takes off all his clothes, drops them into his hamper and prepares to shower, at last.

Hyunjin wakes up to his alarm the next day feeling more refreshed than he's felt in weeks. He shuts off the still ringing alarm and quickly gets up from his bed to get dressed and go eat breakfast.

Checking the calendar on his phone to make sure he knows his schedule for today, he makes a note of one thing; he'd have a lot of time alone at the dorms today too, since he's only got a dance practice and a recording session today, which obviously means 3racha will stay behind to stress about their songs while Hyunjin can return early. Maybe this time he should continue the latest piece of art he's been working on after he gets back?

Hyunjin gets through the day well enough.

After eating breakfast he messages you a "Good morning pretty <3 please remember to drink water!" like every morning when he has time for it. He gets to the practice room only five minutes late, which is a record this early in the morning, because usually he ends up sleeping in at least ten minutes (which makes Chan scold him for being such a heavy sleeper).

He does well at practice, even though he ends up a little exhausted. That's nothing new though, with how hard they always work to be the best they can be.

The rest of the members leave to take a break but Hyunjin decides to stay behind to film the solo choreography he's been working on for fun. Once he's happy with how it's turned out, it's time for him to go record his lines.

The recording session goes smoothly, without hundreds of retakes and everyone's satisfied with the result. Afterwards they decide to order some take-out, as a reward for a job well done... and also because they're all feeling too lazy to even think about going to the dorms to cook.

While eating Hyunjin finally realises to check his phone again. "Good morning, take care of yourself too!! :)" is your response to what he sent earlier. It's nothing more than a kind response but it makes him grin to himself like the fool in love he is.

"Yaaah!! Hyunjinnieee, what's making you smile so beautifully?", Changbin leans towards him with his signature flirting-with-Hyunjin grin, mouth half full of rice.

"It's nothing," Hyunjin responds back to him cheeks red, "and don't talk with your mouth full hyung... Do you not have any respect?"

Changbin decides to drop it in favor of eating more delicious food.

"Oh come on... we wanna know!!", Han pouts at him from his seat on the couch in the room. Hyunjin shoves another mouthful of food in his mouth to avoid the embarrassement of explaining how a single text messaged from you manages to make his heart beat out of his chest.

Once Hyunjin's done eating he's free to go back to the dorms and just like he suspected the rest of his dormmates stay behind to work some more, although they all whine at him to stay to explain the previous mystery. He declines and they all keep their sad puppydog eyes on him until he's out the door.

He keeps texting you during his ride, all the way to the dorms. Once he's in his room Hyunjin decides to just change into some clean clothes. He's too excited to talk to you and get to painting, he can wash up later.

He lays in his bed to keep texting you and at some point your conversation changes from how your day's been going to talking about dancing and he mentions how he just today filmed a new choreography bit he's made for fun.

❣️:

Can I see what you've been working on? :)

I'm sure it's really good, you always are!!

Jinnie:

Well... since you asked so nicely😉

[video sent]

Quickly sending the video Hyunjin exits out the messaging app, feeling so giddy he can't help but squirm around on his bed. He still can't believe someone like you could be interested in seeing him dance.

It might seem like a small thing for most but he feels himself turning red just thinking about the way you look at him while he talks about something so important to him. It makes the butterflies in his stomach every time you're near go crazy. It's so attentive, like you actually care and are interested in his interests... and maybe even...?

'No' , he thinks to himself. There's probably no way you could ever actually be interested in him, not in the same way he's interested in you at least.

He leaves his phone charging and finally gets out of bed to go to the kitchen for a cup of coffee. He'd need it if he wanted to stay up late to work on his newest art piece.

Hearing the familiar 'ping' notification of receiving a message makes you open your phone again and just like you thought, Hyunjin had sent you the video of his latest masterpiece of a choreography. Not waiting a second you press the video just to see.... Hyunjin take his hand off the camera and set the phone down on the desk in his room he draws on. He sits down on the edge of his bed and says something, you aren't really sure what, because the volume's too low. In confusion you turn it up more.

Hyunjin sighs and reaches up to move his hair out his face, probably. You can't see it though, because the camera cuts his face perfectly off frame. Suddenly his hands run down his body to the button on his jeans. He opens it and starts undoing the zipper next. You just look at the video in shock. 'He isn't about to... to take them off is he?', you think to yourself, just as he pulls the jeans down enough to expose his white boxers and then palms his bulge.

Should you stop watching? Keep watching? How long has it even been playing? How long does it keep playing? While you wonder this you almost miss Hyunjin pull his hard dick out of his underwear and spit on his palm and... Oh God...

You've now done something you can never take back. The downright sinful view of his cock is something you don't think you're ever going to be able to forget. How do you even face him after this? After watching him grasp his dick in his hand and pump it a couple of times to spread the spit and precum around.

You exit the video, panting and absolutely soaking through your underwear. Your other hand rushes to your face to feel your cheeks. They're burning and feel like you've been standing out in the sun for hours, when in reality all you've done is accidentally watch your best friend play with himself.

You struggle to decide what to do with the video and in the end save the video without much thinking, then delete the message of it and decide to notify him of his mistake. As long as he doesn't know you saved it, it should be fine, right?

It takes Hyunjin less than 10 minutes to make and get the coffee. He returns to his room humming the tune of a song he's had on repeat recently. Setting the coffee down on the desk and taking his phone off from the charger he notices new messages from you.

❣️:

Uhm...😕

Hyunjin, I don't think you meant to send that.

He looks at his screen confused. What did you mean by that? He...

Oh God.

Did he send the wrong video?

Frantically opening the video he sent earlier he sees himself, in video, move his hand off the phone camera and set it down the desk near his bed and sit down. Oh no...

"Hmm... I hope the angle's good... It's been so long since I've had time for this", video Hyunjin sighs and reaches up to move his hair from his eyes. His head may be out of frame but he clearly remembers pouting while saying this. He watches himself slowly unbutton and unzip his pants, adjusting them so that his boxers are clearly visible in frame. In the video his hand drifts towards his crotch slowly, teasingly.

He quickly exits the video and promptly shoves his head under his pillow and yells. He'd accidentally sent the wrong video while hurrying to get a cup of coffee. How could he have messed up this bad? In his panic, it takes him a moment to respond.

Jinnie:

Oh god

I'm so sorry!!

Please don't watch that!

❣️:

Don't worry!!!

I stopped watching the moment you started unzipping your pants😖

I saw nothing, promise!🙏 It's been deleted already!!

Little does he know though, you'd kept the video. You're not really sure why, but subconciously your brain keeps screaming' to finish it later, of course'.

...

Fuck it, you don't think you can wait until later.

Taking a deep breath, you open your gallery to find the video he sent you. You hesitate for a second but press play anyway. You can feel how you're already soaking through your underwear but pay no mind to it yet.

You watch him do the things you've seen already, all the way until he spits in his hand... and you pause the video. 'Is it right to watch this? I mean, he didn't mean to even send it...', you think to yourself.

But the thought of seeing him touch himself, to hear him make the sweetest noises you could ever in your wildest dreams imagine him making drives you on.

Pressing play again you dip your fingers into your pants. You rub yourself over your underwear and oh my god... you can't believe the wetness you feel after less than a minute of watching the video. You focus on the phone you're holding in your other hand and finally move your fingers into your underwear to directly touch your pussy.

On your screen you see Hyunjin start to stroke himself faster, the head of his dick a dark pink, you can feel his desperation through the screen. Without thinking you move your fingers to your clit and start rubbing it in circles, aided by the wetness of your leaking pussy.

He moans out loud and even though you can't hear it through the fog in your head, you know he's desperate. You move your fingers down to your hole and dip two of them in. You're so wet you barely need to even stretch yourself out and then he does it.

"Hngh... Oh my god, please... m-mommy!"

You push your fingers deeper and your pussy lets out he lewdest squelch which in turn makes you close your eyes desperately in pleasure. 'Mommy? When he masturbates he calls out for mommy??', the thought makes you lose your mind. You think about what it would be like if he called you mommy in the throes of pleasure.

You want to make him follow every command you give him. The way he'd look up at you on his knees with you standing above him. Maybe you could make him suck on a strap? He'd look so ridiculously delicious with his mouth full, drool dripping down his cheeks.

You add another finger and start rubbing at your clit with your thumb at the same time. The feeling makes you whimper and imagine his hands on you, teaching him how to touch you perfectly. You're getting so close and you remember to focus your screen again.

Hyunjin looks absolutely disheveled. His dick is red and throbbing, you can tell he's getting close. His voice is another thing that gives him away. He's whiny and his voice keeps cracking every time he opens his mouth. Hyunjin bucks into his hand and moans.

"... mommy, gonna cum...!", he strokes himself twice more and then finally cums. You're so close it's maddening. All the sudden you hear him... whisper your name?

It makes you go off the edge and your entire body clenches and seizes while you silently cry out from all the pleasure you're feeling. Your walls suck in your fingers with how you're clenching around them. On the screen Hyunjin twitches violently, working himself through the end of his orgasm.

You pull your fingers out of yourself and slump down on your bed exhausted, but the last 20 seconds of the video that's now over haunts you. Did you hear him right?

You gather strength to pick up your phone again and rewind the video to the part where he cums and turn the volume almost all the way up. Admittedly you end up fixating on the way his dick looks and face twists in pleasure when he cums and then he says, or more like whisper your name. Your brain blanks.

"Fuuck... Did you-haah... did you enjoy that?", he chuckles to the phone, sits in place for a bit to properly come down and then gets up to stop the video.

You're wet, confused and you can feel your heart beat out of your chest. What do you do now? How can you ever face him normally after that... Does he feel the same way you do? Is he sure he didn't mean to send it?

It's all too much to think about, so you decide that instead of thinking about it you'll clean yourself up and... crawl into a hole where no one will ever find you. Probably. The only thing you know for sure is you definitely won't be sleeping tonight.

#cupid♡writing #sub!idol #stray kids x reader #stray kids smut #skz x reader #skz smut #hwang hyunjin x reader #hwang hyunjin smut #hyunjin x reader #hyunjin smut #dividers by cafekitsune

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soaps-mohawk · 1 month

Text

Cherry Red, Crimson Blood

Chapter 13: Piece Me Back Together

Summary: Your pack deals with the aftermath of your heat.

Pairing: Poly 141 x reader, Ghost x Soap

Warnings: NSFW, 18+, smut, handjobs, anal fingering, anal sex, unprotected sex (please practice safe sex irl), spanking (it’s like once), choking (kind of), light Dom/sub dynamics, Johnny's praise kink, excessive use of the word cock, heat cycles, mating cycles, brief mention of blood, brief medical stuff, Alpha/Beta/Omega dynamics, Alternate Universe, a/b/o typical classism and sexism, language, and of course a little fluff

A/N: Well folks, we've made it past the heat portion of the fic. Now things can really start moving. Lots of aftercare, some world building, and of course a little spice at the end for you all to enjoy (as if the last chapter wasn't enough lol). I tried to catch all the possible tags for this one but as always, let me know if I missed one. The smut happens in the very last scene, so if you'd prefer not to read it, then skip that last little bit. You won't really miss much. Also, there's a lot of jumping around in time in this one so I tried to mark when things are happening relative to the present moment in the fic.

Want early access to chapters, as well as other bonus content? Consider supporting me on Patreon.

MASTERLIST | <- Previous | Next ->

6 Days Ago

“Looks comfortable.”

Kyle glances up as Johnny closes the door to his room, blanket and pillow in hand. “Slept on worse.” He shrugs, glancing down at the cot set up in the hallway before looking back up at Johnny. “Moving out?”

“Camping in Si’s office for the next week. Keep our distance.” He nods at the closed door.

“Probably for the best.” Kyle says. “Have fun!”

“Don’t enjoy yourself too much.” Johnny winks at him before making his way down the hallway and disappearing around the corner.

Kyle shakes his head, starting to sort through the many bags of supplies they’ve stocked up on in preparation for their omega’s heat. They’re well prepared, all of them, for the next week, Kyle especially. He’s spent the last few days reading up on what to expect, how to best help and support his alpha and omega, and what to look out for in case things start going wrong. He doesn’t think they will. He has a lot of faith in Price and he knows Price will take good care of their omega.

Still, he can’t help but feel a bit nervous. He has a big job to do, even though there’s not much to do until after the heat is over with. He just has to ensure Price doesn’t hurt you accidentally, or maul you to death. He doesn’t think that’s likely to happen, but then again, one can never know.

Kyle lets out a shaky breath, grabbing the bags with the electrolytes and nutrient bars before heading for your door.

It’s going to be a long week.

Present Day

It’s quiet. Has been for almost an hour now. Kyle rises from the cot, slipping his phone into his pocket. He slowly approaches the door, leaning in to listen for a moment before putting his hand on the knob. He lets out a breath before pushing the door open slowly, slipping in and closing the door quietly. The smells in the room are worse than they had been last night, a toxic mix of omega, alpha, sex, and sweat. He takes a moment to breathe, adjusting to the scent.

You and Price are spooned together on the bed, asleep, or at least you are. Price had pulled the blankets up around you, tucking you in. Kyle approaches slowly, not wanting to accidentally step on a wrapper and startle either of you and risk you getting scared or Price getting territorial. He brushes the damp strands of hair from your face, your body temperature significantly lower than it had been even last night. He pulls the forehead thermometer from his pocket, taking your temperature quickly before sending a text to Dr. Keller.

He carefully lifts the blankets, checking beneath. You’re still locked together as he expected, and he lowers the blankets back down, tucking you both in again. He unplugs Price’s phone from the charging cord that he’d plugged in last night, rotating it to your phone. He knew the chances of either of you being aware enough to use a phone for anything would be low, but just in case, he kept them both charged.

He tiptoes through the mess of wrappers and bottles, grabbing the bag of trash that he had started a couple days ago. He picks up the mess on the floor, cleaning off the nightstand as well before setting out a new bottle of electrolytes and a couple nutrient bars. There’s still quite a few left, but those could be saved for your next heat.

Price stirs a bit as Kyle sets the bag of trash off to the side next to the bag of things that would have to go to the wash. He hurries over, gently keeping Price from moving too much.

“Easy. You’re still knotted.” He says, putting a hand on Price’s shoulder as you let out a quiet sound. His skin is warm and sticky from sweat, and probably other things.

Price rubs his eyes before blinking up at Kyle. “What day is it?”

“Morning of the sixth day.” He answers, passing Price the bottle of electrolytes. “I think it’s over. Her temperature’s back to normal. Just waiting on Dr. Keller’s opinion.”

Price hums, unscrewing the cap from the bottle before taking a long drink. “Feel like shit.”

Kyle grins. “Been a long week for you, Cap. How do you feel?”

Price screws the cap back on the bottle before leaning over you to place it on the nightstand. “Like I got hit by a truck and rolled down a hill.”

“Speaking from experience, sir?” Kyle smirks.

Price gives him a look before closing his eyes again, relaxing against your back. He lets out a groan as his knot deflates, his cock slipping from your folds. “Christ, that's going to hurt later.”

“Let me get the bath started.” Kyle says, going into your bathroom.

He starts the water, making sure it’s warm enough before he grabs the epsom salt off the counter and adds some in. He leaves the water running as he moves back to the bedroom, helping Price off the bed first. The alpha groans as he stands, leaning heavily against Kyle’s side. Kyle wraps his arm around his shoulders, supporting Price as they make their way to the bathroom.

“I’ve been beaten, tortured, shot. I’ve jumped out of moving cars, been in helicopter crashes.” Price says, grunting as Kyle helps him down into the bath. “This might be the worst I’ve ever felt.”

“Not quite as spry as you used to be, old man?” Kyle teases, making sure he’s comfortable.

“Plenty spry, but god I forgot how energetic omegas can be.” Price leans his head back against the wall, closing his eyes.

“Just relax.” Kyle says, turning off the water. “I’ll bring her in.”

He heads back into your room, approaching the bed. You’re shivering, eyes squeezed closed and eyebrows pinched. Kyle kneels down next to the bed, placing a gentle hand on your arm. You start a bit at the touch, a quiet whimper leaving your lips.

“Shh, easy love.” Kyle tries to soothe you as you shake. “You’re alright.”

You let out a whine, seeking out your alpha in your disoriented state. The bathwater splashes as Price shifts in response to your call, his own instincts still on high alert.

“Let’s get you into the bath.” Kyle says before gently slipping his arms under you and lifting you up.

You let out a whine in protest, your body sore and aching from the last six days. Kyle quickly carries you to the bath, easing you into the water between Price’s legs. You’re trembling, quiet whines leaving your lips as he eases you back against Price’s chest. The alpha wraps his arms around you, a quiet rumble sounding from his chest as he tries to ease your disorientation and discomfort.

Kyle leaves you and Price there to soak as he heads back to the room to strip the sheets and start the laundry. Most of your pillows and stuffed animals are stacked in the corner of the room by your desk, spared from the mess that the bed has turned into. The sheets are still wet with a concoction of fluids, and he knows they’ll need to soak for a while. He stuffs them into the bag with your clothes, along with your blankets, before he heads down the hall to the laundry room.

He checks on you and Price when he returns, both of you content still in the bath. He can’t help but smile as he watches the two of you, pride swelling in his chest at the sight of his alpha taking care of their omega.

Their omega.

It seems almost strange to think now. They’d gone so long without an omega, and thought they wouldn’t be getting one. Now, six weeks later, they’ve all fallen head over heels for a little omega none of them even knew they needed. He can’t imagine life without an omega now, how well you fit into their pack, how well you fit with all of them, how you’ve only served to make them stronger and more efficient.

He hates to admit that perhaps Laswell was right.

Maybe they did need you after all.

Kyle bags up the plastic mattress protector, glad to see it did its job. He replaces the sheets and blankets for now, knowing you’ll want to nest once you’re more aware. He checks his phone before heading back into the bathroom, kneeling down next to the tub. Your shaking has subsided, reduced to a shudder here and there as you’ve slowly relaxed in the hot water.

Kyle grabs a cloth and your body wash, starting to gently clean your skin, or at least get the sweat and other fluids off. Bruises litter your skin and the claiming mark on your shoulder is scabbed and angry. Kyle carefully washes it, not wanting to apply too much pressure as he cleans off the dried blood still stuck to your skin. He knows it’s going to hurt for a while.

“What did Dr. Keller say?” Price asks as he helps ease you up so Kyle can wash your back.

“Said if her temperature is normal then the worst is over.” Kyle answers. “She wants to do a check up soon, make sure everything’s alright. Said she’d come here to do it, if that’s alright.”

Price grunts quietly as Kyle starts to wash his chest. “That’s fine. Easier than going all the way to the medical building. Simon and Johnny?”

“Fine.” Kyle answers. “Been keeping busy running drills and stuff. Johnny’s been keeping Simon occupied.”

