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aeyumicore · 3 months ago

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oh, baby! - caleb 夏以昼

caleb with a pregnancy kink. that's it. that's the fic.

━ .ᐟ✧ PAIRING: caleb x female reader (afab)

━ ✧.˖ GENRE: smut, porn with absolutely zero plot

━ .ᐟ✧ WORD COUNT: 1.9k

━ ✧.˖ WARNINGS: mdni, explicit sexual content, use of gege (flirtatious), heavy pregnancy kink, lactation kink, size kink, booby sucking, pure filth, caleb on the bottom, unprotected (duh), lots of dirty talk, not proofread, lots of petnames

━ .ᐟ✧ LINKS: ao3

━ ✧.˖ A/N: hewooo guys it’s here <3 a bit late cause i got caught up w something it’s been a really bad day. hope you guys enjoy. also this is not proofread i didn’t have the energy i’m sorry

THIS IS MY ONLY ACCOUNT. I WILL NEVER POST MY FICS ON OTHER TUMBLR BLOGS. I WILL ONLY POST ON THIS ACCOUNT AND ON AO3.

✦ . ˖ ✧ .ᐟ ˖ nsfw | minors dni | 18+ only | minors dni | nsfw ✦ . ˖ ✧ .ᐟ ˖

“Never thought about it before.”

You groan, your inner thighs slapping almost painfully into Caleb’s pelvis, his thick and leaking tip driving straight into your womb. The feeling was painfully delicious, Caleb’s cock always able to make your body sing and scream alike.

“Caleb, whatever it is, I’m sure now is not the time to think about it,” you whine, your hips rolling without much rhythm, growing exhausted.

Caleb’s fingers trace tender circles into the fat of your hips, gently digging in as he uses his forearms to support your tired bounces. His chest is slick with a thin sheen of sweat, almost as shiny as the silver pendant resting on the thick muscles of his chest.

You gasp when he pulls you down onto his lap so forcefully that the breath is knocked out of your diaphragm, his dick reaching just shy of piercing into your gut. The smug grin on his face widens when you topple over, your breasts pressed against the cool metal against his heart and your face buried into the corner of his neck.

“It’s okay princess, I got you. Always got you,” he coos, the condescension dripping off his words. His hands travel from your hips to trailing along your spine, making you shudder and convulse around his cock.

“Caleb, please–!” you moan, nails digging into his shoulders as he uses the pure strength of his thighs to bounce you on his lap, using his hands to gather the hair on your back, holding it into a makeshift ponytail.

Caleb presses his lips into your now naked pulsepoint, his breath hot and heavy against your neck, “Thought I–ngh–knew, but…now I’m not so sure.”

Knowing he won’t relent, likely to torture you by witholding your looming orgasm, you give in with a strangled sigh, “Knew what Caleb…?”

With a stiff jerk of your hair, Caleb lifts your head off his chest, your throat so beautifully exposed to him. You cry out at the sting, but he hardly hears it, hypnotized by your throbbing pulse.

Instead of answering you directly, Caleb hooks his hands on the underside of your thighs. In one swift motion, he wraps his thick arms around your body, marvelling at how perfectly you fit against him. Frankly, against his massive frame, anyone would look small.

You squeal, thighs clenching for dear life, when he swings you upright into his lap. One hand moves to cradle your nape, the other pressing into your navel. His touch is protective, almost possessive, as he starts a heart stopping rhythm. With just his thighs, and slight help from his Evol, Caleb rocks you with conviction, aiming himself right into your perfect gummy walls.

“Look how beautifully you take me, baby, “ Caleb grips your chin, pulling you down to look at his fingers that caress your stomach. Your eyes widen as you watch Caleb’s cock, nestled deep inside you, bulging out of your tummy.

It would be slightly grotesque if the evidence of his sheer massive size, his dick and his overall body, didn’t turn you on so damn much. That, and you’d seen this exact thing several times before. Particularly when Caleb was extra enthusiastic.

“God, you look like this with my cock inside you. Imagine if I put a baby here, yeah?”

Your eyes fly open, briefly sober amidst the mind-numbing torrent of ecstasy, a whine leaving your lips before you can even stop it. It sounds suspiciously like a plea.

Caleb’s eyes light up visibly at your delicious reaction, a strangled string of curses on his tongue. You can practically see him twitching excitedly inside of you, against the skin of your stomach.

”Better stop squeezing me like that, princess,” he groans. “Unless that's what you want?”

You find forming words to be impossible as Caleb dips his head down to suck eagerly at your bouncing tits. The combination of his skilled tongue, his commanding bounces, his filthy scandalous taunts…You couldn’t verbally answer but your body sure as hell could.

“Fuuck,” Caleb drawls when you tighten around him, your name a beautiful prayer off his tongue, “You’re such a good girl.”

“Caa–leb,” you moan unabashedly, fingers weaving into his soft hair as he kisses wet bruises into your breasts. You tug harshly at the brown locks when his lips close over your nipple, his tongue lapping soothingly at where his teeth punishes.

“Jesus,” Caleb chokes out your name, “You’re squeezing me so fucking tight. You want it that bad? Need me to fuck a baby into you?”

Caleb grips your hair gently but hard enough to make you whine submissively, inexplicably turned on to filth by the desperation in his voice. Like he might die if you denied him this.

“Y-Yes!” you squeal when he exposes your throat to him, lips finding purchase on the sensitive spot on the curve of your neck.

Caleb grins as you ramble, fucked out of your mind as he uses his Evol to support the vigor of his thrusts up into you, “Want it—need it. Nngh…Caleb!”

”Say it,” he growls against your pulse, his teeth grazing where he knows drives you utterly insane.

You moan, half in indignation, half in unrelenting pleasure, “I want you Caleb.”

Caleb groans beneath you, his hips stuttering, only his Evol supporting you as he thrusts you on his cock like a wild animal.

”You know I never get tired of hearing that. But that’s not what I meant, pretty girl.”

He adjusts you, strong hands digging into your ass, straightening you up so that your entire naked form is exposed before him. His hand lands on your stomach again, his touch so tender that you’d think there was already something there, besides himself.

”Tell me exactly what you want, and gege will give it to you,” he coos, fingers trailing along your tepid skin.

“I’d give you anything.”

You groan, knowing just how serious Caleb was. If you gave in, telling him what he wanted to hear, he would give it to you. And unfortunately, with his cock lodged so perfectly inside of you, you would say anything he wanted to hear.

“God Caleb, give it to me–wan’ everything,” you slur, grinding down onto him, your palms flat against the mattress as you arched backwards.

You tuck your chin down so your eyes can level with him, your lashes fluttering at him, “Cum in me Caleb–only inside. Want it all–please.”

Caleb’s jaw tightens, rhythm faltering ever so slightly. His hands on your hips shift upward, yanking you to him with his massive palms grabbing your waist. The sudden movement makes you jerk, wrapping your arms around him, hugging his face to your chest.

His breath is hot against your breasts when he moans out, “Fuck, you’re such a greedy little thing. Good thing gege will give you anything you want.”

With an entirely renewed conviction, Caleb fucks up into you like a madman, using your flailing body like a toy. He rolls your peaked nipple between his teeth gently, groaning at the taste of your perfect skin against his desperate tongue.

“Nghhh s-so good–so good Caleb!” you cry, your praises only making him take you faster, harder.

“God, you’d look so damn beautiful with my baby inside you,” he rasps, “Walking around, belly swollen with my seed…”

His voice is muffled as he sucks on your tits like he’s trying to get something out of them, desperation rendering him no more than a hungry baby.

“Caleb,” you giggle breathlessly, throwing your head back as he suckles tenderly, “N-Nothing there.”

“Not yet,” he corrects, a look of pure determination in his amethyst eyes, “Fuck, they’re going to look perfect, swollen and full of milk...”

Caleb hardens impossibly further at the thought of your milk on his tongue. Meant for something you’d created together. The perfect pearly white beads of cream, pebbling from your sensitive nipples, a nectar just for him.

Well, him and the child made from equal parts you and him.

Your stomach coils unbearably tight at his promises, the pleasure threatening to explode into a thousand fragments of pure bliss. Even in Caleb’s rare moment of silence, too busy with his filthy ruminations of your nonexistent breast milk, you can feel how excited he’s growing inside you. Endless pre-cum coats your heated walls, his cock desperate to give you the real thing, even as Caleb holds back.

“C-Close,” you warn, fingers raking up his back, a fresh set of scratches over ones that hadn’t even healed completely, “Can’t—mmngh—take much more Caleb!”

“M-Me too,” Caleb stutters, “Here it comes, princess. Ready?”

Your eyes are squeezed shut as you nod fervently. Caleb growls as he watches you submit to him, his perfect little breeding toy.

With an animalistic groan, Caleb comes undone. His warmth fills you like rays of sun flitting in through the curtains of an open window, flooding you in hot and steady waves. It’s relentless and unending, coating every inch of you and seeping into every nerve ending in your body.

The perfect feeling triggers your own climax, your walls wringing against his spurting erection. Caleb groans in pure adoration, in sheer awe of the way your body sucks the cum from him, greedy and desperate.

God, you were going to be such a good mom.

Your collective orgasms blend together into one, two bodies joined in a passionate melding of flesh, sweat, and release. So much release. Would nearly be impossible for his seed not to take root in you.

In your cock-drunken state, you can feel Caleb shifting, moving you. You vaguely feel him stuffing two pillows under your hips before laying your head on his chest, almost perpendicular to him. Your back arches at the elevation and you groan.

“What are you doing?” you mumble, settling into his warm and muscled chest, already feeling so content you could pass out right there.

“Lay with me, just like this,” Caleb murmurs, stroking your damp hair, tucking it behind your ear, “For a little while. An hour. Tops.”

“An hour? So specific. What if I have things to do?”

”No you don’t,” he grumbles, omitting the fact that he’d already obtained a copy of your work schedule, “Only thing you have to do is lay here and focus on growing that baby for us, pretty girl.”

His words are playful, but there’s a distinct seriousness in his tone that makes your stomach flutter with anticipation. Even with the post-nut clarity bleeding into your sense of reason, your body still thrums with excitement at his crazy words.

“Elevation helps,” he murmurs matter-of-factly, “With conception.”

You choke, “Do I even want to know how you know that?”

You can’t see his face, but you can hear that devious grin in his tone, “Yes. Then I can show you all the other things I learned about.”

He continues, voice a breathy drawl, “Well, they’re mostly myths. But we can go through them one by one and see for ourselves.”

“What are you on about, you maniac?” you giggle, enjoying the rapid flutter of his heart under your cheek, the deep vibration of laughter.

Caleb cradles your head off his chest so that he can move to hover above you, your eyes instantly flitting down to the absolute weapon between his legs, already ready for more. He smirks as you gulp, the notorious mischievous glint shining in his violet irises.

By the time you register what he’s implying, he’s already folding your thighs against your chest, pressing you down into a mating press that nearly had you blacking out.

“Let’s see if what they say about the mating press is true.”

.ᐟ✧ THIS IS MY ONLY ACCOUNT. I WILL ONLY POST ON THIS ACCOUNT AND AO3. i am not @/aeyumicores or @/aeyumiicore or any variations of my blog name.

✧.˖ i do not permit translations or reposts of my work on tumblr, ao3, or others. please do not reuse my blogpost headers, dividers, or layouts. these are original designs of my own.

#.ᐟ✧ aeyumi writes #love and deepspace #love and deepspace smut #love and deepspace caleb #caleb smut #xia yizhou smut #xia yizhou #caleb lnds #caleb #lads caleb #lnds caleb #caleb x reader #lnds #lads smut #lads #l&ds smut #l&ds #caleb lads #love and deepspace caleb smut

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pandapetals · 3 months ago

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The Glasses Stay On

Summary: A quiet evening turns into something far steamier when Joel catches you teasing him while he's wearing those damn glasses he swore he didn’t need.

Pairing: joel miller x fem!reader

Word count: 4k

Content warnings: smut, no plot, joel keeps the glasses on, blowjob, face riding, pet names, no y/n used, established relationship, teasing, banter, not proofread

A/N: divider by @saradika-graphics. i am feeling feral after seeing joel in glasses. it's my first time writing oral sex (blowjob) so...hopefully it's good? also inspired by elliespuns answer on joel asking for eye contact when he eats you out.

All thoughts scattered the moment you stepped through the door.