Price hums, letting his eyes close as Kyle washes his neck and shoulders. “Good.”

Kyle makes sure to get all of the soap rinsed off before pulling the plug on the water, carefully lifting you up to stand. He lets you lean against him, grabbing one of the towels to dry you off as best he can. Price gets himself standing, drying himself off as Kyle helps you back to bed. Price joins you, wrapping his arms around you tight as Kyle tucks the blankets up around you both.

“Can I get you anything?” Kyle asks as he sets a new bottle of electrolytes on the nightstand. “Real food maybe?”

“I’d kill for some bangers and mash, maybe a pint.” Price says, a smile tugging at his lips.

“I’ll see what I can scrounge up.” Kyle says, glancing at you one last time before he leaves the room.

Your body aches. There’s a deep soreness in your muscles, and a painful throb between your legs. Your skin feels raw and tight, and there's a steady pulse behind your eyes. A quiet sound leaves your lips before you can stop it, the sound cracking and broken from your raw throat. There's a desert in your mouth again, your tongue dry and heavy in your mouth.

Your thoughts are dragged away from the agony in your body as a quiet rumbling starts somewhere in front of you, your brain going quiet except for the need to seek it out. You press yourself closer to it, meeting warm skin as you try to get closer and closer. You want to bury yourself in it, seep into its depths until you can feel the vibrations of it in your bones. Arms wrap around you, pulling you in closer until you're squished against a bare chest.

You press your face against the soft skin, trying to get closer to the rumbling purr vibrating from deep within. You let out another sound, body going lax as the purr lulls you into a relaxed state. The tension leaves your body, easing the ache in your muscles a bit. Not much, but enough to pull a relieved sigh from your lips.

“Easy, love.” A quiet voice says, another hand touching your back.

You tense slightly at the intrusion on your safe space, but quickly relax as the hand stills on your skin. The calming scent of beta overtakes you, easing your mind to a quiet hum as your alpha and beta work to calm you. You feel a bit disoriented as reality slowly begins to return, seeping back into your brain.

You went into heat.

You remember waking up with the blistering inferno burning hot within you, the insatiable need pulsing between your legs. You remember Kyle being there, the soft scent of him as he helped you prepare, pulling off your clothes and making you drink some of the electrolytes. You remember John entering the room, the way his scent made your brain feel like mush. You remember him sinking his teeth into your shoulder, his knot forcing you open before everything went dark.

Everything else is a dark blur, wiped from your memory after your instincts took over.

You shift against the body you’re pressed close to, a deep ache rippling through you. It hurts, everything hurts. Your hips are sore, your shoulder is throbbing, every muscle feels like you just did a triathlon with no training, and there’s a sharp throbbing between your thighs.

You’re crying before you even realize it, the tears uncontrollable as they slide down your cheeks, the quiet sniffles and sobs aggravating your already aching body. The arms around you tighten, the purring getting louder, but you can’t stop the onslaught of tears.

You flinch as something tickles the skin of your forehead, chapped lips pressing a soft kiss to your hairline. You let out a whine as you continue to cry, your mind a swirl of confusion and disorientation as you try to come to terms with everything that’s happened. You don’t know how long it’s been, what day it is. You don’t even know what happened to you in the last week.

You continue to cry, oblivious to the conversation happening over you, the gentle purring in your ears lulling you into a dazed state as you float in and out of consciousness. The pain of being moved momentarily brings you back before you settle again, laying back against a chest. A baggy shirt is pulled over your head, smelling of your alpha. The fabric feels different than it had days ago when you’d woken up in the throes of your heat. It’s soft, not offending, and it offers you warmth and comfort.

You don’t want to move, you don’t want to do anything. Exhaustion pulls at the edges of your mind as you lay there, the tears still streaming down your cheeks.

He hasn’t stopped purring since you woke up. The low rumble in his chest hasn’t stopped, and neither has the ache blooming there since you started crying. Even in your dazed, half asleep state, the tears still roll down your cheeks, quiet shaky breaths catching every so often. He’s not sure what to do, how to help. He’s never been with an omega that’s cried before. Not like this.

His purring kicks up in volume as you startle awake when the door opens, letting out a broken whimper as your space suddenly gets invaded. He tries to soothe you, his arms tightening around you to try and ground you in his presence.

“Hi, honey.” Dr. Keller says, kneeling down next to the bed, her voice soft and the scent of beta thick in the air. “Still a bit out of it, huh?”

“She hasn’t stopped crying since she woke up.” He says, rubbing gentle circles on your arm with his thumb.

“That’s not unusual.” Dr. Keller says, digging through her bag to pull out a thermometer. “There’s a lot going on right now for her. Besides the exhaustion and the confusion and the pain, there’s a lot of rapid hormonal changes happening. Some omegas can just wake up and hop out of it immediately and be just fine.”

John frees one of your arms so Dr. Keller can take your pulse and blood pressure.

“Others might struggle a bit more.” She continues. “Purebred omegas especially have a hard time coming out of it. They’re more sensitive to those instincts and the sudden cut off of them is rather jarring.” She puts her equipment back in her bag. “Her vitals look good, which makes me confident to hold off on any further examinations until she’s more alert and aware.”

“Are there things we should look out for?” Kyle asks.

“She’s going to be drowsy and fatigued for a while, but if you can’t wake her at all, call me. If her breathing gets shallow or her pulse weakens or she starts developing a fever again, call me. Also check for blood the next time she uses the bathroom. Her vitals aren’t showing any indication of internal injuries, though, so I think she’ll be just fine.” She pulls a pill bottle from her bag. “I’ve prescribed some muscle relaxers for her. There’s a week’s worth in there. It’ll help with the pain and discomfort, but they will make her sleepy. The best thing she can do right now is rest and recover. Once she’s more aware, you can try some soft foods and lots of liquids. If she’s really struggling, I can set up an IV and get some fluids into her, perk her up a bit.”

“Thank you.” John says, shifting you slightly so Dr. Keller can look at the bite mark on your shoulder.

“How are you feeling?” She asks him, pulling out a disinfectant wipe.

“Sore.” John huffs out a laugh. “Nothing I can’t handle, though.”

Dr. Keller hums as she cleans the wound on your shoulder. “I know I’m not here to give you medical advice, but as your omega’s doctor I feel the need to remind you not to ignore your own symptoms. She needs you right now, more than ever. So don’t try to macho man your way through anything. You need to rest just as much as she does.”

“Yes, doctor.” He grumbles, adjusting your shirt once she’s done.

Dr. Keller gives him a smile. “You did a good job.” She turns to Kyle. “Both of you. Don’t hesitate to call me. It’s what I’m here for.”

A smile tugs at John’s lips as Kyle practically beams from Dr. Keller’s praise. He did do a good job. You’re both still breathing after all.

3 Days Ago

“I cannae take anymore.” Johnny pants, his breaths near wheezes as he rests his hands on his knees. “Ye said you'd go easy on me.”

“I never promised anything, Johnny.” Simon says, standing behind him.

“Hell's bells, L.T.” Johnny groans, dropping to his hands and knees. “Gonna kill me at this rate.”

“Don't be dramatic. C'mon, again.”

“Uh uh.” Johnny says, flopping onto his side on the ground. “Am pure done in! ‘S almost lunch anyway.” He rolls onto his back, looking in the direction of the barracks as he wipes the sweat from his brow. “Think they're havin’ fun?”

Simon looks down at him, looming over him like a shadow. “Probably seems like it right now. Be a different story when it’s done.”

“Sometimes I wish I knew what it was like.” Johnny says, turning his gaze up to Simon's face. He can't see much under the mask, and right now is one of those moments when he wishes he could.

“You really don't. It's messy and gory.” Simon offers him a hand, helping Johnny to his feet. “Gotta be prepared to pick up the pieces afterwards.” Simon turns, heading in the direction of the barracks.

“That why you've never taken an omega?” Johnny asks, following him.

Simon stops dead in his tracks, turning to look at Johnny. Johnny's back straightens at the look in Simon's eyes. No, not Simon. Ghost. He's looking at Ghost again.

“Drop it. Or I'll make you do another lap.” Ghost says, his voice taking on the low rasp he gets when he's shifted into the laser focused headspace of the Lieutenant.

“Yes, sir.” Johnny says, following after Ghost as they head back towards the barracks.

Ghost slips into the showers once they enter, Johnny heading to the corner to peek down the hallway towards their rooms. It's quiet now. It hadn't been when they left earlier. He could hear it as they passed the hall to go out the door, the distant sound of moans and the bedframe knocking against the wall. He had fought the erection threatening to tent his shorts all the way to the field. He knows heats are no light matter, but the mental image he's drawn up of you blissed out, mouth open as you moan, back arching in pleasure has been plaguing him for nearly two weeks. He's desperate, practically chomping at the bit to get a chance to see it himself first hand, to see the real thing putting his mental image to shame.

He makes his way down the hallway, keeping a respectful distance between himself and your room. Kyle looks up from his spot on the bed where he'd been scrolling on his phone.

“How're they doin’?” Johnny asks, wiping the sweat from his face.

“Alright. Sleeping for the moment.” Kyle answers. Johnny can only imagine the torture of having to sit and listen to nonstop fucking for the last three days.

“We're gonna grab lunch soon. Want us tae bring ye somethin’?”

Kyle nods. “Sure. That'd be great.”

“Ye got it.” Johnny nods, passing a glance at your door before looking back to Kyle. “Good luck.”

“Thanks, mate.” Kyle says, watching his fellow beta walk back down the hall.

Johnny glances up from his phone as Simon huffs out what's the tenth sigh in the last three minutes. The alpha is seated at his desk, clicking away at something on his computer and occasionally mashing away at the keyboard rather harshly. Johnny's surprised he hasn't cracked a key yet, or just thrown the whole thing out the window. The beta can see how tightly his alpha is wrung by the tenseness in his shoulders, the hard set of his brow, the set line of his lips, the occasional tick of his jaw.

“What's got ye all riled up?” Johnny finally breaks the silence, setting his phone aside.

“Nothing.” Simon grumbles, ignoring Johnny's gaze.

Johnny’s brow furrows and he pushes himself to stand, moving over to Simon’s side. “Doesnae seem like nothin’ to me.” He puts his hands on Simon’s broad shoulders, squeezing them, feeling the tension in his muscles. “Awful tense, Si.”

“Leave it, Johnny.” Simon grumbles, trying to swat the beta away, but he’s insistent.

“Wouldnae be a little omega getting you so tense, would it?” Johnny teases.

Simon turns to him, his eyes darkening. His jaw clenches, hands closing into fists where they sit on the armrests of his chair. “Don’t push it, Johnny.” His voice has that deep rumble to it, the threat of his alpha coming through.

Johnny stares at him, feeling the danger prickling at the back of his neck, but at the same time, he wants to push that boundary. He wants to see just how far he can push his alpha until he finally gives in.

“I don’t know why ye keep torturing yourself like this, Si. Ye know ye like her. She’d be more’n willing-”

“That’s the problem.” Simon snaps, pushing himself up from his seat, forcing Johnny to take a step back. “She’s not doing this because she wants to. She’s only doing this because she’s been told to do it.”

“She’s an omega. Her whole life was going tae be people tellin’ her what to do and forcin’ her tae do things, even if she didn’t want to. Ye think things would have been different if she’d been put with a different pack?” Johnny doesn’t back down from Simon’s glare, having been on the receiving end of it enough times now he’s almost immune to it. “Things could have been a lot worse for her. She might not have wanted to be here, but she is. Ye can’t change that, Si. No matter how badly you might want to.”

Johnny can tell by the slow fall to Simon’s tense shoulders that he’s struck home. The situation wasn’t ideal, but it’s what they were dealt. You’re here with them, and he’s going to make sure you feel as comfortable as possible.

Simon lets out another sigh, turning away from Johnny to crawl into their makeshift bed. He lays down with a huff, closing his eyes. Johnny smirks, slowly crawling onto the two cots pushed together, laying down right next to Simon. He rests his hand on Simon’s thigh, feeling the powerful muscle flex under his hand. He slowly begins to drag it higher, Simon’s eyes opening again.

“What do you think you’re doing?” Simon rasps, but he doesn’t move, even as Johnny reaches the junction of his hip and thigh.

“Yer all worked up, big guy.” Johnny says, leaning his head on his hand, slowly moving his hand over Simon’s very prominent bulge. “Thought I’d help ye.”

“What makes you think I want your help?” Simon says, still laying still.

Johnny lifts his brows, slowly rubbing Simon through his pants. “This looks rather painful, and I seem to be the only option to help, since everyone else is rather occupied-”

Johnny’s words are cut off as he finds himself suddenly on his back, Simon’s hand around his throat. The alpha is leaning over him, a deep rumble vibrating through his chest. “You talk too much, Johnny.” Simon rumbles, leaning close to the beta’s face.

“I’ve been told tha’ before.” Johnny says, leaning up to try and kiss his alpha, but Simon backs away before he can make contact. “By you if I remember correctly.”

Simon’s fingers flex around his throat, a moan spilling from his lips as Simon grinds his hips against Johnny’s. His cock is hard in his pants, has been for a while. He’s not sure if it’s from the lewd thoughts that have been plaguing his mind since you first kissed him, weeks ago, or if it’s just a response to the knowledge that you’re currently fucking their pack alpha like your life depends on it.

Johnny lets out a whimper, bucking up against Simon desperately. Simon tuts at him, pressing against his throat to keep him still on the bed as he sits himself up on top of the beta.

“Naughty little thing.” Simon says, staring down into his blue eyes. “Know you’ve been thinking about sinking your cock into the new little omega for weeks.” Johnny lets out a whine, his cock twitching in his pants. “I don’t think you’ll even make it that long, will you pup?” Simon chuckles. “Gonna cum in your pants as soon as you see her tits, huh?” Simon presses down, putting more pressure against his cock as he rubs it through his pants. “Gonna cum in your pants just thinking about it.”

Johnny holds his breath, trying to focus anywhere except for Simon’s hand. He squeezes his eyes closed as Simon undoes the button on his cargo pants, releasing his throat to tug the fabric down around his knees.

“Bloody hell.” Simon says, wrapping a hand around Johnny’s hard cock. “Prettiest cock I’ve ever seen.”

“I thought Kyle’s was the prettiest.” Johnny says, opening his eyes to glance down at his alpha.

“Kyle’s just pretty.” Simon says, slowly stroking Johnny’s cock. “You have the prettiest cock.”

“Christ...” Johnny breathes as Simon continues to jerk his cock, his hips bucking as he can feel himself getting closer and closer to the edge.

A pathetic whimper leaves Johnny’s lips as Simon pulls his hand away, sitting up on his knees over his beta. He undoes his belt, tossing it to the floor before undoing his pants, pulling them and his briefs down to release his own throbbing cock. Johnny licks his lips as Simon fists his own cock, slowly stroking it.

“Turn around. Let me see that pretty ass.” Simon says.

“Yes, sir.” Johnny smirks, wiggling himself until he’s flat on his stomach, pushing his ass into the air as best he can with his legs trapped between Simon’s.

Simon purrs quietly at Johnny’s response, running his hands over his beta’s pert cheeks. “Prettiest ass too.” He murmurs, gently spreading his cheeks.

“I’m startin’ to think I might be the prettiest.” Johnny says, gasping quietly as a glob of warm spit hits his hole.

“Give me a night with Kyle and I’ll get back to you on that.” Simon says, pressing a finger into Johnny’s ass.

Johnny groans, pressing his face into the pillow. “Fucking Christ.”

“You can take it.” Simon soothes him, reaching down to fish the lube out of the bag he’d tossed it in last night. He squirts some on his finger before pressing further in, spreading Johnny’s ass open. “Good boy.”

Johnny nearly melts into the cot, letting out a pathetic sound as Simon adds a second finger. He’s still sore from the last three days, but his drive to please his alpha pushes away any sensitivity he’s feeling. That, and the lust burning hot in him. Betas don’t have heat cycles, but he might as well be in the middle of one with how horny he’s been these last few days. He knows part of it is Simon being worked up by the knowledge that there’s an omega in heat nearby, and his own body reacting to his alpha. He’s never been around an omega in heat, and he doesn’t think Simon has either.

He’s not sure Simon has ever been with an omega at all before.

More cold lube hits his hole, a second finger pressing in. He gasps at the stretch, squeezing around Simon’s thick fingers. Simon’s other hand trails up his back, pushing his shirt up as he goes. Johnny pushes himself up slightly, tugging the fabric over his head before he relaxes back down against the blankets.

Simon presses a third finger in, working Johnny open with what still won’t be enough, but Johnny won’t complain. He’s taken his alpha before. He’ll do it gladly again.

“Fuck, Johnny.” Simon grunts as Johnny squeezes around his fingers again.

“Cannae help it.” Johnny whines. “Feels too good.”

“Didn’t say you could cum yet.” Simon says, removing his fingers. “Naughty pup.”

Johnny lets out a pathetic sounding whimper, pressing his ass up to try and chase Simon’s fingers. He yelps as Simon’s hand meets his skin, his hips dropping back to the bed at the force of Simon’s spank.

“Stay still.” Simon growls, the cap of the lube popping open again.

Johnny does as he’s told, keeping himself still as Simon prepares himself. He groans as the tip of Simon’s cock presses against his hole, his hands fisting the sheets at the stretch. Simon’s hand rubs his back, trying to get him to relax. Johnny breathes, forcing himself to go lax, letting Simon slip in further.

“Good boy.” Simon groans, bracing himself on the bed as he presses further and further into Johnny’s tight hole. “That’s my good boy. You can take it.”

“Fuck!” Johnny groans, practically preening from the praise.

“That’s it.” Simon groans, pressing in until his hips are flush with Johnny’s ass. “Bloody fucking hell.”

Johnny’s mind goes blank as he’s filled, all thoughts leaving at the feeling of his alpha inside of him. He’s panting already, stretched open around his alpha’s cock. Simon begins to move, rocking his hips slowly, drawing his cock out before pushing it back in. Johnny whines, pushing back against Simon, needing more.

“Please...” Johnny begs. “Please alpha!”

“Fuck.” Simon grunts, bracing himself further before snapping his hips against Johnny. “Like that? That what you want, pup?”

Johnny almost yelps at the sensation, hands fisting the blankets as his body rocks forward on the cot. “Fuck, yes!”

Simon sets a brutal pace, hips snapping against Johnny’s ass. Pleasure numbs Johnny’s mind as the sensation of Simon inside of him. His cock is trapped between his body and the cot, dragging against the blankets with every thrust. He’s going to cum soon, he knows that. He won’t be able to hold it, not with how sensitive he already is.

“Gonna cum, can’t hold it!” He whines, pushing back against Simon’s thrusts for more friction. “Fuck, alpha!”