Joel sat at the kitchen table, shoulders hunched, sleeves shoved to his elbows. He didn’t look up, too focused on the mess of metal and wire in front of him. His brow was furrowed in concentration, and his lower lip was caught slightly between his teeth.

But it wasn’t the project that caught your attention.

It was the glasses.

Thin, silver-framed and slightly crooked—he always refused to wear them around you, brushing off your teasing with a stubborn, "Don’t need ‘em." But here he was, home alone, caught in the act. A quiet, unguarded moment. And for some reason, it hit you low and warm.

His hands moved with surprising precision, thick fingers maneuvering the pliers with rough delicacy that made your mouth go dry. The edge of his brown jacket was rolled to the midpoint of his forearms, a smear of grease trailing across one vein-lined wrist. He looked like something out of a dream you didn’t realize you’d been having.

You didn’t mean to stare. You certainly didn’t mean to feel like this—heart kicking up, thighs pressing together before you even crossed the room.

Your bag hit the floor with a soft thud. Shoes were toed off. You padded closer, heat rising up your neck.

“Well, don’t you look pretty,” you teased, voice lighter than you felt. Your smile curled slowly, eyes drinking him in.

Joel let out a low grunt, not lifting his head. “Don’t start.”

You chuckled under your breath, stopping beside the table. “But you look so cute,” you cooed, hand reaching out before you could stop yourself. Your fingers brushed his jaw, gentle but insistently coaxing his chin up.

He finally looked at you, his eyes slowly lifting just above the rim of his glasses. They were darker now, narrowed beneath furrowed brows, unreadable… but there was something there. A flicker. A tension. Heat coiled low in your belly at the sight of it.

His voice was low and hoarse, scraping at your spine like sandpaper. “Sweetheart,” he murmured, “don’t distract me.”

Your lips parted, breath catching how he said it—gritty, quiet, like a warning—only made your pulse faster.

“Me?” you whispered, placing a hand against your chest with exaggerated innocence. “Distract you? Never.”

Joel huffed a soft laugh through his nose, shaking his head, but his hand faltered slightly as he adjusted the wire he was working on. You saw it—the smallest stutter in his movement. Not much. Just enough to know he wasn’t unaffected.

You stepped closer, just enough for your knee to brush the edge of his thigh under the table. His hand stilled completely.

He didn’t look up this time. Just exhaled slowly through his nose, nostrils flaring. A vein in his forearm twitched, like he was holding something back.

God, he was so handsome like this—jaw tight, lips pressed in a firm line, glasses slipping a little down the bridge of his nose. His shirt clung in places from the house's heat, damp at the collar. One more minute of watching him like this and you would lose it.

Your voice dropped, barely above a hum. “You know,” you said, tilting your head, “if this is what you look like when you’re focused, I might have to start leaving you little projects more often.”

He froze for a beat. Then slowly, he set the pliers down with a quiet clink.

Joel turned in his chair, eyes dragging up your body—deliberate, slow, heat simmering behind his stare. He pushed his glasses up with one finger, the corner of his mouth twitching into something that wasn’t quite a smile.

“You keep talkin’ like that,” he muttered, “and you’re gonna find yourself bent over this table ‘fore I even finish fixin’ this damn thing.”

You shook your head slowly, lips curling into a wicked little smirk. Then, without breaking eye contact, you sank to your knees between his legs.

“I’ve got other plans,” you murmured, voice silk-soft, threaded with heat.

Your hands found his knees first—broad, warm, solid beneath your palms. You slid them upward, slow and teasing, feeling the muscle tense beneath your touch as you traced the line of his thighs.

Joel’s breath hitched. Barely audible, but you caught it.

“Shit,” he muttered under his breath, voice gone gravel-deep. His hands flexed where they rested on the edge of the table. “You ain’t gotta do that, honey.”

He said it like a protest, but there was no weight behind it—no real resistance, just that familiar Joel reluctance, that soft spot he tried to hide behind rough hands and gruff words.

“I want to,” you whispered, looking up at him through your lashes. Your fingers were already at the button of his jeans, popping it open with practiced ease. “You just keep working.”

You winked, dragging the zipper down slowly. The rasp of metal filled the quiet space between you, and you felt the way his thighs tightened beneath your touch—his whole body coiled like a live wire.

Joel cursed again, one hand lifting to pinch the bridge of his nose, half in disbelief, half trying to hold himself together. But his hips shifted, just slightly, a silent surrender.

He still hadn’t looked down at you.

The challenge of it made your pulse race.

You leaned in, pressing a kiss just above the waistband of his boxers, your lips lingering against the warm skin.

Joel’s breath came sharp through his nose.

“Keep your hands steady, handsome,” you whispered, your voice low and playful. “Don’t want you messing up that wiring.”

His answer came through clenched teeth. “You’re gonna be the death of me, sweetheart.”

You weren’t in a rush.

You wanted to savor this—to savor him. Every slow, deliberate motion was part of the tease, your fingers hooking into the waistband of his jeans and dragging them down inch by inch. The fabric scraped rough against your knuckles, and you could feel the heat radiating off his skin before you even reached him.

Joel’s breath came unevenly, his hands gripping the table's edge hard enough to whiten his knuckles.

When his boxers followed, his cock sprang free—already half-hard, heavy, and twitching slightly in the cool air. You let your eyes linger on him, licking your lips without shame. Then you wrapped your fingers around him, dragging your fist down the thick length once… twice…

Joel groaned, deep and guttural. His hips jerked forward against your hand like his body was acting on instinct, chasing more.

You looked up at him through your lashes, your strokes lazy, teasing. Just enough to drive him mad. You were in control now, and he was already starting to unravel.

“Fuck,” he hissed, head falling back slightly, jaw clenched tight. “You’re gonna kill me.”

A smile tugged at your lips. You leaned in, pressing a kiss to the sensitive skin beneath the head, then another to the base, watching the muscles in his thighs tense and flex beneath your touch.

You adored him like this.

Unraveling. Wordless. Tension bleeding out of that tightly-wound body because of you.

You dragged your mouth up the length of him, slow as sin, your breath hot and heavy against his skin. Joel’s hand shot out, fingers curling tight into your hair, but he didn’t push—just held, like he needed the anchor.