Johnny cums quickly with a groan, the blankets getting damp under him as he shakes in his release. Simon doesn’t stop, undeterred by Johnny’s clenching around him in his orgasm. He’s going to ring a few more out of Johnny before he’s done.

They’re both in for a long night.

Taglist:

@bobaprint @ashy-kit @anunintentionalwriter @mockerycrow @hayleybarnesx @protokosmonaut @fruitymoonbeams-blog @blue-blue0 @hindi-si-ikay @thatonepupkai @redwites @kattiieee @141trash @lothiriel9 @dillybuggg @beebeechaos @konigsmissedbeltloop @kaoyamamegami @idkkkkkkk8363 @wallwriterstuff @smile-child-13 @anomiatartle @dangerkittenclaws @bless-my-demons @mystic60 @evolutionarry @red-hydra @lunaetiicsaystuff @linaangel @codsunshine @thriving-n-jiving @slayerx147 @ferns-fics @spicyspicyliving @cityoffallencrows @ttsbaby01 @heeheehoohoohahahihi @sleepyoriana @ihatethinkingofnames10 @cassiecasluciluce @darling006 @sheep-from-rad @ohgodthebogisback @willow-sages @scythemood @daniblogs164 @mirzamsaiph

#call of duty #call of duty fic #task force 141 x reader #tf 141 x reader #x reader #captain price x reader #John price x reader #gaz x reader #Kyle gaz Garrick x reader #soap x reader #John soap mactavish x reader #Simon Riley x reader #Simon ghost Riley x reader #a/b/o #alpha/Beta/Omega dynamics #Omegaverse

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yeyinde · 2 months

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dangle on the leash | Simon "Ghost" Riley x F!Reader

The flimsy sarcophagus housing all his wants, his desires, cracks open when Price announces that his missus is pregnant. Ghost cocks his head in consideration. Intentionally knocking you up is amoral. Probably illegal. Somehow, even more dastardly when the reason for it is simply selfishness. Want. Greed. Hunger. But he's a rabid dog burning with the urge to bite. No one should really be surprised when he finally decides to sink his teeth into you. Unfortunately, that hail mary Price sent into the aether never reached you.

(your bird is too big for a cage— —but maybe a collar would do.)

this is a babytrapping fic lmao but please read the tags carefully. a companion piece to this (Price + babytrapping).

DEAD DOVE. SMUT. 18+

HARD WARNINGS—coercion. dependency. intentional alienation. unsafe, unprotected sex. this very much toes the line of noncon (that is still very dubcon even when consent is given) in many ways, notably: somnophilia, and condom/contraceptive tampering. intrusive, violent thoughts. mentions of violence. manipulation; slight gaslighting. implied kidnapping. references to past abuse (Ghost), brief mention of drugging/threats of drugging (ambiguous as to if it was ever followed through on or not, mostly just Ghost's internal monologue unfiltered). ADDITIONAL TAGS—smut. rough sex. unsafe sex. dom!Ghost. mean, obsessive, unhinged!Ghost. spit kink. dacryphilia.

he's feral, but he's yours. too bad for you, no one is really sure if that's a good thing or not.

One of the things Price often tells new recruits is to shove their old life into a box.

“There's home,” he huffs, fingers twitching as if he's subconsciously flexing around the hilt of a lit cigar. “And then there's work. Whatever box you decide to put this, or your family, your personal life, into is your choice. But for fuck’s sake. Keep them separate.”

Most of the new recruits are fresh off selection, shaded sickly chartreuse, and take his words as a literal gospel. Work, this; home, them. They don't start to unravel the second part of his gruff speech until much later. Until they can't wash the blood from their hands, and the scent of their mum’s eucalyptus hand soap is nauseating. Unfamiliar. When being in civvies feels like wearing skin that doesn't fit, and everyone around you is alien, foreign. They don't know. They'll never know.

It's only when they find themselves gazing at the clock on the wall of their family home, counting down the minutes until their mandatory leave is over do they realise that home is the barracks.

That's something Ghost has always understood. Maybe it was because his home life was already in ruins, tatters. Beer soaking into the knock-off Persian rug a cousin nicked from a flea market when he was nine. No fine china in the cupboards because it'll end up in shards on the floor. Plastic plates and forks and cups. Always. Howling in his head. Screaming from down the hall in his mum's room. His bedroom door creaking open at night. The anger, the curdling fear (shameful—be a man; punch him back, hit him before he hits you, you useless prick—), of not knowing whether or not it was his dad, high as hell and itching for a fight after busting their mum’s lip wide open, or Tommy sneaking into his bed at night because his is soaked in piss and he can’t sleep when they scream at each other like this.

(Funny that, he always found; neither of them could ever sleep when it was silent, either.)

Blood on the linoleum. Trying to eat burnt toast and overcooked beans with a busted lip and a twinge in his jaw—

(Fractured, they'll say later, years later, during his mandatory medical checkup when he's first recruited. Healed all wrong. Son, didn't anyone take you to hospital?)

He understands the separation between home and work—even if the former lost all relevancy nearly a decade ago. Back when he buried them all. Was buried himself—

What Ghost never really understood was the box.

Shove it into a box.

When he asks over cheap whisky somewhere in Siberia, Price tightens his fingers around his glass before bringing it up to his head. His index finger juts out. He knocks the tip of that bruised, scabbed knuckle against his temple. Once, thrice. Levels Simon with a pointed look he both can’t understand and somehow knows all too well.

“Up here."

“Paid nearly fifty quid for that,” he grouses, shaking his head. “Think I've been ripped-off, Price.”

Price scoffs, places the glass down with a hollow thud. “Don't be a fuckin’ muppet, Simon—” his real name makes his shoulders tense. Around the barracks, they know him only as the Ghost. “You put it away somewhere. Hide it. I don't fuckin’ know. But if it keeps you goin’, keeps you sane, and doesn't become a mess I gotta clean up, well—”

The implication is stark. Heavy.

Price was always good at chiselling through layers of accumulated indifference to get to the madness within, but considering Ghost’s past and his mile-long rap sheet, the warning digging into his words like a dull blade isn't unwarranted.

Old dogs, he'd called the pair of them when they first met. There was a sharp keenness in his eye when he lifted his hand, waved his cigar toward the tangled mess of scar tissue crisscrossing his face (made with a dull, rusted knife, one that gouged out deep pocks of skin, ugly fuck, looks like the badlands, don't he? like a postcard from the Grand Canyon, sweetheart. not so cute anymore, are ya, pretty boy—), and said, “well, you're fuckin’ rabid, ain't you? Better put a muzzle on that before it becomes a problem, mm.”

His problem, specifically.

And Ghost gets it. Thinks Price might understand that particular brand of madness—despite growing up on literal opposite sides of the track, his Manchester to the others Liverpool; poverty and prestige—if only just. Because Price seems to be able to curb those baser impulses in a way Ghost hadn't yet mastered (and won't for quite some time yet). He's put together. Sort of. Respected. Normal.

The men in the barracks don't look at him and flinch.

But he sees the way the man's eyes linger in the crowd, shrewd and careless, before falling on the pretty bartender in the back. The one with roses in her eyes and a smile full of dandelions. Soft, like butterscotch. It's here when they darken. When he reaches, almost angrily, for his whisky. Pats his chest with a heavy fist searching for his cigar.

She's a sweet thing, he reckons. All pretty and trusting. Birds like her make his head itch—

“Don't even think about it, Simon,” Price grumbles, and it feels like territorial posturing, a challenge he almost raises to meet with his chin, if only to make Price fluster, but it's hollow. Empty. He denies himself, too. The prick.

“How'd you do it?” He asks, and doesn't specify. Doesn't think he needs to.

When Price swallows, it looks like a grimace. “Years of practice.”

He considers the weight of it, his eyes straying back to the woman behind the bar. She's tucking a strand of hair behind her ear, wrist delicate like bone china, the kind they could never afford, and for a moment, the intrusive thoughts, the ones he gets sometimes about wanting to tear things to bloody pieces, rears—

It's stamped down in a swig of flat lager You stupid fuckin’ mutt, Price would say tomorrow morning, shaking his head. You always think with your prick?

Simon cranks his head sharply to the side instead. The resounding crack seems to echo through the empty pub.

Price just shakes his head. “Christ. No one ever house break you, yet?”

“Yeah, they did,” he rasps, staring at the bartender who gazes back at him now. Skittish, unsure. Not so sweet after all. She looks away, cowed. Her hands tremble. He leans back, and hums. “And now I piss outside, like a good ‘ol boy.” “Ain't nothin’ good about you, Simon. Fuckin' Christ—”

And he's not wrong.

The Ghost has a reputation of being a cold-hearted bastard. A Frankensteinian beast cobbled together with spare parts robbed from a jailhouse graveyard. Worst of the worst. An arm from a mass murder. The leg from a spree killer. Heart a patchwork mess of ichor and sulphur. Sutured together with barbed wire.

It's all sort of macabre. Rather trite, too.

The rumour mill in the barracks is insatiable.

But sometimes, he wakes up and he's still buried. Still dead. Dirt in his throat, lodged in his nose. He breathes in and feels pebbles scraping his lungs. Feels worms in his ears. Maggots in his head.

They crawl through his grey matter. Leeches burrowing into his thoughts, sucking the good in him dry.

Or, whatever's left of it, anyway.

He thinks with his teeth because it's easier that way. Cold, calculative instinct. Just barely boxed into a neat package slapped on the desk of Price's higher-ups.

A good man, they say, and turn him loose on the streets. One of the best we have, as he breaks jaws, and tears through jugulars. A force to be reckoned with.

They hand him a gun, a rifle, when the bloodied footprints leading back to camp become too much of a hassle to clean. Shoot from a distance. He takes to it like the bulk of metal was made for his scarred hands. Scythe to a Reaper.

It feels like bloodletting. Draining him of his anger, his fury, until a cold, gnarled indifference curls in the basin left behind. Icy, frigid. Down to the bone.

Sometimes, he doesn't remember what it felt like to be warm, even buried under a thick balaclava and layers of military fatigues.

Frankenstein’s monster. Patched together from the rotten remains of horrible men.

And as he stares in the mirror at the patchwork ruins of his face, his body, he wonders if there's some truth to it, after all. He's pretty sure if someone cracked his skull open—again—they’d find rot. Tumulus. Infested with maggots and worms. Cobwebs behind his eyes. In his nose. His brain perfectly preserved: a zombified tombstone. And oh, how it hungers.

Wants.

But in a box it goes. One shaped like a coffin. Placed pretty in the back of his broken head.

He stares in the mirror and thinks he sees something moving under his eye. Wriggling around. The temptation to claw it out rears, but the shredded tissue on his thighs reminds him of what happens when he listens to that insidious hiss in the back of his head (some amalgamation of his old man, and that bastard—) and goes searching for gold in bone marrow.

He huffs. Fingers curling around the porcelain. His head is rotten. Putrefied. He can feel the decomposing sludge press against his temples. It grows teeth sharp like a razor blade and hacks away at jaundiced bone. Ghost lifts his hand, digs his fingers into his temple. Down boy—

(Simon doesn't even want to consider what his heart must look like, then.)

Cold-hearted, sure—

But he likes sweet things.

The kind that will undoubtedly give him cavities. A spillover, perhaps, when candy bars were too expensive, and the only dessert he was given was a toffee by the neighbour when she wasn't moaning to his old man about all the shit he and Tommy got up to.

(Bruises came afterwards, the colour of liquorice. Sour cherries.)

Unfortunately for him, sweet things don't like him much—a shame, really. Simon has always had a sweet tooth.

His rough edges are too sharp for their liking, and Simon's—

Intense. Like a dog with a bone, he doesn't know when to let go. When to unhinge his jaw from the morsel between his teeth. He bites hard. Shakes his head. Tears into the things he wants until it's bloodied meat pinched in his incisors.

And so, they keep their distance. Like they can smell the rot on him. The funeral dirt. The stench of an unearthed sarcophagi.

Sometimes, though, the wiley ones will inch closer, looking to get messed up badly by a bad man, and it makes something inside his head howl when he turns them down. Following Price’s creed. Can't give in to the pretty ones, he'd said. Nothin’ but trouble.

Trouble, like a pair of shackles. A noose. Trouble, like gentle, clean hands and fragile bones. Fine china. Fine powder. The marshmallow soft kind of trouble that will melt in the acid that leaks from his pores. Aqua regia. Attacking anything that gets close.

(Breakable, is what Price means. Pretty chew toys that are beyond repair once he's finished with them.

He must think Ghost is some sort of psychopath—)

But still. He stays away. It's easier on base, in safe houses, too far out from the general public to have to worry about doe eyes and soft touches. He doesn't need it, anyway—

Then comes you.

And the forfeiture of his self-control.

You're trouble of a different kind.

Trouble, like the end of a sledgehammer. Trouble, like the grill of a car. The barrel of a gun.

In the shape of a battering ram, one strong enough to dislodge the madness in the back of his head. Where the corrosive acid should ruin you, eat you alive, it doesn't. Not with your tantalum skin.

But oh, do you pack a punch—

At first, you think he's homeless.

Some scruffed-up man sleeping on a park bench outside of your apartment.

In another life, he might have been. He isn't a stranger to bad habits, and had the military not been his only choice in life for some semblance of good (laughable, considering what he does for a living), he could see the threads of his life leading him here. Drugs. Manchester is good for it, this he knows all too well. Especially the shithole neighbourhood he's from.

He doesn't clue into this, though, until you glance at him, warily, and then shuffle into the cafè he’s holed outside of, the place where his current target gorges himself on steeped tea and crumpets.

(Price's dry text sits, open, on his burner phone: and don't fuck this up—)

It feels a bit like an omen. Made worse when you meet his gaze through the glass, and—

Well. Shit.

The impact is a collision. Hitting a pole at top speed. Metal bent around concrete.

His teeth ache (so, so bad—).

You emerge from the small building a few minutes later—the faded eggshell with chocolate trim is nauseatingly sweet against your pastel yellow raincoat—holding a takeaway bag, and balancing a tray of coffees in your hand.

He tenses. It's instinctual. There's nothing about you that's an immediate threat to his person—unless you plan on adding to his scars with the tip of your umbrella, the scalding coffee in your hand—but it's odd, isn’t it? No one approaches him. Not unless they have a reason to.

And no one, in his experience, ever has a good one.

“Hi,” you chirp, disarmingly sweet, as you come to stand in front of him. His jaw aches. Even sprawled across a bench, you're barely looking down at him. Sticky, cold fingers tap a strange rhythm down his spine. “I, um, hope this isn't weird, but I saw you sitting here, and—well. I got this—”

You wiggle the bag. He smells something greasy. A breakfast sandwich, he's sure.

It's an unusual assassination attempt. Price will be livid.

“What for?” He rumbles, sitting up in the seat. The shift of his bulk seems to make you nervous. You take a step back, and he fights the urge to follow. To back you into a corner. No escape.

You regain your footing, even if the smile on your face wobbles. Weakens under his flat stare. Some people can smell the rot on him.

He wonders if you can, too.

(Pity that. You're a pretty bird, ain't you?)

And the way you take him in lacks a distinct thrum of hesitation, fear that’s normally there. It occurs to him, then, that you see him as just another man. Just another person.

(“deader than a doorknob, this one. such a goddamn waste, boss. he was a fun one, wasn’t he? should we burn ‘em?”

nah. bury him out back—)

It's laughable, really. A joke. He has the urge to crack one—sick and awful enough to make that little smile on your face wilt. Wither away. Almost does, too, but it get tangled in his throat when he feels the weight of your stare on him.

The easy sweep of your eyes is barely discrete, but it's clinical. Pitying. But the softened edges of that empathy dissolve as your pretty head adds up all the numbers on him, coming to a standstill. Your eyes linger on his wrist. The gold of his wristwatch peeks out beneath the black sleeve of his hoodie. An intricate web of complex timekeeping that only he's privy to. A little luxury he picked up in Italy when the cash he'd been given was getting too tiresome to carry around.

Dead men, after all, don't need bank accounts.

And then—

You fluster. “Sorry, I just thought—”

It clicks, then. The pity. The soft words. The goddamn coffee—

His gums itch. He has the sudden urge to be mean about it. Pick you apart in this street until nothing but embarrassment and humiliation remains.

“That I was homeless? ‘nd you brought me, what? A coffee? ‘ow sweet of you. Some breakfast, too. Well, aren't you a lovely girl?”

You are embarrassed. It blisters across your expression. Has your hands trembling around the cardboard tray, spilling droplets of coffee down the side. Your head is bowed, cowed in shame. It reminds him of that bartender some years prior. Pulling away when the bad dog growls—

But there's a thin sheen of intrigue in your eyes, burrowing holes into the shoes in front of you; a tangled knot of want coiling in the heat of your embarrassment over this blunder. Over offending him.

Well—

That's new.

Some get off on it. On humiliation. Specifically, of the public variety. He didn't take you as the type. The way you twist, squirming in place, is odd, though. It doesn't fit as well as he originally thought. No. It's not the public shame, but—

Him.

Ah.

Sweet, sweet girl.

(So naïve.)

He reckons he could get you to do just about anything to make it up to him. You would, too. You're soft enough to be submissive, to bow your head in contrition, but there's a flicker of defiance in the jut of your chin when you lift your head.

This is a blunder and you're sweetly embarrassed, sure, but it isn't enough to break you.

And now Simon just wants to ruin you. Teach you a lesson about bad, vile men—

(Something you'd welcome with open arms, wouldn't you?)

“Didn’t know Manchester was so charitable,” he rasps. His throat is dry. Parched. He reaches for the coffee—black, with extra creamer and sugar on the side, tucked neatly in a little bag; fuckin’ hell. Ain't you just adorable—and places it on the spot beside him. “I’ll be takin’ this. Will need it for later.”

You look like you want to protest. Fight back. His hackles rise, ready for it—eager. Something anticipatory, dark, bleeds through the moulted mess of his head. Sickly. Terrible. He thinks about what you'd look like sprawled under him, shaking and begging for more, for him to stop—

Fuck. Birds usually make his head itch, but you make his fucking skin crawl.

In the end, you just huff. Roll your eyes. He wants to chew them out of your head. Pop them between his teeth. He bet you'd taste divine.

You walk away from him before he can. You don't look back once.

Pity, he thinks. Someone's gonna snatch you clean off the streets like that—

Hours later, he sends Price a text message with the coordinates for where to pick up the package Ghost left.

He considers it a blessing when the man sends him back, good job, now get a pint from me as a little reward. Can't say I don't treat my team well.

A reward, huh?

Well. With your stature in comparison to his own, Ghost easily can see you being considered a pint.

So, he follows you home, and tallies this one as being on Price.

It's easy. Too easy. He slips deftly behind you, tucked away from view, and masks his footsteps under the echo of yours until he's standing in the shadows outside of your house. This, too, feels like a blessing. It's a duplex. He waits for one of the lights to flicker on, and—

The window brightens. Room number two.