“I love watchin’ you fall apart for me,” you whispered against him, lips brushing the sensitive ridge.

Joel finally looked down at you, eyes dark and glassy, his chest rising and falling in deep, uneven pulls like he’d just fought his way through a storm.

“Jesus,” he breathed, voice wrecked. “You look so fuckin’ pretty like this.”

The words hit you low and deep, lighting something hot inside your belly. You beamed at him, lips parting in a slow, satisfied smile because you knew exactly what you were doing to him. Knew he could barely hold himself together.

You leaned in and finally took him into your mouth without breaking eye contact.

The warm and heavy taste of him on your tongue made your thighs press together. You kept the pace gentle at first, hollowing your cheeks just enough, letting your lips glide over the sensitive skin as you drew him in.

Joel groaned—deep and rough—and his hips shifted, his body fighting to stay still. One of his hands was still tangled in your hair, not pulling, just holding like he didn’t trust himself not to lose control.

You hummed around him, loving how he twitched against your tongue in response. His breath stuttered. Another soft sound escaped him—a whimper, barely audible, but it sent a pulse of heat straight between your legs.

God, you lived for this. Watching Joel come undone, letting you see the cracks in that hard exterior. Every ragged breath, every broken sound, was a gift—a secret he gave only to you.

Your hands gripped his thighs, fingers digging in for leverage as you took him deeper, the stretch making your eyes water just slightly, but you didn’t stop. Couldn’t. You wanted all of him. Needed it.

His voice came out strangled, wrecked, and desperate. “Fuck—sweetheart, you keep goin’ like that, I ain’t gonna last.”

You pulled back just enough to breathe, letting your tongue flick against the tip before sinking again, taking him deeper this time, allowing your throat to relax as far as you could. His hips bucked, involuntary, a hiss tearing from between his clenched teeth.

Your hands smoothed up his stomach beneath his shirt, feeling his belly tensed under your touch. You could feel it—how close he was—the tremble in his thighs, the low groan vibrating in his chest, the way his fingers gripped your hair like he was hanging on by a thread.

You looked up at him again, eyes wet, lips swollen, mouth full of him, and smiled the best you could.

You wanted him to come apart. To feel it. To lose himself in you.

Joel’s voice cracked low and rough above you. “That’s it, darlin’... fuck.”

His hips jerked, shallow and restrained at first, but then a little deeper and needier. He was trying to hold back, trying not to thrust too hard, but his control was fraying with every flick of your tongue, every slow pull of your mouth.

You let him.

You welcomed the way he started to fuck into your mouth, hips rolling forward in time with the wet slide of your lips. He was breathing hard now, one hand clenched in your hair, the other braced on the table behind him—his whole body taut, vibrating with the effort of staying upright.

“Shit—sweetheart, I’m—I’m not gonna last,” he gritted out, voice low and broken. “Fuck, you feel too good…”

Your hands smoothed under his shirt again, fingertips brushing his stomach, feeling how it flexed under your touch. You moaned around him, soft and encouraging, and that was it—that did it.

Joel’s breath hitched, his thighs tensed beneath your hands.

“Fuck—fuck,” he choked, voice strangled as his hips snapped forward one last time, his release hitting hard and fast. You felt the twitch of him on your tongue, the warmth spilling into your mouth as he gasped your name like a prayer and a curse all at once.

You didn’t pull away. You took every bit of it, swallowing around him lazily, like you had all the time in the world.

When you finally drew back, a thin string of spit still connected your lips to the head of his cock. You wiped your mouth with the back of your hand, blinking up at him with that same wicked smile.

“You’re trouble,” Joel rasped, still catching his breath, voice thick and rough like gravel. “Sweet, dangerous fuckin’ trouble.”

You tilted your head, eyes flicking up to where his glasses had slipped slightly down his nose with a slow, satisfied smile. Your fingers gliding down the inside of his thighs, just to feel the aftershocks still buzzing beneath his skin. He was flushed and sweaty, chest rising and falling, shirt clinging to him in all the right places. The sight of him like this—flushed, undone, still wearing those damn glasses—made your smirk deepen.

“You should wear your glasses more often,” you teased, dragging your nails lightly along his thigh. “Kinda makes you look like a professor with a filthy mouth.”

Joel huffed out a weak laugh, head tipping back against the chair with a groan.

“Don’t start,” he muttered, dragging a hand down his face. “You just about killed me and now you’re lookin’ to finish the job.”

You pushed yourself up between his knees slowly, hands braced on his thighs as you leaned in so close your breath tickled the corner of his mouth.

“Oh, I haven’t even started yet,” you whispered, lips brushing barely against his.

His hand came up to cup the side of your neck, thumb stroking slow against your jaw. The heat in his gaze had shifted, less wrecked, more focused. Grounded. Dangerous in a different way.

“Is that so?” he murmured, voice still low but steadying, a challenge creeping back in. “Guess it’s my turn, then.”

You opened your mouth to protest—to tell Joel he didn’t have to, that he could sit back down and finish whatever project had his attention before you rudely distracted him.

But then he gave you that look.

That smirk. That slow, knowing curl of his mouth paired with eyes that dragged over your body like he was undressing you.

“Don’t act like you don’t want me to make you feel good, sweet girl,” he murmured, voice all gravel and heat.

His words alone sent a spark straight through you—low, heavy, and impossible to ignore. Your thighs pressed together, the aftershocks of your earlier teasing still lingering between them.

“Joel, you don’t—”

He didn’t let you finish.

Instead, he stood up, towering over you, then bent just enough to hook his arms around your waist. You let out a startled laugh as he lifted you clean off the ground and slung you over his shoulder like you weighed nothing.

“Joel!” you squealed, half laughing and breathless, but your protest died when your eyes landed on the sight before you—his ass—still exposed from where you’d dragged his jeans down earlier.

You grinned, biting your lip, but the amusement twisted into something hotter the moment Joel’s palm came down in a firm, playful smack against the curve of your ass.

“Don’t tempt me,” he said, voice low, barely above a rumble. You could feel it against your stomach where your body pressed against his.

Then, almost to himself, more thoughtful than teasing. “What should I do for you, honey…”

You shivered at the question—not because you didn’t have answers, but because it came out like a promise. Like he wasn’t just thinking about giving you pleasure—he was planning it. Mapping it out in that careful, deliberate way, Joel did everything.

As he carried you toward the bedroom, your fingers curled into the hem of his jacket, nails scraping lightly against his lower back.

“You’re such a caveman,” you muttered, trying to sound annoyed. But your voice came out breathy, wrecked with anticipation.

Joel chuckled, one hand sliding up to grip your thigh.

“Yeah, but you like it when I drag you off like this,” he said, shouldering the bedroom door open. “Don’t think I didn’t see the way you smiled when I smacked your ass.”

He dropped you onto the bed with a gentle thud, your back hitting the mattress and bouncing slightly. Before you could sit up, he crawled over you, glasses still somehow on, those eyes burning into yours like you were the only thing he wanted to see in the world.

“Now,” he said, his voice dropping to a near-growl as he kissed a slow path down your neck, “lemme return the favor.”

Joel undressed you in a blur of rough hands and reverent kisses—fingers tugging at fabric, mouth tracing the skin he exposed, piece by piece. He didn’t rush, but he didn’t waste time either, like he couldn’t stand the thought of you being covered for a second longer than necessary.

By the time you were bare beneath him, chest rising and falling with anticipation, his touch softened—thumb and forefinger teasing your nipples with slow, deliberate rolls that had you gasping beneath him.

“So fuckin’ beautiful,” he muttered, almost to himself, eyes drinking you like something sacred. Then he dipped lower, kissing a slow, open-mouthed path down your stomach, dragging his stubble just enough to make you squirm.

You braced for it—for him to settle between your thighs, but instead, Joel pulled back.

You blinked, breath caught in your throat as he stripped out of his jacket and shirt, revealing the hard planes of his chest, the sweat-slick heat of him. Then, with surprising ease, he lay flat on his back and shifted you with him, guiding your thighs to straddle his chest, then higher, until you were hovering above his face.

“Joel,” you said, half-breathless. “What are you—? I thought you were gonna return the favor.”

He smirked, brow arched, the picture of smug, ruined perfection beneath you.

“I am, sweetheart,” he rasped, his voice a gravelly promise. His hands gripped your hips, firm and possessive, and dragged you up a little higher until your knees were planted on either side of his head, your pussy just inches above his mouth. “You like riding so much…” His gaze flicked up, hot and hungry. “So ride my face.”

Your breath caught, stolen clean out of your chest.

You let out a quiet, stunned laugh, but it faltered when you met his eyes. He wasn’t joking. There was no teasing in his expression now—just heat, need, and the kind of patience that made your stomach flip.

“Joel,” you breathed, your voice trembling, your fingers curling into his hair for balance.

You’d done this before, but never like this. Never with him lay out like a man ready to worship. His hands coaxing you down, his mouth open, waiting, like he was the lucky one.

And fuck… maybe he was.

In this moment, as his grip tightened and he pulled you gently down to his lips, you felt like you were the one about to be worshipped.

“C’mon, darlin’,” he said, voice low and reverent as his breath ghosted over your skin. “Don’t be shy now. Let me taste you.”

You leaned down slightly, breath hitching as you reached for the bridge of his glasses, fingertips brushing the metal.

Joel gently batted your hand away, his voice low and commanding, but soft around the edges.

“Nah,” he murmured, eyes locking with yours beneath the lenses. “I wanna see you. Wanna see how pretty you look when you come.”

The words landed like a punch to your gut—hot and heavy, straight between your thighs. Your body tensed in response, breath stalling in your chest. The idea of him watching—really watching—every twitch, every gasp, every moment of you falling apart on top of him?

It short-circuited your brain.

You barely had time to respond—no witty retort, no teasing comeback—before Joel’s grip on your hips tightened, fingers digging into your skin in that possessive way he always touched you when his restraint started to slip.

And then he pulled you down onto his mouth.

You gasped loudly, the sound ripping from your throat as your hips met his face. His tongue was already there, already moving, hot and slow and devastating between your folds.

Your hands flew forward, scrambling until you found the headboard. Gripping it like a lifeline, your thighs trembled on either side of his head.

“Joel—” you choked out, but it was barely a sound.

He groaned into you in response, the vibration making your spine arch. His hands slid from your hips to your ass, holding you in place, guiding your movement—urging you to grind against his mouth.

He wanted you to ride. Wanted to feel it. Wanted to watch every second through those damn glasses like it was his favorite view in the world.

You looked down and nearly fell apart again.

Joel’s eyes were open, locked on yours—dark and intent, his lashes damp with sweat, the lower half of his face already glistening. He looked wrecked and entirely in control all at once.

“Fuck,” you whimpered, rolling your hips without meaning to, chasing the pressure, the friction of his tongue dragging through your slick.

He groaned again, his grip flexing, his mouth working you with purpose now—slow circles, firm flicks, sucking gently on your clit before diving back in with messy, open-mouthed hunger.

You couldn’t look away. Couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t think.

Joel didn’t stop or even blink as he kept watching you.

“Joel… oh, fuck, right there—” you moaned, voice cracking as your fingers dug harder into the headboard, knuckles white with the effort to stay grounded.

He didn’t let up.

Joel’s mouth moved with deliberate, devastating precision—his tongue lapping over your clit in slow, firm strokes, just the way he knew would push you over the edge. Every flick, every pull of his lips sent shocks through you, your thighs trembling where they bracketed his face.

He was relentless. His hands gripping your ass, holding you down against his mouth as if he knew you were close, as if he could feel it in the way your body started to twitch, to quake. His stubble scraped deliciously along your inner thighs, raw and unfiltered, the kind of burn you’d crave after it was over.

You were sweating, skin flushed and damp, the air thick and heavy around you. Every nerve felt on fire. Your back arching, hips rocking helplessly against him, chasing every bit of friction his mouth offered.

Your head tipped forward, forehead pressing against the cool wood of the headboard as the tension inside you twisted tighter and tighter, impossible to contain.

“Don’t stop,” you gasped, your voice barely recognizable—hoarse, wrecked. “Joel, please—right there, don’t stop—”

He groaned beneath you, the sound sending another ripple of heat through your core. One of his hands slid between your legs, two fingers slipping inside you with ease—thick, perfect, curling just right as his mouth stayed locked on your clit.

The sensation shattered you.