He hums, and palms his pockets for the pack of smokes he nicked off the man. Needing something to take the edge off. To quell the urge to bite.

It's even easier to engineer meetings. Random run-ins. All blamed on happenstance, chance. Of course. This towering mountain of a man with his thick manc twang—the sort of gallows humour that can only be found in the blue-collar streets of Salford from the nasty old men squatting on the corners—must have better things to do than stalk you. Surely. You're not special enough to be hunted, right?

Still. You're a touch wary of him. Distrustful. You keep your distance—six inches for Jesus Christ, aren’t you a peach?—and try to skirt the line between neutrally polite to the strange man loitering outside of the shops you frequent (your schedule burned to his memory, naturally) and that fascinating skittish intrigue from before. All simmering heat. Blunt want. The kind wrapped up in silk threads.

It's interesting to watch it play out when he steps closer and all those long-forgotten instincts in the back of your head flare up. The shaky step you take back. The inward frown of confusion when you're not sure why your body craves space, acting almost on its own. And then the sweet defiance that breaks over you. The intentional step closer. The feigned warmth in your tone as you talk to him.

It's easy to pocket the uglier aspects of his personality. The coldness. The indifference. The flat, droll insincerity that leaks into his tone. All of it shelved, locked away, and he's not sure if Price would be happy that he listened to what he said, followed his example, or furious that he's bastardising it to lure this pretty fish in.

)The latter, undoubtedly. But Simon gets a sick kick from it all.)

Especially when it brings you closer to him. Thaws you as you rationalise his reaction during the first meeting, gears spinning. Kicking up excuses.

Anyone would be angry, offended. It's natural. He's alright now—

It makes you look at him differently as you forcefully fight the urge to flee.

Silly bird.

Wary eyes rake over his massive bulk. Brows furrow at the series of black medical masks he wears in public. Always. That, in addition to the heavy black of his wardrobe—black jacket, black hoodie, black leather gloves—sometimes makes you glance at him with a touch of worry. Fear. Probably wondering if you brought home a delinquent.

But it changes when he rolls up his sleeves one day after you've been moaning about your broken beach cruiser (the, I don't know, chain—or something—keeps catching—), and crouches down to fix it.

There's a hitch in your breath. A distinct swallow. A guilty tinge of something shy, deliciously so, shading your eyes ruby-red when you look down at him.

And ah—

Sweet little treat snagged on the line. Ain't he a lucky lad?

It's all the better when you do the work for him. Reeling yourself in, practically throwing yourself in his cooler when you ask about his tattoos, carefully—considerately—nudging the topic away from his ugly scars.

He guts you clean as he tells you he's in the military. Top secret, pet. Don't ask because I'd hate to ‘ave to hurt a pretty face like yours—

You preen under it. Pet. Pretty. You don't even notice when he slides his knife over your scales, dices you up on his chopping board.

You're the picture of sweetness when he unkinks the chain in your bike, and sets it straight. All happiness. Smiles. Appreciative glances. You flutter your pretty eyes at him as you say—

“Thank you—”

You're waiting for a name. His belly rumbles. He could eat, he thinks, and licks his teeth.

“Simon. Simon Riley.”

The risk-reward ratio is balanced when you breathe it out between plump lips, chasing the end of it with your tongue. He wants to eat it out of your mouth. Swallow it down.

You touch his arm, hand warm, soft. “If there's anything I can do to pay you back—”

He takes you out for a kebab later on. Nudges you out of the way when you open your wallet to pay. Draft girl. Naïve, too, because he can feel the heat in your cheeks from where he stands, reaching over to snatch the bag from the man with a grunt.

You must think him quite the gentleman. So trusting.

Doesn't matter. He lets it take root. Especially when you shyly invite him back to yours to eat.

He makes a feast of it, and fucks you on your mint green chaisse after he's finished.

(Not on birth control, you say, and hand him a box of condoms, suddenly shy. It's unopened. He hums, and burns that to memory.)

He keeps his distance—an easy feat when he's halfway around the world, and you're stuck in the gloom of Manchester.

It's purposeful, of course. He made a promise to Price not to give him a reason to worry, but fuck—

You're proving hard to quit. He's never had anyone cuff him upside the head on his bullshit. Not anymore, anyway. Not as the Ghost. He likes the thrill of it, of this chase.

You don't let him steamroll you when he's in a mood to fight. You punch back, hitting him right in the mess of his guts, and fuck. Fuck. He's a little bit obsessed with it. With you. This wily little fish that acts so shy when he's got three fingers buried in your cunt, but rides him after like you're starving for it. Clawing at his chest. Scratching his arms. It's raw. Primal. He wants to break you—this fiery little kitten that bites his fingers until they bleed, and then purrs in his lap as he drives a pickaxe through your head, shredding logic into pieces. Rummaging around until he nicks the optic nerve that lets you see red.

You’re everywhere. In everything. In the back of his head, under the howling that hadn't stopped since you trailed your finger down the jagged topography of his bare chest, digging your nail into the crude x across his heart, and whispered, soft and sweet: you're all kinds of fucked up, aren't you?

A bludgeon to his self-control—

He resists. Has to. Is mean about it, too. Doesn't tell you where he's going (it's need to know), or what he's doing (would ‘ave to bash your pretty ‘ead in if I told you), but keeps you strung on the line (keep thinkin’ about that pretty cunt of yours; can't wait to come ‘ome and ‘ave you sit on my ugly mug—).

It's dangerous, this game of his. Thrilling for all the wrong reasons.

But he’s a good mutt. Good—

Until the text.

The one you send to him when you're out with friends. A picture. You're in a pub somewhere in Moss Side, a drink in hand. A gaggle of nobodies crowded around you. It makes sense, he supposes. There's that old idiom—you’ll trap more flies with honey—and he doesn't know anyone nearly as sweet as you.

His sweet girl.

(you fuckin’ mutt—)

Ghost stares at you for a moment, teeth aching. The little ensemble—a crop top and jeans—is a vision, he reckons. But it's spoiled when he catches more eyes on you than pointed at the camera. Practically spilling out of your top, aren't you?

He breathes heavily through his nose. Tastes guncotton in his throat.

Ghost commits every face to memory, and then calls you.

You're drunk. Too drunk to remember it tomorrow. Stuck in a pub on what's supposedly a bad part of town. Chatting away about going to your friend’s house. He gets the address, and something sour twits in his stomach. Shit council houses.

“That safe?” He asks, leaning back in his chair. He's already chubbed up in his slacks at the slur in your voice. “And dressed like that? Didn't take you for a slag—”

It makes you sputter on the line. “I'm—I’m not—”

You're so quick to placate him. So hasty to make him happy. Please don't be angry with me, Simon. I'm just having some fun—

The claws and fangs are tucked away when you're drunk. He shoves the information in the cache, eyes burning. Head aching. He's feverish. Hot under the collar.

Odd considering he's dead—

“Sounds like you will be.”

“It's not like that—”

“‘ow would you know? Might meet a nice fellow. Might take him home.”

“I don’t—I wouldn't—”

The sniffle makes him throb. Fuck. “Yeah? Well, ain't none of my business, I reckon—”

“It is.”

“Oh? How's tha’?”

“I—I like you, Simon—” he can taste your embarrassment through the phone. He didn't even need to bring you flowers and you're already boxing him into monogamy, confessing to him. So sweet. So tender. If he were a better man, he might have told you to sober up. To talk about this tomorrow.

Too bad for you, he isn't. And what’s worse is that he’s a loyal bastard, too.

But that's later, and right now—

He's halfway across the world, and you're vulnerable. In the den of hungry mutts.

It’s charr in his throat. Anger in his veins. “You like me? An’ you go out dressed like that?”

“There's nothing wrong with how I'm dressed—”

He sucks his teeth. “Dunno ‘bout tha’, pet. You look like you're achin’ to get fucked.”

You take a shuddering breath. “I just want you—”

“Yeah?” It's a growl. His cock spits prespend in his trousers. “Then be my good girl. Go home and wait for me.”

It's quiet on the line. He catches the hitch in your throat, the sharp exhale, like you can't really be sure if he's serious or not. He says nothing. Waits.

Where there would have been a fight—fists and teeth and snarling words—you quieten in the silence. Docile. Submissive. It's in you, he knows. He saw the glimpses back when you first met, when he'd bent down and fixed the bike he broke. All it needs is a little—

“Jus’ worried about my sweet girl, is all.”

And you relent.

Corrosive oil spills out of the necrosed holes in his head. It curls over his thoughts, liquid sin. He takes himself in his hand, blood pulsing in his veins, white-hot, damning, and bares his teeth at the urge to come to you, to push you down on the floor, and mount you like a snarling beast—

“Good girl,” he growls when you tell him you'll call a taxi, that you'll go home and have some wine with your friend instead.

Friend. Friends.

He'll have to do something about that.

(The thing about deprivation is that it bleeds into a vicious sense of possession when it's finally obtained. Greed. His wants have wants, have wants—

A perfect ouroboros. One you feed into almost destructively.)

Because the thing is—

Simon wants to tie you to his bed. Keep you locked up in the safe house he has in Manchester. Chained, shackled. A prisoner with him as your iron guard.

It isn't just fantasy, either.

The flies that congregate around you are an annoying, incessant buzzing in his ears. Remora clinging to the biggest fish.

But they're easy to scatter when he waves his hand.

(Waves off. Threatens with bodily harm, with physical aggression—

Same thing.)

The sting in his knuckles and the blood on his shoes are worth it in the end when your tantalum skin cracks. An aggregate of beautiful lines, pretty in their fragility, their brokenness. He wedges his fingers between the splints, widening the chasm to pet at the sticky-soft centre hiding beneath all that rough rock. Sweet girl. Hard candy enclosing taffy-softness.

His coos melt you to the consistency of mercury. Liquid silver pebbles along your lash line, spilling over in a dizzying display of raw vulnerability.

It makes every predatory instinct inside of him bristle. Locking onto the sweet lines of crystalline sadness that run down your cheeks. It has his heart racing. Eager, anticipatory. The thrill of the chase, of running you down into the ground until you're fine powder under him.

And it’s there, it's in his arms—the maw of a beast—where you seek comfort, lamenting the loss of your friends, your coworkers. No one wants to hang out with you anymore. They don't return your calls or answer your texts.

What did I do? You sniffle, throat bared. Belly turned up.

Flooded with tears. The lachrymal face that peers up at him makes his teeth ache. He rolls his head back, feels himself thicken in his pants.

Simon loves it when you cry.

“Fuck ‘em,” he rasps, words sticking to his dry throat. “If they can't see what a catch you are, then they don't even deserve to breathe the same air as you.”

It makes you cry harder, makes you mumble into his chest about how lucky you are to have someone like him. Someone who cares.

His breath hitches. Warm floods his veins, fever-hot.

“Thank you, Simon—”

And then you, smooth silver and wickedly sweet, cradle him in your palms as if you could hold all the broken pieces of him together.

He thinks it's cute.

Doesn't really have the heart to tell you it's a lost cause.

“Anytime, pet.”

And you're perfect, too.

You take this mangy mutt into your house, and let it eat your food, sleep in your bed. You let him fuck you stupid, and listen so prettily when he convinces you to let him spoil you. Let him pay your rent, your bills. Let Simon dote on you the only way he knows how—mercilessly possessive, and a touch cruel, mean—but you roll over, showing your belly. Submissive and sweet.

It's even better when you try to lash out at him with a collar in the shape of his teeth branding your neck, spitting and hissing like a feral cat who doesn't know yet that's claws have been clipped. Only to then curl up in his lap, purring as he strokes your fur, and carves out a place for himself in your life.

He wants to sink his teeth into you, and you think he's a big dog. Undomesticated. One who comes and goes as he pleases. A stray. A mutt.

It's said fondly. Full of love—

His mouth is full of cavities. His teeth ache. His gums bleed.

(do you know he's rabid? that the faded name on his dog tags once read cujo—)

Everything about you makes that sludge flood behind his eyes, pounding rotten fists against his temple. take, take, take; mine, mine—

The howling doesn't stop. It tells him to press you into the mattress and fuck you stupid. Tie you to the bedposts and never let you go—

He throws fists in the dark, trying to hit the madness in his head. Ends up with bloody knuckles and laughter in his ears.

(a voice of reason says, your bird is too big for a cage—)

He clings to it.

You're warm beside him. Burning hot. He syphons it from your veins when you're asleep, pulling you close just to feel something on his skin other than dirt. Other than blood.

It's easy to pretend he's fine with these little nips. Leaving teeth marks in your neck. Bloody rings snaking up your thighs.

He wraps one hand around both of your wrists, holds them high above your head, and tells himself it's enough. Shackled by him, under him, as he takes you apart, pulling at your sense of independence like the gnarled fingers of winter bringing defoliation to summer's bloom, but even with this, all of it, he still aches. Still wants. Needs—

Stupid fuckin’ mutt.

Then you bring his hands up to your throat, letting him wrap his bearish paws around your delicate neck, and he knows these little bites will never satiate the hunger in his guts.

He wakes up the next morning feeling warm. Full. Edges softened, if only just, by the sticky sweetness of your breath ghosting over his chest.

Simon curls his arm around you, holding tight. He won't let go. Won't—

Hide it. Put it away.

Ghost does neither of those things. He buries it, instead.

But in doing so, you find cracks in the foundation. Ones that are just big enough for your willfulness to slip through. To hand him back the cash he gave with a scoff, and a, i work, too, you know? i don't need your money, Simon. that's not why i’m with you—

(All he hears is, I don't need you.)

And then you send him a text. I'm going out with friends from work tonight. We're going drinking. I'll talk to you tomorrow!

In the zombified remains of his head, a new howling starts. The hisses tell him you're pulling away, running from him—

It's a big world out there. It'll eat you whole—

Like Tommy.

The thing about want is that sometimes it grows teeth, hands. Claws. Without a body of its own, it tends to mould itself after its maker because that's all it knows how to do: devour, consume. Yearn.

He shouldn't be too surprised to find that this need of his has dug itself out of the grave he buried it in.

(he did, too—)

The flimsy sarcophagus cracks open when Price announces that his missus is pregnant.

The howling in the back of his head stops abruptly. The pulsing ache in his temple abates. It's heavy, this weight. This absolute, utter emptiness—

No. It's not hollow. The chasm isn't drained, it's—

(In the silence, something growls. Feral. Possessed.)

—full. Perfect equilibrium. All of the patchwork parts of himself, the ones that don't quite fit, suddenly find synergy.

Communion.

Ghost cocks his head in consideration.

(your bird is too big for a cage—

—but maybe a collar would do.)

—after all, could you ever leave him with his name etched into your womb—

In leaving the key under the mat for him to come and go as he pleases, you've left yourself vulnerable. But—

Not anymore.

He has a safehouse he'll take you to. You'll let him, too, because it'll be the best choice for you. The three of you.

He's never entertained any ideas of family, not when the closest approximation he has is drenched in gun oil and smells of smoke from artillery fire, but the howling in his head quietens at the idea of it. He can't shackle you to the bed—stupid fucking mutt—but he can tie you down all the same. Make you his. Wholly. Always.

And the thing is—despite a pickaxe making figure-eights out of his grey matter; lead poisoning and rust giving him these sour, awful thoughts about locking you up in his house, leaving you a needy mess, dependent only on him—Simon supposes he knows right from wrong.

Intentionally knocking you up is amoral. Probably illegal. Somehow, even more dastardly when the reason for it is simply selfishness. Want. Greed. Hunger.

But in carving himself a place in your life, he failed to realise that the walls behind him closed in. No way out. And so, his only option is to go forward. To keep moving.

He'll be crucified for this, but that's fine.

He doesn't intend for you to find out, anyway. It'll be an accident. He came home early, and found you drunk. Drank with you. Your drunken idiocy merged, creating a terrible, noxious cocktail of awful, bad choices. Permanent ones. Irreversible.

(You're so sweet, so docile when you're drunk—)

It'll be easy to convince you. To play the part of a stoic man suddenly in turmoil. You'll offer to get rid of it, a suggestion that he'll flinch at—a cornered dog, a hand raising in the air. You'll whimper. Shake in his arms as you tentatively smooth over the wrinkles in his brow, murmuring out your options in a stilted breath.

You'll be a Riley before the end of your term. It's only proper, he'll mutter, stiff and uncomfortable, and you'll melt. Liquid tantalum in his palm. The fruits of his labour laid bare, seeping from the corners of his mouth. Tucked tight between his teeth. Mercury he can swallow down, keep in the bracket of his rotten ribs. Safekeeping from this world that just takes. Devours.

But not if he eats you first.

The mere notion alone serves as an anchor, locking him to the seafloor. The tumult in his head calmed at the promise of owning. Biting to claim. To have. Greedy for it. For you, and the strange sense of quiet your proximity brings him. The warmth, too.

He's a rabid dog. This he knows—has known—for quite some time. Indisputable. It pools in his mouth. Liquid sin. Makes him ache for just a sip. Unquenchable, though, because he's wary of water. Hydrophobia, but only for how it washes his efforts away. Cleanses.

The urge inside of him to bite, to infect, quietens when he gets closer to you.

(a rabid mutt licking at the window you're on the opposite side of, dreaming of just a taste—)

A byproduct of that maddening virus in his veins, the one he must have picked up six feet in the ground. Bite, bitebite—

—and give you a collar in the shape of his teeth.

He finds you in bed. A bottle of wine on the end table beside you, courtesy of your friend. The one lingering remora he couldn't snap at—one who sends you messages about how you are being manipulated. Taken advantage of. Fuck that loser, the latest one says when he picks up your phone, scrolling through the dwindling conversations housed within. Just him now, and them.

It preaches about empowerment. About how you shouldn't let a man pay your bills (textbook manipulation. he's putting you in a position of dependency. making you feel obligated to stay. it's all on Google, babes. like, fucking get a clue!!!!), or how it's moving so quickly (maybe you should come stay with me in Durham for a bit, hun. get away for a weekend. i worry about ya, is all). He hums, thumbing through the old chats.

You told her to fuck off about the manipulation, but it came after a lot of, oh, yeah. well, he's just. you know. he's different, and you haven't declined the invitation. i’ll think about it, is what you write.

It simmers under his skin. That independence he plans on stomping out under his heel. With his kin.

(sick, sick sick, wrong—)

It's desperation, this. Clawing at the walls—the dirt—until his nails are torn off his fingers. Until his skin splits, peels. Broken under rock and rubble. That animalistic need for air. To breathe. Basic training tells him not to save the person drowning unless he's sure they won't kill him in their struggle to live. But what's he supposed to do when that person is his rotting body, sinking down to unfathomable depths? When all he has is you to cling to—

Damnation built by his own hands.

You'll die together, he reckons, and tosses your phone on the hamper in the corner of the room.

Ghost can't remember the last time someone made him feel anything at all other than impartiality. Indifference. Casual apathy.

Price is the exception to this on the grounds of being consanguineous to him.

And you—

An outlier.

One he intends on sinking as deep as he can with. Anchored, maybe, by this little plan that beats and pulses in the back of his head. That clogs his throat with a want so thick, he can already taste the brine from the ocean. Water in his nose. Down his esophagus—

Better than dirt, he supposes. And it spurns him forward.

You're malleable like this. Tensile. He bends you easily with just a touch until you're flat on your back, a pillow shoved beneath your tailbone, and stripped. The loose shirt you wear to sleep is hiked up under your neck. Panties are pulled off until your sweet, bare cunt is revealed to him. All pretty and soft, and his. Untouched, he notes, and gives an appreciative stroke over your clit with his thumb.

It was something you were whining about the other day, panting in his ear as if he wasn't a continent away. Pleading with him on the phone to please, please let you come.

Simon likes the way you cling to him when it's been a while since something has wrecked you as thoroughly as his cock. When your spoiled pussy was neglected for a few days, weeks, and starved for attention. You were so sweet to him then, cooing in his ear how good you've been, how much you want him and only him, need him. Begging so prettily for it.

He's almost sad to spoil himself in your cunt when you can't weep for it. Can't bully him closer. Try to claw his eyes out. That delicious push-pull where you hiss at him for pulling away, but whine when he gets too close.

Sad, but—

Not enough to stop himself.

You're not wet enough for him to slide inside unprepared—his cock too big, something that makes his bones tremble—and he rectifies it by leaning down, letting saliva pool between his teeth and lips. He holds it there for a moment as he spreads your folds apart with his thumb and forefinger.

And then he spits on your bare cunt.

It hits your clit, the thick glob siding down your slit. He reaches between your thighs, pawing at you. Slides his fingers through the slick mess he made, teases around your tight rim.

Simon usually likes to take his time with you. Lapping at your pussy for hours until you're a weeping, snot-nosed mess whining in the sheets. Spoiled rotten. Begging him to fuck you already, Simon, you can't take it anymore—

He's mean. Cruel. Edges you for hours until your legs shake, trembling around his ears. He never lets you reach that peak—doesn’t let you come until he's buried inside of you.

Coming on his tongue, his fingers, is rarely a privilege you ever earn. Too much of a spitfire, a spiteful little kitten, to give in and do what he demands. So he keeps you on the precipice until he's ready to fuck you, ignoring your bribes, your bargains. Simon doesn't give in even when you beg, when you relent and tell him you'll finally be good.

You never are.

Spoiled, he always huffs. Down to the fuckin’ bone.

Like now. Pulling away from him. Him, the only person in your life who stuck around. A little bullying (bones breaking, splintering under his fists; the wet, hot smear of blood on his hands, skulls smacking against the pavement—an’ if you tell anyone, he cracks his battered fists and it sounds like a snarl, a gunshot, your parents will be cryin’ over an empty grave—) shooed the gnats away. He took a more clandestine approach to others. Birds that kept circling you tight. Protective, shrill. They made his head ache, but—

(don't want to start nothin’, but i don't want to be alone wit’ ‘er. tried to kiss me, is all. ain't like that, pet—)

It was a test. And they all failed. All but him.

Yet—

come to Durham.

i’ll think about it.

Ungrateful. It's his fault, though. Simon doted on you too much, cosseted by his affection, when he should have clipped your wings from the beginning.

Ah, well—

Lesson learned.

You're wet enough now. He pushes in two fingers, scissoring them apart. You'd be yowling at him, kicking up a fuss if you'd been awake. But you're not. It thrums through him. Thick, heady. He likes you like this—probably more than he should. The heat simmering in his veins bubbles. Pops. Sap on charring wood. It clogs his throat with his smoke until it burns, a dry forest fire.

He needs you. Needs to be in you. He's tired of waiting. Impatience burrows into him like a maelstrom.

Simon adjusts his hold on your leg, fingers curling behind your kneecap. Steadying himself. His fingers slip out of your cunt with a sloppy squelch that ghosts across his spine. Anticipatory. A touch anxious. He wants you. Wants you bad—

He takes himself in his hand, and slides the weeping tip over your slit. Taps it once, thrice on your clit. And then guides it to your centre. Your warmth bleeds into him. Eager, he shuffles forward. Feeds you his cock. Eyes drilling into the place where his head slips in, swallowed by your sloppy, wet hole. The glands make you stretch around him. Rim pulled taut.

The sight alone must have been crafted by some Luciferian dream, dangled before him in the shade of nirvana.

take a bite, it urges. and then take more—

Like this, passed out with your legs hitched over his shoulders, drooling into the pillow unawares, you're just a doll.

Made for him, and—

“Fuckin’ hell—” He presses into you—cock splitting tight, warm heat—and tries not to lose himself to the sensation of being bare, raw, inside of you.

—“A perfect fit.”

It's always been condoms. You're not on birth control. Ink blots in his eyes. He goes a little feral with it. Instincts unleashed. Unfettered.

Simon bullies his fat cock into you until his hips tap the back of your thighs, buried as deep as he can go. It's molten heat cocooning him—a warm embrace. For the first time, ever, he thinks he understands the meaning of home. Sliding home, in particular.

(Welcome home. Home. Home. He'll make a house out of your body. Sleep inside the brackets of your thighs, head pillowed on your chest—)

As good as you feel around him—slick, wet, and tight—and as much as he wants to saviour the sight of you, passed out on the pillow, cunt split by his cock, he has a goal, a mission, to see through.

His hand falls, slick and tacky, to your lower belly. Palm pressing against the subtle bulge in your abdomen, the outline of his cock. You always whine and hiss that he's too big for you. That you can't take him to the root.

Hurts, you complain, hand against your naval. Fingers knotting over the place that aches.

He presses his fingers there instead, feeling himself under your skin. Changing your anatomy to make room for him to fit—

It lights him in fire. Spurns him on. He bucks into you, pace sloppy, clumsy. Selfish. He's unrelenting as he splits you apart, drilling the full length of himself into your supine body, supple flesh relaxed under him, practically melting into the sheets.

The thread keeping his resolve, his self-control, sprung up tight begins to quiver. Each piston into you has delicate fingers drumming across the strings of a harpsichord. It reverberates through him, echoing in the stifling, suffocating, silence of the bedroom, overtaking it. Clouding it with the musk of his desire, his devotion to you, to this dream blooming in the prison of his mind.

Everything narrows into a needlepoint.

There's just your burning flesh beneath him, softer than it's ever been; pillowy. Welcoming. And the sounds of him fucking into you—lewd squelches, slick and wet; the sound of his cock finding home in the basin of your spread thighs; his heavy breaths, his groans and growls that seem to rattle the bed. The noise breaks, an incomplete requiem of sin in his head, and he loses himself in the lulling notes, dragged under in the bestial beat of taking what his—

A sudden noise shatters through the room. Beneath him, you stir, gasping wetly. The sound mangled in your throat.

There's confusion in your sleepy, hazy gaze when you peer up at him, lashes clumping together. You moan, whimpering, as you struggle to latch on to the threads of cognisance that he's content to fuck out of you. Your hand lifts, falls to his wrist still pressed against your lower belly. The grip is lax, loose. You’re not pushing him away, but clinging to him. Centring yourself.

It makes his blood thicken. Has him burning red-hot.

“Wha’s a’matter, pet?” He taunts, grinding his cock into you hard enough to make your dazed eyes water. Your hand tightens around him, holding steady. “Don't like it? Not fuckin’ you hard enough?”

“Simon—”

His name tapers off into a keen when he angles hips, and starts pistoning into you with a mean, merciless fury. The desperate noises that spill, unhindered, from your slack mouth is the perfect accompaniment to the lewd sound of him fucking your sopping cunt; the piece he was missing when this started. His requiem, complete.

It's a serrated blade to his self-control, already frayed and threadbare as it is. The pressure makes it snap.

“C'mon, sweet thing. Thought you wanted this?”

There's a place in hell just for him. It's sealed when you blink your tired, sleepy eyes up at him, mind a slurry of lingering somnolence and the heady alcohol on your breath, and offer a shuddering whimper. Always so soft for him, so agreeable when you’re drunk.

“So’ry, Simon—”

You can barely string words together. Poor, pitiful you—vulnerable under him. Breakable. Malleable. Anyone else could have tricked you into this same position when he was away. Got you beneath them like this, compliant and unawares, and took what belongs to him.

(The only thing in this destitute existence he claims for himself—)

Not anymore. Not ever again.

It's almost callous when he grinds into you. Hateful. Brutish. Furious. And dazed as you are, you barely even flinch at the snarls that spill, unfettered, from the back of his throat. The low groans of him making promises with devils unknown; constructing shackles from brass, iron.

Entrenching his future in motion, cupped protectively between the parentheses your thighs make around his hips. It's almost a vicious sort of poetry, one laid bare in the odious ruins of that broken thing he calls a heart. Etched into his rotten pericardium. Necrosed devotion. He'll see it through—however noxious, and putrid, you might find the miasmal stench of it spun tight in his web.

It's for your own good.

And as if you agree, you answer him in perfect euphony, moaning sweetly as you tilt your hips up for more.

Ghost groans low in his throat, bestial and spinning rapidly out of his control. He feels everything spinning, slipping; the trudge to the finish line narrows into a pinprink. He needs something to cling to, to hold on to with broken hands—

The only purchase he finds is in your demise.

His hand lifts, shaking yours loose. He reaches up, fingers dig into your chin, forcing your pouty mouth open. You blink at him, sluggish, but he catches the thin gossamer of awareness spooling thin cobwebs over darkened crevasses, covering the canyons in your eyes with cognisance. It makes him leer.

“Stick your tongue out, pretty girl,” he rasps, words sticking together, muffled under the mask. Crushed aggregate stone under the weight of his own desire. “Tha’s it. Open up nice and wide—”

He lets spit gather again, pooling on his tongue. It's degrading, you always say. Gross. But you swallow it down like a good girl, anyway. Always. You come at him with fangs and claws, but somehow, you always merge in a perfectly dizzying polyphony.

Ghost spits on your tongue. Lets it land right in the middle of fleshy pink. A sick, twisted pleasure thrums in his veins at the sight.

There's checking the boxes of an established kink, and this. Horrifically proprietary. Ownership that ignites a fire in his marrow, setting him alight from the inside out. Turns bone into blackened char, cinder. He can almost taste it on his tongue.

It's made worse, turned frenzied, when you—sweet, perfect, you—bracket it protectively in the curve of your tongue. Completely dazed, head filled with a heady slurry of somnolence and alcohol, but still aware enough to know, even if only through muscle memory, what you're meant to do when he spits in your mouth.

If anything, you're more obedient like this. Little doll. Coddling it lovingly, this little piece of him that he gives you.

And it might be the madness speaking—these fraying thoughts take on a vitriolic edge, corrosive aqua regia pooling in his throat—but Christ. He's been stabbed in the guts, repeatedly, and it somehow packed less of a punch than this.

He wants, wants—

Family never crossed his mind, was never even on the table or something to be considered, but with you it brims. Blooms in rot. Roots in tenebrous.

He has this insatiable urge to devour you whole so you'll always be with him. The waves of his desire are monstrous. The waters below are rapacious. A gaping maw eager to eat you up—

Pity it’s not an option.

But he’ll make do. Buy a ring tomorrow. Something pretty that matches your eyes. The curve of your smile. Sanctioned ownership. A collar in gemstones and gold, glimmering and shining bright enough that should any light fade from your gaze, it’ll illuminate in the gloom; twilight made in sorrow. The prettiest blues—

Said eyes water. Ghost’s hold on your face relaxes when you give a muffled keen, cheeks bubbling up against the pressure. Tongue still stuck out even as he takes his pleasure from your supine flesh. Suspended in motion, stasis. Such a good girl for him—

He swallows. Tastes poison, rot, on his tongue. “Swallow.”

You're a little sluggish, a little slow, but you follow his command all the same. He knows, then, that it could only ever be you.

No one gets under his skin like this. No one makes him itch, want, crave, as much as you do—

You make a face, twisted up in some amalgamation of pleasure and confusion. It nudges the ruins of his chest and feels almost like a heartbeat when it pulses in his flesh.

“Simon, Simon—”

His name is all you can say, and he's not sure if you're begging for mercy, or muttering it out into the scant air between your heaving breaths like an obsecration, an orison, but he eats it all the same. Bites down on your pleas, your cries, your prayers, and chews them up between fangled teeth. Takes them down into the swirling pits of his belly where they're eaten alive by what grows in the decay.

(belly full of dirt:

he heaves, and heaves, but nothing comes out even though he can taste humus in his throat, feel worms using his organs like a playground—)

“Somethin’ you want, pet?” He taunts, and shifts his hips back just enough to drag a few inches of his cock out of your drenched cunt. A tease—cruel and mean. He’d get lobbed upside the head for this had you been in your right mind. A tap to his temple, shaking the cobwebs loose. He would have bent down, and sunk broken teeth into your jugular. Merging violence with love until bloody knuckles feel like a kiss. “All you ‘ave to do is ask. Use your words, pretty thing—”

You whine, low and drawn out. A lazy whimper in the back of your throat. “Pl’se—”

You can barely speak. Tongue too thick. Sleep too heavy in your veins. Alcohol, too. A lesson, perhaps, for his willful little pet come the morning when you struggle to measure just how deep into his gullet you’ve let yourself fall.

He can’t help rubbing salt into the shallow cuts, if only because he likes the way you pout.

“C’mon, sweetheart. You can do better’n that.”

And damn him—damn you—you do. Your hand curls over his wrist, pulling it close to your mouth where you place a kiss against his palm. Tender. Chaste. Midnight blooms in your eyes, casts shadows under pale moonlight. His breath stutters in his chest when you lean your head back, letting his hand fall to your bared neck.

Your heavy, lidded eyes gaze back at him, cutting through the shade of night that sews the air like satin. Etched in the file silk is threads of trust in stark white. The kind that bleeds for him; hungers. One that aches, always tender like a bruise. The throb of it echoes between mouldering ribs. Booms between his ears.

Ghost doesn’t fall into pieces. Doesn’t shatter. No. Something in the splintered remains shifts. Settles. He wraps his fingers around the thick of your throat, thumb notched tight against your pulse, and he feels complete. Whole. Remade from the ruins.

Your breath hitches. The sound is a gunshot in his ears. He squeezes down, a gentle press. Just enough to make the air spill out of your lungs, to let your eyes water. Lachrymose, eager. It does something to him when you cry. He feels tipped upside down, torn inside out. Left all askew, asunder. He wants to drown in the pebbling river growing against your lashline. Wants to drink it down until it quenches his neverending thirst. Wants, wants—

He feels his name spill from your lips. Brassy and broken, trembling against his palm. A plea—

More.

And he gives it to you.

Simon hitches your ankle on his shoulder. Adjusts the grip he has on your throat. He settles over your body, blanketing you under his bulk. Stygian beast devouring the maiden whole. The thought amuses him even as it knocks the air from his lungs.

He anchors himself into the mattress with his knees, steadying himself, curls his other hand around the iron ring of the headboard. All the while, you look up at him—glossy eyes burning coals in the dark, in the gloom. Wanting, hungry. Mouth held open as if you’re waiting for his scraps—

And then he bucks into you, the leverage giving his thrust a savage edge.

The whines are snuffed out under his palm. Your eyes widen, tears now spilling down your temple, soaking the pillow below your head.

He groans, head rolling back. “Fuckin’ hell—ain’t you a pretty sight?”

Tucked under him, throat swallowed by his palm. Split on his cock, slick and wet. The tears streaming down your face makes him feel wicked, foul; but the spit running down your slackened jaw quells any doubt. The hand on his wrist holds him tight, tighter still, to your flesh.

You want this. His spoiled rotten bird.

So, he gives it to you.

Simon’s almost ruthless when he snaps his hips into yours, cooing viciously into your ear about how you feel, how you look, how you sound—so pretty wrapped around him, under him; his little doll—

“S’where you belong, pet—” guttural words spill, flintlike and savage, from his mangled throat. Reinforced with the hateful way he blugeons his cock into you. Times it perfectly with the firm squeezes against your jugular, never letting you catch your breath. Your eyes roll back, legs trembling. Shaking. But you don’t move, don’t struggle. The hand on his wrist is a shackle, and it makes him smirk, scars pulling up in a gnarled mess of mirth; ugly and mean. “Right where you belong. Ain’t tha’ right?”

He leans down, babbles nonsense into your temple. Promises you the heads of gods, the ichor they bleed. Swears he’ll build a shrine for you in Durham.

But for as mocking as these words he murmurs into your ear are, they’re tremulous. Raw. A current roars beneath; a steady stream, a plea, all full of need: stay, stay staystay—

(please)

He buries his nose into your hairline to stem the ravening ache in his guts, breathes in the heady scent of you—of sex, and wine, and sweat. Drags it into his lungs in harsh, angry gasps to stain his skin with the smell of you. Of him.

It goes right to his head in a heavy rush until he’s dizzy, almost sick, with the swell of it flooding in. An animal, he thinks, drunk on merging pheromones that make him mindless. Unfettered.

It’s as if he’s driven on instinct alone; his frenzied pace ebbs, grows sloppy. The air around him feels thick. Syrupy. Stifling. The balmy breath in his chest is nearly as unbearable as it is addicting. Sickeningly sweet. Still—

His chest expands, taking as much of the potent miasma into his lungs as he can, filling them up, up, until he feels the edges threaten to brust. It’s only then, when ink moults across his vision, that he lifts his head just enough to shove his mouth against yours, a broken snarl ripping free from his throat as he forces the infectious air into your mouth, down to your lungs. Polluting you with the same sickness. The same rot.

Little hiccups tumble past your lips as you swallow it down, taking everything he gives you, and he catches them on his tongue. Plays with them between his teeth, basking in the salty tang of you—brine, loam; peatsalt. Ashes, guncotton. Molasses. He’s not sure if he wants to drown you in him, or crawl into the warm, wet cavern of your mouth that pulses around his tongue like a heartbeat.

Both, maybe. Everything. All of it.

Always—

But he’s chasing pleasure on fumes. Trying to run with broken legs. There’s nothing refined about this. About the way he cudgels the head of his cock into the places that make your mouth twist away from his greedy lips in a silent scream. His weight is crushing you, he’s sure, but you cling to him harder, holding him tighter. Almost afraid to let go. And fuck—the notion alone is a kick to the chest, harsh and heavy. He nearly gags on the litany of broken moans spiling out of his mouth, landing on your tongue.

Driven mad, maybe (or pussy-drunk, and high off of his own poison); but in that madness, he discovers this:

Nirvana exists between your thighs.