Your entire body seized, hips jerking forward as the orgasm slammed into you. A cry tore from your throat, as wave after wave rolled through you, pleasure sparking like electricity from your core to your fingertips.

Joel didn’t stop.

He kept working you through it, drawing out every last twitch, every helpless moan, until your legs went weak and your grip on the headboard loosened.

When you finally opened your eyes, panting and dazed, Joel was still beneath you—his lips wet, beard damp, and those goddamn glasses still on as he looked up at you like you were his favorite sin.

“Pretty when you beg,” he murmured, voice thick with satisfaction.

You took a shaky breath, your body still trembling with the echoes of release as Joel guided you down onto the bed. His movements were deliberate. He hovered for a second, eyes scanning your face, like he needed to make sure you were still there, still okay.

You were. You just felt like you’d melted into the mattress.

His hands smoothed over your hips, then your thighs, grounding you with his touch. You could feel how gentle and attuned he was to every little shiver running through you. Like he didn’t just want to hold you—he wanted to protect whatever fragile thing had bloomed between you in that moment.

“So goddamn pretty,” Joel murmured, voice hoarse and low as he leaned down to kiss you.

The kiss was soft and slow. You could taste yourself on his lips, the faintest salty-sweet tang, and instead of embarrassment, it only made your stomach flip again.

Your fingers found the back of his neck, curling into the damp hair at his nape, stroking gently. His weight was warm above you, comforting, and you let yourself sink into the feeling of him, skin to skin, heartbeat to heartbeat.

When he pulled back, you caught sight of his glasses, still clinging to his face, slightly fogged from the heat radiating between your bodies.

You blinked, then let out a soft laugh.

“Oh, shit,” you muttered, reaching up to nudge them crooked on his nose. “I think I bent your glasses.”

Joel gave you that slow, lazy smirk, eyes still dark with the afterglow.

“Worth it,” he murmured.

He peeled them off with one hand and set them aside on the nightstand, not bothering to look at the damage. Then he rolled onto his side, tugging you until your head rested against his chest, one of his arms wrapped tightly around your back.

He kissed the top of your head, his scruff scratching lightly against your scalp.

“Y’alright?” he murmured into your hair, voice softened now, more Joel than ever.

You nodded, pressing your nose to his skin and breathing him in.

“Better than alright,” you whispered.

He hummed low in his throat, content and quiet, fingertips tracing lazy circles along your spine like he never wanted to let you go.

#joel miller #joel miller fic #joel miller fanfic #joel miller x reader #joel miller smut #joel miller tlou #joel miller x you #joel miller the last of us #tlou joel #joel tlou #joel the last of us #joel miller x female reader #joel miller fanfiction #pedro pascal #joel miller fluff

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sixeyesonathiel · 3 days ago

Text

you should’ve read the damn contract.

but you were desperate. truly desperate. broke to your bones, barely scraping by on instant noodles and tap water. you had holes in your socks, a phone with a shattered screen, and a wallet so empty it echoed. the idea of splurging on a sex toy? laughable. you couldn’t even afford a second-hand toothbrush. so when the sign-up form for "assistant tester" promised fast money with zero qualifications, you didn’t hesitate. clicked agree. no reading. no questions.

and now?

you’re strapped to a glossy, too-clean chair in a sterile lab with your legs spread wide, bound in place. and between them, humming softly with unholy precision, is a goddamn vibrator from the future.

silver, contoured, sleek—latched in place by soft restraints, the head of it resting firm and perfectly angled against your clit. it’s warm from its internal thermal sync, fitted with pressure-reactive gel pads and frequency mapping. you hadn’t even known vibrators could do this. it’s more machine than toy. and you are its first test subject.

“no offense,” satoru drawls, voice impossibly casual as he leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees, “but you’re twitching like a virgin in a wind tunnel. and this is literally the lowest setting.”

he grins around the end of a candy stick he’s been chewing for the last ten minutes, bright blue eyes tracking the shivers running down your body. his lab coat hangs off one shoulder like he forgot it halfway through putting it on, and his black compression shirt clings tight to his lean frame beneath it. his pants ride low on his hips where he’s slouched, thighs spread, casual in posture but intent in gaze. the goggles meant for "serious" testing sit uselessly on his forehead, pushing back his mess of white hair, strands sticking out in static waves.

his eyes flicker with amusement, mouth quirking as he watches your body react, fascinated. “don’t tell me,” he says, spinning slightly in his chair with a nudge of his heel. “you’ve never used a toy before.”

you jerk when the vibrator pulses, and your breath shudders. your thighs tremble as you try to close your legs on instinct—only to be kept wide open by the straps. your brows knit, lips parting in a soundless gasp, skin flushed from your cheeks to your collarbones. “i... haven’t,” you admit, voice barely above a whisper.

satoru blinks. then brightens. “what? oh my god. you’re serious?”

his grin widens—vicious and delighted.

“holy shit, this is even better than i thought. you signed up for high-grade prototype testing and your poor little pussy’s never even met a toothbrush’s vibration mode?”

“satoru!” you cry, humiliated, squirming against the relentless buzz between your legs. your hips twitch with every pass, toes curling in their restraints, spine arching slightly as the pleasure sneaks up your nerves.

he laughs like this is the best thing that’s happened all week. “nah, this is so good. write that down,” he mock-mumbles, pretending to scribble on his tablet. “subject is hopelessly inexperienced. results? extremely promising.”

he rolls his stool closer, the wheels creaking as he leans in. his breath fans across your thigh. he moves with lazy confidence, legs spreading slightly wider, hands loosely folded over his knees.

“can you even tell what part is making you moan like that? is it the pulses? the heat setting? or is it just the fact that someone’s finally paying attention to that sad little clit of yours?”

your hands grip the armrests harder, knuckles white. your face twists with the effort to stay composed, but another whimper escapes, and your lashes flutter from the building sensation. every hum of the vibrator sends your hips bucking.

“stop staring,” you choke, voice breaking from the mix of shame and pleasure.

he snorts. “what, you shy now? sweetheart, you’re on my table, strapped open, soaking my tech. i’m doing you a favor.”

he flicks a finger against the side of the vibrator casually. it twitches in response.

you gasp, whole body jolting. your eyes fly open wide, lips quivering as your muscles lock up for a moment.

he watches your back arch, eyes sharp and entirely too smug. “god, that’s adorable. you really don’t know what to do with it. how long you been walking around with a cunt that’s never been spoiled?”

beep.

he taps the tablet.

the vibration intensifies.

your whole body jumps, a startled moan ripping from your throat. your eyes squeeze shut, face contorting as your chest heaves in shallow gasps.

“ohhhh yeah,” he says, eyes gleaming. “now that’s the sound i needed on record. keep goin’, princess.”

you shake your head furiously, tears pricking at your eyes. your shoulders twitch with every wave of stimulation. “satoru—i c-can’t—”

“you can,” he says, nudging your thigh with his foot. “that’s literally the point. now stop whining and let the tech do its job. unless you want to redo all the calibration logs.”

he leans forward suddenly, forearms on either side of your thighs. he’s close now, close enough that you can feel the heat of his body, the sharpness in his gaze as he watches you break apart. “you’re already crying and we haven’t even hit auto-rhythm. wanna see what happens when we let it pick the pattern it thinks you like best?”

“no—!”

beep.

too late.

he watches you twitch and writhe, cheeks flushed, lips trembling from overstimulation. your cunt is soaked. the toy hums louder. your jaw slackens as you pant, barely holding onto your sense of self.

“god,” he mutters, not even trying to hide the awe in his voice, “you’re gonna short-circuit the sensors with how wet you are. is this what happens when broke girls finally get some tech between their legs?”

you let out a strangled sound—half moan, half sob—as your body twists against the restraints, chest heaving in shallow bursts. your head tosses to the side, hair clinging damply to your temple, strands sticking from the sheen of sweat along your brow.

satoru tilts his head, one white brow arching lazily as if he’s genuinely puzzled. his lip tugs up in amusement, eyes gleaming with mischief under the fringe of silver bangs. “what’s wrong? you wanna stop?”

your voice breaks on a whisper, barely audible through your trembling breath. “yes,” you whimper, eyes glassy, lashes wet.

he flashes a grin—wide and obnoxiously bright, the corner of his mouth dimpling as he leans back on his stool, spine stretching in a casual roll like he’s just lounging at a bar, not orchestrating your unraveling. “too bad. you signed a full-cycle clause. twenty minutes minimum.”

his wrist lifts casually, tablet tilted toward him with a flick of his fingers. his thumb scrolls the screen like he’s checking a grocery list. “we’re only at seven.”

“satoru, please—” your voice cracks on the plea, lip quivering as your hips instinctively try to shy away from the overstimulation.

he doesn’t even blink. “oh now you’re begging. yeah, that’s goin’ in the notes.” he mutters it more to himself than you, tapping something in lazily, though his eyes never leave the way your body squirms.

his hand comes down slow, deliberate, resting lightly on your hipbone. the heat of his palm spreads through the thin fabric of the gown they’d given you, and his fingers flex slightly, just enough to feel the way your muscles tremble beneath his touch. you flinch—just barely—but he catches it, and his lashes lower in interest.

“try to keep your voice down, though,” he says, tapping your thigh twice like it’s nothing. “walls are thin. or don’t. up to you.”

then he leans back again, reclining just slightly in his seat, one knee bouncing idly, clipboard resting across it. the corner of his smile twitches as he watches your face twist again, eyes fluttering shut. “science is beautiful, huh?”

#gojo satoru #gojo drabble #gojo smut #gojo x reader #gojo x reader smut #gojo x female reader #gojo satoru x you #gojo satoru x y/n #gojo satoru x reader #jjk x reader #satoru gojo x you #satoru gojo x y/n #satoru gojo x reader #jjk smut #jjk drabbles

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yandere-daydreams · 22 days ago

Text

Title: The Freeze Incentive.

Pairing: Yandere!BatFam x Reader (DC).

Word Count: 6.8k.

TW: Non/Con, Fem!Reader, Kidnapping + Prolonged Imprisonment, Mentions of Past Suicide Attempts, Lasting Suicidal Ideation, Age Gap (Reader is Mid-Twenties, Bruce is Late Forties), Obsessive Behavior, Masturbation, and Gratuitous Pseudo-Incest. DEAD DOVE: DO NOT EAT.

[Part One] [Part Two] [Part Three]

You were released from the hospital after forty-eight hours exactly. Bruce never ate, never slept, never left your side. You didn’t speak to him, but he didn’t force you to.

His hell spawn kept their distance. Once, the first time you fell asleep, you thought you might’ve seen Cassandra in the doorway as you drifted off, but it couldn’t have been her. Even she wasn’t slippery enough to come and go under the vigilant radar of your new, raging paranoia.

By hour forty-nine, you were being shepherded into an apartment on the opposite side of Gotham. “The walls and windows are bullet-proof,” Bruce explained, as you shuffled through a long, narrow entryway. There were two doors – both made out of a brilliantly silver, blindingly reflective metal and requiring some combination of facial recognition, fingerprint scan, and physical keys to unlock. That apocalyptic level of security might’ve made you feel a little more safe if you hadn’t already known that the people you were afraid most of would be able to come and go as they pleased.

“The ventilation system is on its own rig, and there are cameras in every room – dormant. Just raise your voice above a normal speaking volume if you want to activate them.”

You coughed out a laugh. “Why? Trying to get baby’s first assault on film?”

Bruce didn’t answer. Your tour ended abruptly, and he held you in a vice-grip against his chest as he made up for two days’ worth of sleep.

The penthouse was, for lack of a better point of comparison, not all that you’d imagined it would be. Floor to ceiling windows encircled the living room, providing an unending bird’s eye view of the city. The second guest bedroom had been converted into a makeshift art studio, stocked with materials for every hobby you’d ever had and most that you hadn’t. All the bedsheets were in your favorite color and all the mounted art was to your tastes and there was a poster of your favorite local band in the kitchen – an design they’d only sold once at a concert that’d happened years before you discovered them. But, all the walls were painted an unfeeling shade of off-white, and the balcony door had been sealed shut, and the band poster had been framed – locked behind glass and hung with a perfectionist’s precision.

You would’ve used glue-dots.

You had the poor thing pinned to a countertop, butterknife in-hand as you tried to pry it out of its entrapments, when you noticed Tim.