Home, too.

(well—

not yet.)

Pleasure fissions down his spine. The paroxysm taking him deeper into the battle-worn depths of his demise until the walls narrow, closing in. Crushing. No escape. But—

He won’t climb out of his hole he dug. Not until he makes a bed from your flesh; shelter out of your bones. He wants to ingrain himself as deep within you as he can, arsenic subsumed down to your marrow. Poisoned with the fill of him, too sick to let go.

(Bone nausea.

A death sentence.)

It metastasises inside of him, filling the barren spaces up until it leaks from his pores.

He wants it: this dream so tantalisingly close.

Simon lifts his hand from your throat, and reaches out, grasps at it with a shaking paw—

All it takes is a few crass, careless swipes of his calloused thumb across your clit, cock angled toward that spot that makes you rake your broken nails down his back, yowling in his ear for more, there, please, Simon, please—

You clench like a vice around him. A pretty bow tied up at the base of his cock. He bows over you, grunts spilling from his chest as he sinks his teeth into your nape, splitting skin btween his teeth. The warm, ozonous tang of your blood flooding his tongue is euphoric, eclipsing his mind in a haze of pleasure that crackles and burns at the base of his spine, spitting smoke up his body and into his skull.

The harsh whine you let out—all prey, all animal; wounded, stuck under his muzzle—has some part of him, basal and inborn, rearing up. Roaring in his ears, ripping talons across the jagged remains of his head.

(mine, mine, mine—)

He answers your scream with a growl, one caught in the smoke clogging his throat. It sounds inhuman when its wrenched out of his mouth—more animal than man: the devastating howl of a forest on fire—but the feel of it vibrating between his teeth is connatural. Innate. It belongs between his incisors; fits like a puzzle piece in his broken muzzle. Unleashed now. Finally free from this ill-fitting cage he housed it, this goddamn box—

Cobbled together from palm ash and brimstone, ichor and salt. Sewed up with copper sutures in the shape of a man for a perfect fit.

Every cell in his body screams that he was made for this. To be over you, in you. Maw filled with your blood. Pussy stuffed full of his cock.

He might not have clawed out of the dirt for you, but this mossy, gnarled lump in his chest beats now only for you. Apodictic. Ironclad. His teeth in your jugular, your life pulsing wetly on his tongue.

It’s his apotheosis. His end.

His hips stutter. White noise in his head. It drowns out the shrill screams, the hisses. Everything is just—static. Pleasure of a silent kind, humming, buzzing, and molten. Ghost buries himself inside of you as deep as he can, until his cock is fit snug against the plug of your womb, and lays his claim by branding it with the potency of his name.

Tidally locked, you’re dragged down the summit with him, tumbling to your demise. Too dazed, too wound tight in his arms, his embrace, to see the jagged rock at the bottom of the hungry chasm thirsting for your blood, you just cling to him. Refusing to let go.

(silly girl—

His pretty little perigee.)

His body aches in ways that cruelly remind him of his age. Joints stiff, stomach quivering. His knuckles sting when he unfurls it from the headboard, skin pink and raw from the tight hold he had around the metal.

It’s made worse when he heaves a harsh breath, and pulls away from you with a long, drawn out groan. He settles back on his haunches, eyes searing into the space between your thighs. Messy with his spend. It dribbles down your slit, your ass, pools on the sheets below.

Your chest shudders, legs splayed out how he left you. He thinks, viciously, of gazelles, and wonders if the blood he feels drying on his mouth looks anything like the muddied mane of a lion after eating its fill.

“Fuckin’ hell—”

He should clean you up, hide his crime, but he burns the image of you into his head (another tattoo over scar tissue), and drops to a heap beside you. The moment his back hits the mattress and all thoughts of moving are erased in silk, in smoke and clover.

Chest heaving, slick with sweat, he feels the thrum of his victory in his veins. The high of the chase abates, and he nearly purrs with contentment. Hangs his pride on a pedestal, and doesn’t think about the absence of any guilt. Doesn’t even entertain the thought, not when victory dries between your thighs. When you roll over with a huff, reaching out for him.

It's as if you're trying to bury yourself inside of him, crawl into the safety of his ribs.

Ghost grunts, feels his sensitive, spent cock give a feeble twitch on his sticky thigh. The idea of you, blissfully unaware, seeking comfort from the man who writ your body with his virile spend, irrevocably changing your life and entwining it so deeply and so messily with his own that to severe either of you from each other is nearly impossible, floods him with satisfaction so deep, euphorically heady, that his chest seems to shudder. Resounding with some amalgamation of a purr, a grow, so utterly primal, that he sounds more beast than man.

His roots run deep within you, now, and every misaligned piece of his patchwork body seems to sag and shiver in an almost perfect parallelism. Congruence ascertained with the cupping of you between its mismatched maw. Shackled in a baleen prison. Nestled, safe and sound, between white teeth.

Ghost pulls you close, holding tight, and hums. As you drool on his shoulder, dripping with his spend, he knows he'll keep you there forever, until you're nothing but bones.

There's a cloud of confusion hanging over you the next morning, a twinge of uncertainty gnarling across the gaps in your memory. The pieces of a puzzle that belong to a different set. He watches you scramble through them, filling in blanks. Oscillating so deliciously between wariness and discontent.

“‘morning,” he greets, as if his spend hasn’t dried on your thigh last night. Tucked up nice and tight against your fertile, unprotected womb. As if he couldn't taste brimstone in the back of his throat when you wince as you walk, achy and battle-worn from the weight of his desire crushing you all night.

“Morning,” it's a sticky rasp in your throat. He wonders if you taste him on your tongue. “When did you get in?”

“Las’ night.”

You nod, but it's absent. Flickering through the timeline of events that aren’t drenched in black, shaded over like a heavy bruise. Your expression is fractured. Raw. Pensive. Something untouchable, unchartable, and yet he reads you as plainly as the tea leaves at the bottom of his cup.

You don’t remember. Don’t know what to make of this chasm, this fissure, that looms, icy and deep, before you. There’s no anger, though. You don’t demand recompense for what he stole, what he took. The lashings he deserves are tucked quietly between your teeth. Hidden under layers of normalcy to prevent yourself from seeing him as is: a beast.

“Well, um. Some homecoming, huh?” You joke, but it's hollow. Flat. Fragile like fine glass. You're digging for more. Rooting around to connect these vague, absent dots that linger, lost in the vacancy of your memory.

He almost purrs.

He wants to chew you up. Spit you in the palm of his hand. Maybe tuck you in his breast pocket, nestled against the lump in his chest—the one those silly enough to dream might call a heart. Keep you there forever. Hidden in the barrel of his loaded gun.

“Bit rowdy.”

It’s horrifically vague, but you cling to the prevacation he proffers to you; a lifeline in the turbulent sea, letting it overwrite the absence, the itching in your skull that must be clanging on the walls, begging for you to run.

“Sorry,” it's sheepish. He knows the ferality in which you sometimes come at him when he's buried deep inside you is something that makes you twinge with embarrassment. Little kitten clawing at the old dog trying to get it to play. Rolling over immediately when it growls. Docile, sickeningly sweet.

But even naive kittens know to watch out for the frothing, foaming maw.

“Did you use a—?”

He dips his chin. “I might ‘ave.”

And you take it as gospel. As truth. Why would Simon have any reason to lie to you about this?

Relief shudders over your shoulders. You relax, inching toward the seat across from him. Gazelle making a home for itself in the lion’s den.

The spell of unease is broken, now, and you quickly fill the chasm with chatter about your day. Your plans. Asking him how he’s been.

You shove at the warning signs until they’re hidden away, and ignore the bones of your brethren scattered around you. All because you trust him.

He aches with the urge to crush it between his teeth.

And he will one day soon, he’s sure, because it’s just as easy to enact his plan as it was to get you to open the door.

It starts with him convincing you to drink with him after dinner. Jus’ a glass. Got this fancy bottle. Reckon we should ‘ave some.

But—

Can’t drink forever—no matter what his dogshit dad thought.

So, he pokes holes in the condoms you hide in the bedside table, a little wary now. A touch fretful about your contraceptives in a way that makes him preen. You have good instincts, but rarely do you listen to them. Your head must be filled with sirens, but it's futile, he supposes. He's already stuffed cotton into your ears.

It only feeds into that gaping chasm that bellows up from the depths that this world is not good for you. That it will tear you into pieces, into shreds. You need him. Need the Ghost to protect you.

Case in point:

You’re needy beneath him, panting and mewling into the sheets as he teases your clit with his thumb. So wet, it almost feels like hot oil on his skin. Syrupy thick.

In your desperation, you cling to him, throat bared. Fragile fine china. Belly up. Vulnerable.

You barely notice when he pulls off the condom, crumpling it up into a ball and shoving it in the pocket of his slacks.. Don’t even react when he shoves his bare, raw cock into you.

You don't even notice.

(or when he slurs in your ear about how badly he wants to knock you up—breed his pretty girl until she’s stuffed full of him, making life with what he offers. salvation in the form of creation. ain’ tha’ a thought? he huffs into your ear, humid mirth curling over your skin. a stain. and the way it unfetters you—tightening around him, gushing slick—he finds his answer, one reinforced in the rolling of your eyes as your common sense, independence, trickle out of your ears and down your slackened jaw—)

And when that fails, he just slips you a sleeping pill. There's always an easier way to the finish line, he finds.

(stupid fuckin’ mutt—)

Nothing bleeds from the cracks he wrought, or slinks from the shadows cast by his machinations until weeks later.

Life just goes back to what it once was—Simon coming and going, letting himself into your home with the door you leave unlocked. You go to work, and chatter aimlessly about this vision you have about a home in the countryside, near the ocean. Saving up—uselessly—for sheep and goats, and the sought-after Highland cows. Chickens and ducks first, you say, and barely notice when his gaze drops, drilling holes into your stomach. Watchful. Leering.

He can almost scent the change on you. Nose pressed to your skin; bloodhound sniffing the ground.

Ghost keeps time in the slow, susurrus drawl of your voice sifting through the cotton in his ears, waiting for those precious decibels to catch on, to tilt up at the end as your eyes skim the calendar he keeps scratching x’s across in red, almost delicate, innocent even though it's from his sanguinary hand. A countdown to something you haven’t yet caught on to.

And it’s all so sweet.

—the waiting game, the subtle changes, the desperate way you cling to normalcy—

Sweet, like the way you carve this life out for yourself, filled with stuffed animals full of idealism. So much so, that it's almost bitter. Acrid. He watches the light glow in your eyes as your plans take shape, moulding putty between your hands, and like a pit viper, he coils in on himself. Frenzied. Fearful—

But only just.

The excitation has run its course. He’s drifting, languid, into his scheme. Content. The notion of you slipping from his fingers is a thought that rarely crosses his mind these days, especially when that house on the prairie grows from an occupant of one to two—

“And, you know… when you're not out saving the world—” your eye roll and air quotes make his lips twitch, tugging at the scar tissue, the acid burns, splashed across his mouth. An ugly fucking Pollock. “—maybe you can come visit.”

“Never fancied myself a rancher,” he drawls, just to watch you squirm. Brow furrowing into a deep ravine as you struggle to make your intentions known without actually giving them sound. Skirting around the issue of wanting him there, of planning a home with him.

(Too much, maybe? Or too soon—?

if only you knew—)

He finds it charming, really.

Still—

“It's just a thought,” you mutter, downcast. He wants to choke on your misery. Your sadness. Drown himself in your anger. Float in your happiness.

Fuckin' Christ—

All this playing daddy in his head has thrown him off his rocker. Made him soft. Sentimental. It's probably why he yields to you. Offers a lazy shrug and another smarmy twitch of his lips.

“Sounds like a plan,” and the way you brighten is a dagger to his chest.

And the thing is. It does. It sounds like a dream, a perfect vision. Just—

Maybe not in the way you'd want.

He's been looking into places unmarred by human hands. Ghost towns, uncharted territories. His home here isn't perfect for it, not like the vast geography of Mexico. The uninhabited wilderness of Canada, places so remote that it's almost untethered to modern civilisation. Islands of forest, mountains, all on their own.

Vast corners and crevasses where someone can disappear and never be found.

But those won't work in tandem with his flighty lifestyle. While he plans on keeping you barefoot and pregnant (common sense in the back of his head screams that he's foul, vile, monstrous—), he will continue to work. Has to, really, to avoid suspicion.

So—

Home it is.

But he gets inspiration from the Highland cows you coo on about and purchases a plot of land in the Western Isles. Gives this whim of his—yours, really—a concrete foundation made of the abstract. The filament provided by his newly christened Sergeant—an overeager mutt that bleeds warning signs from his pores.

(don’t get close, reactive dog. will bite—

the little mutt is a great pyrenees, ain’t he?)

But bless Johnny’s bleedin’ heart, he thought as the man prattled on about this cabin he owns. A place of solitude. Could fire a gun and no one would even peek out the curtains. Beautiful, the way all of Scotland is. The highlands, he breathes in that shade of catholic madness only the dutiful soldiers of god's right-handed wrath can be, is where he keeps his home. A place chiselled from stone, surrounded by wilderness that eats tourists alive.

(he didn’t ask at the time why Johnny was so keen on finding these places scattered around Scotland, ones with little traffic and a nearly negligible amount of souls within the vicinity, but he finds its best not to get too close to mutts crossbred with wolves.)

But Simon is nothing if not devoted, and so.

You’ll get your fantasy ranch in the middle of nowhere. Your highland cows, your billy goats, your chicken, sheep, and ducks. A baby in your arms, too. One that shows its hand the next morning, dashing all your carefully laid plans. These paths of independence of yours run parallel to his whims but never converge. There’s the potential in this for these fraying threads to split, and diverge. Separate.

(But it’s all put to rest at the sound of you heaving in the adjoining washroom. His path eats yours until it’s overtaken. Consumed.

The evasive, unfettered little bird trammelled, caught. Wing-clipped, and all his.)

Any misgivings the part of his gyri not buried under the frothing mess of his polluted grey matter might have is vitiated by the unwavering certitude that, despite his own gains in this, it really is in your best interest.

And maybe it's something that should have come earlier in your relationship—however threadbare that word is in conjunction with the unhinged desire blooming in the pit of his chest; madness masquerading as love or some obsessive, desperate facsimile of it. Maybe a proper man, a better one, might have dug down and fully laid out the reality of intertwining your life with the living dead. That the idea of danger, death, and revenge are all everpresent threats scratching at the walls of this sickeningly sweet fantasy you wrap around yourself.

He’s a dangerous man. A creature of devastation—manmade, bent into, or congenital is yet to be unearthed—which, in itself, brings about a certain lifestyle. One with fewer people around, and always shrouded in secrecy. Friends, family—none of that matters when death curdles gnarled fingers around his jugular.

You’ll get used to it. Eventually. The only other choice is to let you, his now flightless bird, go. Released back into the wild vulnerable and reeking of his stench.

You’ll be devoured before daylight, ripped into pieces—only if they’re feeling generous, that is.

Simon has his own twisted remora. Ones with claws and fangs and a hunger that runs deep. Insatiable. Any scraps that fall from his mouth are devoured before they can touch the sea floor. They’ll crush you in their maw and dangle your mangled body from the gaps between their teeth.

You’re not made for the wild. Not anymore. You’re meant to be protected. You—this fragile, delicate thing. He’ll hold you close, keep you secure and safe in a mausoleum of your own making.

This little glass jar domicile.

A billet in the mountains.

He’ll fill it with the finest things—silk linens, fine china; mahogany and teak, pink ivory; a bed of soft, downy feathers, sherpa, Egyptian cotton; (sticks and stones and grass and moss). Buy you whatever you need. Chickens and ducks. Sheep and goats.

They’ll keep you company when he’s away.

(and if that fails, he can always plan playdates for you with whatever dirty secret Johnny’s been keeping tucked away in the woods.)

He draws an x in the empty, white box of the calendar, the tip of his red marker gliding silkily across the glossy surface. Something unfurls in his guts. Blossoms in his bones. There’s an almost indescribable sense of satisfaction—primal and animalistic—that grows from the upturned dirt in his head. Life composted from rot.

Ghost hums to himself when he turns, the sound nearly a purr—bestial as it is, suffocated under sulphur. It reverberates through his chest, trembling across the brackets of his ribs that expand with his deep, heavy inhale—breathing in the sight that greets him like a lover’s kiss

The kebab he ordered lays untouched on the table across from the television—some trashy reality show playing in the background while you tried to eat; a dating show, you’d said when he merely shrugged, having other things on his mind over what to watch while you ate. It all seems to be preserved in time. Frozen in on the exact moment when you’d sniffed the döner kebab he got for you—the same thing you order each time—and then promptly wrenched yourself back, gagging. The sandwich was flung back in the takeaway box before you slapped your hand over your mouth, rushing into the washroom.

If his phone wasn’t in the other room, he might have taken a picture. A little memento to remember this moment. Framed it in iron and perched it on the desk they gave him back in Hereford, the one just down the hall from Price.

(ah, speaking of—he’ll have to send that caustic bastard a fruit basket, or something, won’t he? maybe some pretty flowers for his lady.)

His reverie is shaken when the door to the washroom creaks open slowly, and you emerge through the gap with sweat on your brow, knots across your forehead, and a shaking hand resting over your churning stomach.

Shame, he thinks. He really should have brought his phone—

You lean against the wall, taking in deep, shuddering breaths to steady yourself, confusion and worry knitting over you like a thundercloud. It tastes of ozone when he inhales. An approaching storm. In the blue gloom of the living room, illuminated only by the light flooding out from the washroom behind you and the static glow of the television, you look etiolated. A wilting flower.

His budding rose.

He coos. “You alright?”

You glance sideways at the kebab on the table, mouth pinching into a grimace as if to stem the nausea still rippling through you. You stare at it for a long moment, seemingly trying to make sense of the reality sitting in front of you on scratched, old pine; confusion runs laps over the dawn cresting in your eyes. This puzzle is too unfathomable for you to piece together; the keys and slots all askew.

The air around him grows still. Silent. Anticipatory. A tiger crouched low in the tussock. A little fawn roaming too close.

There’s a heaviness in your eyes when they flicker back to the wall where he stands, drilling holes into the x. Something implacable frissons over your threadbare expression, fracturing across sallow cheeks.

The air is electric. It pulses across his bare flesh, irritating scar tissue, acid burns, and scorch marks. His skin prickles at its whisper.

“Feelin’ sick, pet?” He ponders, playing pretend. He’s viciously, deeply amused at the desperate denial splashing across your cheeks. The thin shade of askance that unfurls like the leaves of a flytrap when you look at him. “Mus’t’a been the kebab. Bad meat, I reckon?”

You offer a weak nod in response, pinching your lips tight together. The matter seemingly concluded, brushed aside. Pocketed for later.

And you say nothing else for the rest of the night—gaze unseeing, turned inward; pensive—but he purrs in contentment as if everything was alright, sprawled across the couch with his head pillowed against your churning stomach as if he could hear the whisper of another heartbeat from within.

In the saturated blue light, he catches your eyes listing toward the calendar every so often. Wary. Nervous. He thinks you might say something, might ask, but you don’t. It’s caught on a stilted breath. A harsh swallow.

All you do is bring your hand to his shorn head, and raze the stumps of your clipped claws against his scalp. It’s almost as if you’re trying to soothe the madness from within. Scratching that itch deep inside until it goes away. Gentle hands play pretend and dress up as a panacea. Affection to scrape the illness away.

He thinks you should know better than that, even as he leans into it with a soft exhale, more relaxed than he'd ever been his entire life. Content. Unassailable in his conquest.

Simon has always been more scar tissue than man, and no place is damaged more than the upturned tumulus inside his head.

But oh. How you try—

His sweet, sweet girl.

The look you give him the next evening is, in parts, brumous.

A polynya of dread, worry, guilt, fear that frissons across the deep valleys in your eyes, shaded in plumes of darkness, filled in deliciously with the weight of your beleaguered uncertainty. It yawns out before him, this heavy gloom.

So close he catch the embers in his hand.

“Simon… We should—talk. I, uh—”

You hold up a little rectangle, dismay, misery, etched in the blue tinge spreading across your face. It seems to steal the words from your throat, turn them into ash. What else are you meant to say, he supposes, when you look out at the world now from the gape in his maw?

But there’s a veil of wonderment that hides below the tidal wave; this precious, deadly, undercurrent that rents the air, splits his chest in two.

The happiness, however meagre, thin, it is right now (just a sunken boat on the seafloor), is there. Ripe for salvage, and he sees that it’s handled with care. Cupped between his palms, nurtured by his own conviction to do what’s right, an’—fuck, pet—know this ain’t what we planned, but—

but:

The howling quiets, turns to a low growl, and then a susurrus hum, when you shakily utter the words he was waiting for.

“Yes, Simon—”

You shudder when his fist closes over your wrist, pulling you into his purring chest. Shaking like a prey animal in the jowls of a beast, bested and ensnared. It has a profound, almost predatory, sense of satisfaction curling over his bones. He knows this was the right choice, and is sure, in time, you'll come to realise that, too. You’re in the early stages, he knows. Prodromal. You need to be handled with care to curb the lacrimation, the hyperesthesia.

And there’s no one better than him to guide you through the throes of it. To lead you to the unequivocal end.

He leans down, and whispers in your crown—

“Good girl—”

—and the sound of his voice is gravel encased in sticky, sweet honey. Dark, smokey molasses. The very same cadence as a key sliding inside of a lock; metal grazing metal. Turning—

“If it’s a boy, we’ll name him Tommy.”

Click.

(he gives you that ring he promised when he takes you to the mountains. you smile wide, and tell him it fits like a gyve.)

Simon stops shovelling his want under the cold dirt and starts burying it inside you instead. Makes a domicile from your flesh; a place where he can rest his aching head every night until the howling scraping down fractured bone stops— (paralytic)

#simon riley x reader #simon riley x you #ghost x reader #goddd this is foul #and was supposed to be up hours agooo but Nahanni closed at 5 today oops #cod #call of duty #simon ghost riley x reader #cod smut #simon riley smut #simon riley cod #ghost call of duty x reader #ghost cod x reader #in many ways this is a psa on the symptoms of rabies

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marvelouslizzie · 7 months

Text

Not Lonely Anymore

summary: You hear your roommate Bucky Barnes moan your name while masturbating and it changes everything between you two.

pairing: Bucky Barnes x Female Reader

word count: 3K

warnings: 18+, dry jumping (brief), unprotected sex, daddy kink, metal arm kink, choking, teasing, dirty talk, no mention of y/n.

A/N: Hello hello! I present you the last part of my Lonely Night series. I am so grateful for your interest in the first two parts. I tried to keep my motivation up and give these two perverts a satisfying ending. I hope you will enjoy it as much as I did. Your feedback would be much appreciated.

You don't have to read the first two parts to understand what's going on but if you want to, please check my blog/masterlist for A Lonely Night and Same Lonely Night.

Thank you so much @notafunkiller for beta-reading and editing. Daddy kink and choking is for you ✌️

All work is mine, please do not repost or translate without my permission.

Read more tag starts after the second paragraph of the story.

You can’t take your eyes off Bucky while you're processing what has just happened. Your eyes roam around his face and bare chest before falling on his shorts. His erection is pressed against the waistband, carefully hidden away from you but the wetness forming on the fabric betrays Bucky’s intentions. You can’t contain your smile, but Bucky doesn’t see it. He’s too lost in his own thoughts, and when your eyes meet, you realize he is worried and embarrassed. He opens his mouth, wanting to say something in order to end this awkward silence, but you beat him to it.

“Did you just say my name?” It comes out so calm, you even surprise yourself.

You know he did. You heard it with your own ears loud and clear. That’s why you dropped your glass after all. But it was that shocking to you. That unbelievable! So you just want him to confirm it. To make it real and assure you that really happened. Maybe then you will be able to believe it.

“I- I can explain.” You notice the cold sweat forming on his forehead.

He seems like a scared kid who got caught doing something he shouldn’t do. And it’s probably because he thinks he might lose you. You would feel the same way if he was the one who caught you masturbating just an hour ago. God, that would be mortifying, but now that you are on the other side of the equation, all you feel is excitement.

The realization eventually sinks in: he wants you. He actually wants you. That gives you a level of confidence you never had before.

You take a step forward and close the distance. Your lips are on his before he can react. You wanted to do this for a long time, but you had been unsure if he would have wanted it or not. You have a clear answer now, so there’s no need to hold yourself back. It takes him a second to respond to you, but you don’t hesitate. You just keep kissing him and it wakes him up like he has been hibernating for a long time.

His hands wrap around your torso and he pulls you closer. His fingers are digging into your hips like he’s trying to convince himself this is real, and he tilts his head just enough to deepen the kiss. His tongue gently slides into your mouth and that makes you moan for the first time. His lips, his tongue… He tastes so sweet. You just can’t get enough of it. It makes you crave him even more, and you don’t know how that is even possible.

Suddenly you push him, hoping to get him back inside his bedroom, but he doesn’t move an inch. He just gives you a dazed look, trying to understand why you did that.

“Work with me. Just move back.” You sound impatient, and he finally understands what you are trying to do.

“Fine.” He raises both of his hands like he’s surrendering, with a smile on his face, then he takes a step back and lets you push him further inside the room. You continue until the back of his knees hits the bed and he falls onto it after one final push.

“Is that what you wanted?” He sounds amused.

“Yeah.” You straddle him without missing a beat, getting comfortable on his lap while he pulls you in for another kiss.

This time it feels a little different. His hands are on your cheeks, holding you still while his tongue explores your mouth. It is the most passionate kiss you have ever had in your life. His erection is standing right there, between your legs and you can’t help yourself… You can’t stop that urge that’s slowly building up and why would you? You’re on his lap, finally doing this. There’s no need to stop yourself from doing what you want. So while he tastes you however he wants, you start to move your hips. After a couple of tries, you find the perfect spot and both of you moan nearly at the same.

He stops kissing you for a second just to take a breath, but he still holds your cheeks with his big hands and looks into your eyes. It’s like he’s afraid you might disappear. You have no plans of disappearing or stopping, though. You keep moving your hips and watching his eyes flutter every time you rub the right spot. It feels good even with the fabric between you two. Yet it’s not enough.

“We should get rid of your shorts.”

“And your panties.”

You raise yourself on your knees, just enough for him to push his shorts down, but you don't give him enough space to take them off completely.

“I don’t wanna use any protection. Do we have to?”

“Well, we don’t have to, but we might need to.” He’s not sure how fertile he is. It’s not like he tried it before, so it’s quite risky. All he knows is he has a lot more come than an average man and that’s a problem when it comes to using condoms. They are practically useless.

“I’m on the pill.” You quickly clarify. You only asked the question to see if he was comfortable with the idea or not.

“Then we definitely don’t need to.” Oh, he’s definitely comfortable. The way he just said it is enough.

He grabs his cock while you pull your panties aside without wasting any time, and you lower yourself onto him while balancing yourself with one arm on his shoulder.

“That impatient?” He taunts you, but he chokes on his words as soon as he feels your wetness. The head of his cock rests between your folds while you answer him:

“Are you not?” You sound relatively normal. Then you keep talking while taking him inch by inch. “Would you rather fuck your fist and fantasize about me?”

He wants to answer you. He wants to say something, but being balls deep inside you makes it harder to do so. He just lets out a low groan while grabbing your ass to ground himself.

You’re not so different from him. The way he stretches you pulls a pornographic moan out of you. You sit still for a second, trying to get used to this feeling. You can’t remember the last time you felt this full. It makes you shiver even without moving. You take your time and he just waits, patiently until you get used to the sensation. After a couple of seconds, you feel confident enough to move.

“Ready?”

“Yes.” There’s a bit of hesitation in his voice, but you don’t notice it because you are lost in the feeling of finally being so full. All of your senses are overwhelmed by it.

You aren’t sure if it’s going to hurt because he’s definitely the biggest you have ever had. So you move your hips slowly and test the waters. There’s something there. Some kind of discomfort. You can’t say you feel uncomfortable, you just need to get used to his size. So you keep moving because there’s this promise of pleasure hidden behind that discomfort. You can nearly taste it and it keeps you going. While trying to figure out the best way to move, you don’t realize Bucky is watching you, carefully. He’s trying to read your expression and see if you are okay. He’s ready to take up the reins or just stop if that’s what you need. His hands gently roam your body, discovering little details about your skin. Like how many moles you actually have.

“No rush. Take your time.” He sounds more like himself, much more confident than before.

You moan because of his words. His voice is deeper and it makes your blood rush. You start to move a little faster and notice how the discomfort slowly fades away. He notices that, too while grabbing your tits with both of his hands. One is colder than the other, and the contrast is dizzying. You lean into him, just to feel him a little bit more, and his grip on your tits tightens.

“God, so fucking pretty!”

Before you can say anything, his mouth is on your right nipple. You feel his tongue flicking over and over again while his other hand rests on the other breast. Then he sucks your nipple into his mouth, letting his teeth graze over it. You grunt because of the mixed sensations. Just when you are about to protest, he lets out your nipple and moves on to the other one. He gives it the same treatment. A mix of licking, sucking, and biting until you can’t contain your movements. Your hips start to move so much faster, making both of you moan loudly.

“God, I wanted to do this for ages!” The words spill out from your lips without much of a thought.

“You did?” He doesn’t miss a beat.

“Yeah.” There’s no point in hiding it anymore, is there?

“Does this mean I am the daddy?”

His question catches you off guard, and you just freeze in the middle of the action.

“You… heard me.” It comes out more like a question rather than a statement.

“Why do you think I was masturbating?”

It takes you a couple of seconds to process what he's just said. He actually heard you. You never used his name, but it doesn’t change the fact that he witnessed something so private. Something you really wanted to hide from him, yet the idea of him hearing you also sets you on fire. Instead of submitting to the urge to get all shy, you decide to ask him what you actually want to know.

“You heard me and instead of making a move, you decided to fuck your fist?”

“What was I supposed to do? Knock on your door and ask if I can replace your dildo?”

“Yeah. Sounds great to me.” You keep moving your hips fast while talking. “Or maybe you are too shy to take what you really want.”

“Shy?” He blinks a couple of times.

“You don’t seem shy but maybe you are. Maybe you are a submissive little boy who wants to just lay here and take whatever I give you.”

You watch his expression change into something so different. It’s not particularly dark, but it feels like it. Before you can say anything else, he just flips you over. Your mouth falls open when your back touches the bed. Instinctively, you try to wrap your legs around his torso, but he doesn’t let you. Instead, he pushes your knees back to your chest.

“What are you doing?” Your amazement is evident in your voice.

“Taking what I really want.” It takes a lot of effort to hide your smile. You can’t believe your taunting worked that quickly. “Tell me if it gets too much and I will stop.”

“Oh, I doubt that.”

He waits for you to finish talking and then he starts to move. Your mouth falls open once again but this time, it’s not because you are surprised. It’s because you can’t believe how good it feels. It’s completely different than how it felt when you were on his lap. He reaches deeper inside you in this position, and his hands are still on your legs, pushing you further into the bed. You let out another sinful moan.

“Way better than I imagined.”

“Is it?” A smile lingers on his lips. “Feel free to be as loud as you want.”

“Do you want us to get kicked out of this apartment?” It takes every ounce of strength in you to form this sentence without stuttering. It’s so hard to talk like you aren’t getting railed.

“No, I just wanna hear you call me daddy.”

You can’t help but moan. Shit, he really heard everything. You feel so exposed, but somehow it doesn’t bother you. Is he actually into this? Who could’ve guessed?

“If you want that, you gotta work harder than this.”

“Ask for it.”

“Harder, please.” He waits for daddy to come out of your mouth, but it doesn’t. You really meant what you just said, he needs to earn it.

So that’s exactly what he does. He starts to pound you, just the way you fantasized. He manages to touch every part inside you and fills up in a way that makes you wanna cry. Your moans get louder with each thrust.

“Oh fuck! Oh fuck!” Your ears start to buzz. You can feel that your orgasm is close.

“Talk to me, doll.”

He wants to hear you, and you don’t feel like holding back anymore.

“I’m-I’m so close, Bucky.”

“What do you need?” His question is instant. You feel that he’s ready to do whatever you want.

“Nothing. Absolutely nothing.” You take a deep breath just to be able to keep talking. “Just keep going. Please…” Your voice comes out so pathetic, but you can’t brush off the urge to beg him. He would like that, wouldn’t he? You did it while masturbating and he got a hard-on just because of you. “Please, please, please.”

Your words make him groan like he is struggling to contain his excitement.

“I really need it, daddy, please…”

“Fuck, baby.” You feel him losing control. His thrusts are sloppier but he notices that, too. His metal arm moves on your chest and rests there. You don’t know if he’s trying to keep you still or ground himself. Then he looks directly into your eyes, trying to see if that makes you uncomfortable or not. It definitely doesn’t. Quite the opposite, you need his hand on your neck, and you gently grab his metal hand and move it on your neck without breaking eye contact. You watch his eyes widen with the realization.

“Are you sure?” You nod in response, but it’s not good enough for him. “Words, baby. I need actual words.”

“Please.”

That does it. His fingers tighten around your neck, pressing right against your veins, careful not to crush your windpipe.

“Yess.” Your head is thrown back. This is exactly what you wanted.

The way he’s choking you snaps something inside you. It intensifies everything you are feeling at that moment. Your whole body suddenly starts to shake, and it surprises you. You have never reached an orgasm this quickly before.

“Yes, yes, yes. Oh god, yes!” Your voice comes out hoarser than usual.

“Look at you.” He taps his fingers on your neck while he keeps moving. “My pretty baby. So good for me.”

You only moan in response, already too lost in the waves of your orgasm. It’s running through your whole body like electricity.

“Look at me! Look into my eyes.” He sounds so commanding and you listen to him even though it’s so hard to do it. He looks like he’s about to lose it, too.

“Come with me. P-please.”

“You want me to come, baby?” He asks in a way that makes you wanna cry out even more. Like he won’t come if that’s what you want. He will keep holding back until you say so but you don’t want that. You want him to enjoy this as much as you do.

“Please, daddy. Come with me.” He groans in response. You clearly see how your words affect him, especially calling him daddy. You can’t believe how much he’s into it.

He stops holding back and starts to move in a way that makes you scream. So you do that. You can’t contain the noises you make when he moves like this. You grip on his sheets, letting him ruin you for any other man.

“Fuck! Such pretty sounds… You like it that much, baby?”

“Yes, yes. So good, daddy.” You slur at the last part. You don’t care. You don’t care about anything when he makes you feel like this.

“Fuck, you take me so well.” You can actually hear that he’s close. “I-I’m gonna come, oh fuck.”

“Yess!” You have been waiting for this. You want it so badly. You wanna see him come. You want him to feel good, all because of you. You want to witness a part of him that he hides away from everyone else. It feels like owning a part of him. So private and primitive, but you don’t care. You need this.

He lets out the most guttural moan right before starting to come inside you. He doesn’t stop, just keeps the same pace, emptying himself inside you.

“Take it, baby. Take it! It’s all yours.” You know what he’s talking about. His come is already dripping out, yet he’s not done coming.

It looks like he lost his damn mind, but it’s the hottest thing you have ever witnessed in your life. You are so fascinated by him even though you are still coming yourself. That's why you force yourself to keep your eyes open and watch him while your high slowly fades away. Yet he keeps going. His hands are gripping on your tights, pulling you into him every time he moves. His come is dripping on your ass, to the sheets. It’s so messy but feels out of this world.

After a couple more thrusts, he collapses on top of you. His head rests on the crook of your neck, and you feel his heavy breathing on your skin. You don’t mind it, though. He doesn’t let his whole weight crush you. Always so thoughtful….

Your hands go to his hair, gently stroking it. That makes him move his head and look at you.

“We should’ve done this before.” That makes you wanna laugh, but instead, you just give him a huge smile.

“Yes, we should have. It was amazing.”

Suddenly he moves away from you, leaving you completely empty. It makes you whine instantly. You miss the fullness and the warmth of his cock already.

“Where are you going?” You give him a confused look while raising yourself on the bed. “Come back here.”

“Not was.” He kneels right next to the bed, in between your legs, and moves his head closer to your dripping core. “I’m not done with you, baby.”

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gamermattsgf · 4 months

Text

Cherry popper // nerd Matt

Warnings: extreme smut / sub Matt x dom fem reader / glasses kink / praise kink / handjob / overstimulation / wave ride / virgin!matt / slight mention of breeding if you squint

Summary: the reader is in desperate need of help with calculus, something which Matt is willing to give her. However, Matt wants to be taught something in return, something that does not require a pen and paper… sex

Author’s notes: another sub Matt, but this time he’s a cutsey little nerd with glasses. Obvi this is 18+ but idrc, if u don’t have a problem with reading it by all means go on ahead and knock urself out. Also I got super carried away with this one it’s so long lmaoo sorry.

“Girl you make me numb, when we kiss until my tongue hurts” - Pink bubblegum, Lavi Kou

‘You want me to do what?’ You question in bewilderment, looking at the way Matt sits on the floor of your room cross-legged with his hands twisted in his lap shyly.

‘Please don’t make me say it again…’ he whines with a rosy blush on his cheeks, his glasses rested on his nose and framing his averted eyes as he manages to look anywhere but right at you. You sigh with your eyebrows furrowed, before leaning up onto your knees from your sitting position opposite him.

‘So let me get this straight, to pay for my tuition, instead of money you want me… to teach you, how to fuck someone properly?’.

Matt suddenly slaps his hands over his face, hiding how red he gets with embarrassment. ‘Stop. It sounds so stupid when you say it like that…’ he groans, his glasses smooshed right into his eyes. Your mouth can’t help but curl in amusement at this odd request, not that you mind though…

‘Well what better way is there to say it?’ You laugh through your teeth before deciding to carefully knee your way over to him. As you go, you mind not to step on all of the outspread papers with physics problems scrawled over them in Matt’s messy handwriting.

When he hears papers rustling from underneath you, he splits his middle and pointer finger apart so that he can secretly peek at your advancing figure from through his hands. Before he can say anything else, you reach him and carefully wrap your hands around his wrists so that you can pull the makeshift cover he made away from his face. ‘I don’t know…’ he sighs in frustration ‘I’m just umm… I’m just not very good at it…’.

It looks like it physically hurts him to admit this, as though he’s stepping on broken glass after every word. His wince after his frustrated confession is adorable.

‘I don’t mind y’know’ you shrug nonchalantly, not seeing the big problem with it and thinking that his nervous request is really quite cute instead. Matt perks up immediately, his eyes snapping straight to yours.

‘Really? You’d do that for me? I didn’t think you’d actually say yes… I thought it was so pathetic, I immediately regretted opening my mouth after I’d said it and I-’ he rambles to you in disbelief, using the sound of his own voice to calm his nerves after your unexpected agreement.

‘Matt, get on the bed’ you interrupt him with an amused quip, ceasing his endless stream of ranting conversation. He shuts up immediately, his eyes as wide as saucers at your commanding tone. Swallowing, his Adam’s apple feathers downwards before he’s standing up shakily.

‘Oh- yeah right, sorry…’ he nervously laughs. ‘Didn’t think we were gonna start right away…’ he speaks whilst moving his socked feet so that he can timidly sit down onto the edge of the bed, as if afraid that the mattress would swallow him whole if he moved up any further.

‘Sure, why not. You’re cute, plus, how else am I supposed to pay for my session today if we don’t start hm?‘

He watches you as you also gravitate to your feet, before loftily stepping over your books and folders so that you can make your way over to him. You observe the way his hands splay out to the sides of him as his knuckles twist your sheets within his palms. His veins are practically popping out from his skin with how hot his body is already. He’s scared. You can tell.

‘I- I suppose that’s true…’ he stutters timidly, trying to distract himself again with meaningless chatter, before you move right into his space.

You smirk. This is going to be fun. Your core flutters gently after voicing ‘spread your legs puppy’ because he does exactly what he’s told, albeit with slight apprehension. To ease his nerves, you decide to offer him a springboard to get him warmed up.

‘Why don’t we start with a little kissing, think you can do that for me? You suggest, placing your cupped hands onto the tough muscles between his collarbones and neck over his pressed shirt, stroking the skin with your thumbs comfortingly. Matt nods his head, as if in a daze. ‘Alright. So, the key to a good kiss is to start slow’ you begin, pushing his chin and up and ducking your head down.

You press your lips into his, getting a feel for their shape and wetness before Matt can’t help but let out a subdued whimper at the contact. You smile into it. Pulling back, Matt leans his head upwards as if needy to reconnect them, but you still have to give him his lesson. ‘Nothing open mouthed yet, you need to tease them first before you give them what they want, ‘kay?’ You lecture him, and he watches you attentively from his position on the bed beneath you. ‘Yeah okay… makes sense’ he shrugs cluelessly.

‘After that, only briefly use your tongue, maybe lick their bottom lip a little- like this’ you connect you lips once again before slicking out your tongue to pass it over the fullness of his lip.

Matt’s eyes are closed and his head is tilted to the side in enjoyment. You retract to feather your nose against his. ‘Okay now you try…’ you command him, with words of encouragement. Matt’s eyes peek open to flick down to your lips briefly, before closing them and getting lost in the moment whilst he leans down to capture your set in his.

Perhaps too lost.

You yelp quietly when Matt slots your bottom lip in between his teeth and bites harshly, tugging it down, only to let it recoil back up into place between his heavy kiss. He’s a little sloppy with it and you jump back, clearly caught off guard. His eyes snap open and look and your puzzled expression.

‘Sorry! M’so sorry, was that not good?’ He worriedly bumbles, thinking that he’s messed up grandly. But you only shake your head, pressing one of your hands up into your lips to graze over them. ‘No… that was actually really good, keep doing that…’ you utter in disbelief. Matt sighs gratefully, before you lurch forward to join your selves together a little harsher this time. Your teeth clash melodically, and saliva is exchanged at a quickened pace.

It only gets more frantic after you mumble ‘gimme your tongue baby’. Matt obeys obediently and dips his tongue to lick into your mouth. Is it messy? Yes. Does it make you wetter than anything though? Also yes. ‘Good boy’ you eek out in between pants and heavy tongue brushes.

As you kiss, you lift one of your knees up into your mattress, and prominently press it towards Matt’s crotch. He takes this as a sign for him to shuffle further up onto the bed, which he does so, still with your mouths connected and your lips feathering wetly.

After a while of just letting your mouths get familiar with one another, you pull away to face Matt.

‘Let’s do something easy for your first lesson shall we? Have you ever touched yourself before?’ You gently ask, kneeling in between a poor Matt’s spread legs. His chest is heaving shyly and his face is practically as red as a tomato. ‘Umm… well- yeah, a couple of times…’ he looks down to the floral bed covers of your bed whilst the frame of his glasses slides delicately down his nose. You reach out your fingertips to quickly brush his shaggy brown hair strands from out of his eyes before pouting.

‘Aw puppy… you don’t have to be shy, I’m not gonna judge’. After clearing his hair away, one of your fingertips drops to curl and stroke against his right cheek which burns hot with fiery humiliation. He gazes up at you with the eyes of a baby deer’s before gulping as his Adam’s apple bobs again.

‘Can you… can you show me how to do it properly?’ He breathlessly asks, shyly averting his gaze whilst you tilt your head with a cheeky smile pointed right at him. ‘Of course baby boy, that’s what mommy’s here for isn’t it?’.

Matt likes the mommy comment a lot more than he’s willing to admit. Scratch that, he loves it. He feels so safe, so babied within your hold, and he wants to stay here forever. Swallowing nervously, he doesn’t know what to do with his hands.

Smacking your lips at the sight of Matt obviously fidgeting in anticipation, you decide to reach your own hands to grab his wrists. ‘C’mere, gimme those pretty hands’. He looks at you with heaving shoulders, now even the back of his neck as red as anything with embarrassment.

You could tell that he’s humiliated because of how much he’s enjoyed this. He also definitely doesn’t want it to stop. So you don’t let it.

Moving from in between his spread legs, you straddle his lap as you place your thighs onto either side of his hips, squeezing them softly, which makes him choke out a tiny gasp. Equally, you’re leant forward enough to fully be able to pin his wrists to the bed so that now he’s completely defenceless.

‘Oh, before we start, tits are really important too. If you want to get a girl wet, you need to play with them’ you coach him once again. Matt pays the upmost attention to what you have to say, his head nodding hurriedly once again.

Deciding to mess with the poor nerdy boy further, you mischievously smirk before mumbling ‘I suppose we could merge two lessons into one… I’m not wearing a bra, so does my baby boy want to see mommy’s tits…?’. Matt gulps and fumbles another ‘oh god’ in utter disbelief whilst you watch the way his pupils flick to your heavy chest and dilate. ‘I’ll take that as a yes then’ you conclude based off of the way he’s practically drooling for them. Poor boy has probably never seen a naked pair in real life before.

Using one of your hands, you reach it to the bottom of your shirt and pull it up over your tits, that quickly spill out and reveal themselves to be resting gently on your chest. ‘F-fuck’ you hear Matt say, and a part of you throbs after physically feeling his cock swell upwards from underneath you. ‘Yeah? You like them?’ You tease, squeezing them together with your arms and then letting them jiggle back into their resting positions. Matt’s cock rises more and presses up into your heat whilst he nods hypnotically, his mouth hung open with his fingers twitching uncontrollably.

‘Wanna taste them honey?’ You coo motherly, before leaning forward and thrusting them into his face, he looks at them in disbelief and blinks with a small ‘can I?’, before you encourage him with a ‘go on baby boy… they’re all yours, this is important’, which finally gets him to open his mouth and give one of them a timid little kitten lick first to test the waters, before he slots the hard bud into his mouth fully and prods his tongue over it.

‘Try sucking on them… that’ll drive a girl crazy…’ you mumble breathlessly, already feeling your slick wetness trickle from your hole as Matt quietly begins to suck harshly on your nipple.

This ripples pleasure all down your spine, and you can’t help but curse into the air, your hands still in a firm clamp over his wrists. However, as he constantly sucks, you begin to rock your lower half backwards and forwards, which only thickens him more. You can feel him throb achingly from below your clothed cunt.

He uncontrollably now moans loudly into your tit, still sucking on it defencelessly because of the way his wrists are continuously compromised by the control of your hands. Licking your tits is the only thing giving him friction whilst your lower halves sensually rub together.

‘I bet you’re so big Matt’ you suddenly decide to seductively mumble, wanting to see just how far you can get this perfectly sweet boy worked up. The same sweet boy who comes to class every morning with a smile on his face, ridiculously smart clothes on and an impossibly strict attitude to learning and note taking.

You wonder what that Matt would say about this one, that sits here in your bed, his notes for studying scattered all messily across the floor, forgotten about, as he instead enjoys your tits and freely moans into your skin at your dirty praise.

‘I bet that deep down you’re an absolutely filthy fucking slut. I just know you’re nice and thick. I can feel you so much already… and you’ve been keeping it all to yourself. How selfish of you’ you tut. Matt hisses quietly, his eyes screwed up in a puppyish way as you compliment him. His stretch is definitely going to burn so fucking good when you finally think he’s prepared enough to fuck you.

‘Can I be the first one to see, pretty please?’ You pout, and Matt has to pull away from your hard tit just to gaze up at you moonily with his mouth hung open, tit drunk already and his shoulders heaving. With his permission of a shaky nod and the lick of his lips, his watery blue eyes flick downwards and innocently look at the way you now shuffle back to your starting position between his spread legs. Both of you look down at the tent formation of his pants in between his thighs, before one of your hands just can’t help itself. It glides up to cup him slowly.

‘See that? That was dirty talk… also very important for someone’s pleasure, we can practice more of that next time though…’

‘Yes please!’ Matt breathes, seemingly eager and liking the idea of hearing more of what you have to say to him in that kind of tone.

The light touch of pressure sets Matt off immediately and he has to fully expand his chest before expelling out a choked up whine of pleasure. He uncontrollably throws his head back and bucks his hips greedily up into the rub of your flattened palm.

‘Ugh… ugh… f-fuck’ he jerkily moans a continuous whimper, before unexpectedly cursing with a shaky pant at the pressure of your hand. ‘Jesus Matt you’ve got a dirty little mouth don’t you?’ You respond. It’s cute how he doesn’t know how to react, and so all of his pressure transforms into helpless sounds. You smirk even wider, loving what it does to your confidence.

‘A very important step is to always ask permission, just so the girl doesn’t feel pressured okay?’. Feeding your hands into the waistband of both his pants and underwear, you coax him to lift his hips upwards and he’s such a good boy because he does exactly what he’s told with no follow-up questions asked.

‘O-okay… please… please can you touch me now- I’m really sore’ Matt acknowledges before panting impatiently and helping you shimmy his pants off.

After you struggle to pull them down you see why when his cock bobs hungrily into the air, his tip already wet and sticky and pink like his lips that are currently bitten between his teeth self consciously. He look in between his cock and you as you observe him, his hips squirming shyly underneath the scrutiny of your stare. You practically drool as you gawk at him, wanting your mouth on his cock but also wanting to sit on it at the same time.

His thickness is perfect and the inconspicuous vein running up the side of him makes you clench. His happy trail also oddly attractive, but he simply sits there sheepishly and watches you take him in.

‘You’re… you’re not disappointed… are you…?’ He pitifully mumbles, looking down at one of his hands that distractedly picks against the lint on your bed covers. You find it within yourself to gasp at his utterly ludicrous statement.

Careening your face into his, you get up onto all fours, and he nervously jumps back a little, before almost choking on his breath after you spit into your hand and waste no time in wrapping it around him.

‘Matt you’ve got such a pretty cock…’, you praise and Matt then opens his eyes to gaze up at you with his glassy pupils, his mouth also open and expelling the cutest little pants every time your hand strokes downwards. Your spit is sticky, and Matt arches his back at the slimy consistency of your hand jerking him slowly.

‘Oh…’ he stutters with breathless embarrassment, his face going even more red at yet again another compliment before his back arches and his toes curl at the feeling of you thumb coming up to touch his sensitive tip.

‘How long does it normally take you to cum puppy?’ You muse in fascination, watching the way Matt squirms from underneath you. ‘Uh- I- umm… maybe -fuck- a couple of minutes?’ He mumbles, his voice sounding a little delirious as he struggles to concentrate on the sound of your voice. He’s too focused on the slow circular rub of your thumb against his tip. You raise your eyebrows. ‘Jesus Christ we’re gonna have to build that up’ you state, knowing that he’s definitely not going to last long.

And you’re right, it doesn’t take him long at all. Because only a couple of minutes after working on him, he gives you no other warning besides a loud moan and a hitched ‘I- I think I’m gonna-’ before a thick layer of cum spurts from out of his tip and splatters onto his stomach accidentally. This catches you off guard.

‘Shit’ You state in awe as you continue to pump him, curiously watching the way he whines as if he’s about to cry with his eyes scrunched shut over his squinted glasses.

Matt gets breathless very quickly, his chest heaving as his fists claw at your bedcovers and his legs spread unconsciously.

‘Ow- ow, ouch- fuck!’ He suddenly starts to cry instead of his euphoric whimpers. You quickly realise he’s falling overstimulated due to his orgasm and you let go of him. But when you do, you realise something…

‘Fuck baby you’re still kinda hard’.

Matt’s flushed face tilts downwards to look at his lower half, his stomach an absolute mess coated in him cum, but his cock still painfully throbbing.

Wasting no time at all, your hand leans forward again. Quickly you’re whipping your fingers over Matt’s stomach to scoop up some of his lukewarm cum. You wrap his cock back up into your fist and Matt tenses, hissing in aggravated pain.

‘What are you doing?!’ He pants out, before scrunching his face up uncomfortably.

‘Teaching you how to wave ride off of your first orgasm puppy, it looks like you need one’ you say, effortlessly slipping back into your teaching mode before you decide to use your other hand to grab his glasses from off of his face.

Matt watches with carnal desire at the sight of you slipping them onto your own face, the frame just low enough on your nose so that you can see over his prescription lenses. Something about you wearing his glasses just makes him feel feral with lust for you. It’s not like he hasn’t fantasised about something like this before, he’s just always felt really shy around girls and has never been able to execute it until now. He hasn’t exactly been oozing sex appeal as of late…

‘There, that’s better isn’t it?’ You sigh and admire the way he wriggles around beneath you, clearly in overstimulation.

Matt moans as if he’s in heat whilst deciding to bend his arm and hide his face into the crook of his elbow, his other shaky hand twisting the bedsheets and turning white at the pressure he keeps on them as you continue to touch him into oblivion. He utters high pitched pants and whimpers at regular intervals, especially after everytime your hand squeezes tightly around him, his throbbing cock slickly gliding over your hand with every bounce.

‘Ugh fuck you’re gonna make me feel so full later Matt’ you utter, his cock feeling so lengthy and thick around your small hand.

He only shakes his head in return, his cock throbbing in approval at the phrase as he releases hot breaths into the already thick atmosphere. Below you, simple instincts of his take over and he’s beautifully responsive to your touch by greedily thrusting upwards into your hand.

Pouting and humming sadly, one of your hands comes up to pet his right cheek below the cover of his arm. ‘Why are you hiding from me baby boy?’, to which Matt’s incoherent mumbles are just as naive and innocent as the rest of his actions thus far. As if his cheeks aren’t red with humility at himself enough, they invade more of his face now and even turn the tops of his ears a dusty cherry shade.

‘Cause- it’s so- so embarrassing…’ he stutters a tiny choked-up whine at not wanting you to look at him whilst he becomes extremely overstimulated.

He feels humiliated because the sounds and faces he makes after his first orgasm are even worse than the ones he made the first time, his cock already swollen and sensitive. Perhaps he also feels disgusted by himself and would prefer not to register the way his body is reacting? But to be completely honest, if you didn’t know any better Matt sounded like he wanted to be fucking breeded on the spot because he was moaning for you to take him that loudly.

‘Aw puppy… nothing to be embarrassed about… I’d be acting just the same if it were you who were touching me, I wanna see that pretty face when I make you cum’

Timidly and with slight apprehension, he carefully lifts his arm from off of his face and reconnects eyes with yours. ‘Can you…’ he peeps, but quietens again, nervous to say it in front of you. But you nod your head encouragingly. ‘Go on baby’. He continues…

‘Can you call me a good boy again?… I- I really like it…’ he mumbles guiltily, his eyes refusing to meet your intense gaze as they wander about the floor instead. You throb at his submissive response.

‘That gonna help you cum baby?’ You question teasingly, and Matt nods quickly, a shaky hum in approval choking its way up his throat.

‘Fuck you’ve been so great for your first lesson… such a good boy, taking my hand so well, and so brave for taking two orgasms at once aren’t you?’ You praise him, and Matt arches his back once more, his blue eyes tearing up at just how sensitive he is now. He twitches furiously in your hand as his head throws itself back.

‘Need to cum now puppy?’ You pout playfully and quicken your hand. His breaths pant at the new pace. ‘Y-yes’ he wheezes, so you easily let him.

‘Go on sweet boy, you’re allowed’.

At this, he cries out, another even stronger level two orgasm hitting him and rattling through his gut. He’s loud, but you love it, and stroke his cock until all of his cum is spent.

Coming down from his high, he looks exhausted after the earth shattering orgasm you have just given him. All you do is smile and giggle as his rising and falling stomach calms itself little by little. Getting up from the bed, you hover over him before leaning in to kiss his cheek softly. He looks at you with his mouth hung open and his blue eyes babied.

‘Now it’s time to teach you about aftercare’ you muse sweetly, before shuffling off to find a cloth to clean Matt up, who is left on your bed with a dreamy smile on his lips…

Author’s notes p.2: thank you to my bbg @strniohoeee for helping my indecisive ass pick this idea to write next out of all of my drafts. Love love love. If you see any typos… no u don’t. The question is… do I do a Chris one now? Or another Matt one. Pls request ;)

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