Dark and lanky, looming in the corner of your vision. He was dressed in his civilian clothes – all over-sized pullovers and ill-fitting jeans. He smiled when you glanced over your shoulder, but his expression fell as you whipped around, holding out your butterknife like it was ex-fucking-calibur.

“Bruce!” You called into the penthouse, keeping your back pressed against the edge of the counter.

“There was a fire in the warehouse district. We traded posts early.”

Of course. You weren’t sure why you’d expected him to say goodbye. “Touch me and I’ll slit my own throat.”

“With that?” He laughed, the noise airy. “We had the edges of the cutlery dulled. Anything sharp enough to break skin is—” Tim cut himself off, shrugging. “You’ll have to ask, if there’s anything you want to use. Standing flight-risk and all.”

God. If you’d known trying to kill yourself would cause this many problems, you would’ve made sure to get it right the first time.

Tim took half a step closer. You squared your shoulders.

“I’ll hang myself with the bedsheets.”

“Tear-away. They can’t hold anything heavier than fifty pounds.”

“I’ll drink boiling water.”

“The stove is bioencrypted. And the microwave. And the kettle.” Tim smiled apologetically. “I’m not going to do anything, I promise. The others, they’re a little—” Another abrupt pause, this one followed by a dry swallow. You wondered if Bruce had briefed him on what to say to you, or if his siblings had been the one to put a script together. Your little stunt probably didn’t help with that, either. Proving you could get hurt put the idea of protecting you into their minds. It gave them an excuse to treat you like something fragile, something that didn’t know any better. The narrative could be rewritten, their fixations tailored to better fit the new angle. You wondered if the Oedipus complex of it all would crack and give way under the added pressure, but ultimately decided not to hope for silver linings in rock-bottom scenarios.

“—overzealous,” Tim finished, finally. “I get it, though. You need your space. I’m just here to keep an eye on you.”

You scowled, wearily. “That doesn’t sound like giving me space.”

“Give me a chance.” His grin brightened. “You won’t even know I’m here.”

You were always going to try and pretend he wasn’t, obviously. That didn’t necessarily mean he’d make it easy.

You kept the butterknife with you, even if it was too blunt to puncture and too small to inflict substantial trauma. Never more than thirty feet away, Tim followed after you as you wandered through the apartment, trying to pass the time without letting your guard down. You flipped through the clothes overflowing from your new, Bruce-tailored closet. Tim watched. You sat in front of a window, trying to make out the world miles below. Tim watched. You tried your hand at embroidery. Tim cringed every time you pressed the needle into fabric, and he watched.

You were pretending to read a book (a low stakes romance, more fluff than substance, something Bruce would’ve picked out with distraction in mind) when Tim broke the tense silence.

“You’re supposed to take a shower, now.”

You eyed him wearily. “You know I'm almost a decade older than you, right?”

He grinned, his face going a telling shade of pink. Okay, that was on you, but still – gross.

“Whatever.” The master bath seemed the most private, the most tucked-away, so you fled in that direction. You were a few inches away from slamming the door shut when Tim’s hand caught the edge, pushing it open despite your best attempts to stop him.

“Bruce’s orders,” he explained, shrugging. Like that made up for the red now steadily creeping towards his ears, the way his breathing seemed to hitch as he stepped inside and closed the door behind him. Like he’d ever listened to Bruce a day in his life. “You have to understand why he’d be touchy about bathrooms.”

The anger was hot, thick, and immediate. You didn’t have to understand anything. It’d been your body folded up and lifeless on the tile floor. All he’d done was call the ambulance.

“Either you leave or we spend the night here.” You crossed your arms over your chest. “Get out.”

Tim chuckled. “You’re being so stubborn.”

“Out.”

“Take your time.” He propped his back against the door. “I’m not going anywhere. We have all day, literally.”

Butterknife be damned. You were going to kill him with your bare hands.

You took a long moment, evaluating your options. Tim had always ranked on the lower side of your danger scale – creepy and perverted, but too buttoned-up and close to Bruce to ever do anything more direct than stealing your panties or planting mics in your bedroom. Their new arrangement would change things, sure, but Bruce’s ongoing denial that kids were here to do anything but protect you seemed to have a dampening effect, keeping the scales from tilting quite as dramatically as they might’ve, otherwise.

You were also, undeniably, scared. Scared of testing the waters so quickly, scared of finding out how Bruce would handle disobedience, scared of who might be taking over after Tim. You pictured Cas, undressing you with care, then Jason, smile cutting into your throat as he forced you under freezing cold water. Tim wasn’t good, but he was preferable. The lesser of many, many evils.

“Face the wall. With a towel over your head.” Tim’s smile quirked, but he complied. You waited until he was fully turned towards the door, pitch-black fabric blocking his peripheral, to go on. “Bruce has every room bugged. If I scream, he’ll be here in minutes.”

A lie, but a fair one. Tim nodded slowly, as if processing new information. Bruce must’ve been keeping a few of the penthouse’s security measures to himself. Even he didn’t trust his kids when left to their own devices.

Getting undressed was the worst part. You were caught between the logical awareness that ripping off the Band-Aid would ultimately prove less painless and the gnawing instinct to cling to what might keep you safe for just a little longer. Forcing your conscious mind to a distance, you kept things military – water, soap, rinse, repeat – and let yourself think only of how thankful you were to finally wash off the hospital grime. You were only a minute or so away from being done when you heard something over the water’s rhythmic pattering. A clicking sound, except it was a little too wet, a little too off-beat. For a second, you were delusional enough to consider that one of the pipes in Bruce’s ten-trillion-dollar apartment might’ve sprung a leak.

Then, dread cold and hollow in your chest, you looked to Tim.

He wasn’t facing you. Thank God, he wasn’t facing you. What you could see of him like this, though the fogged glass of the shower stall, was bad enough. He was hunched over, his forehead pressed against the wood of the door. His left hand was planted at the same height while the right worked between his legs, moving in time with that awful, repetitive noise. The towel had fallen to his shoulders, but you could see that his eyes were clenched shut, like he was still trying not to violate your one boundary. In his mind, you were sure this didn’t count as an overstep.

Vaguely, you remembered Stephanie saying something about Tim being the voyeur type. You wondered if the fact that he wasn’t technically looking made this any better.

Your original goal was immediately forgotten. You stayed where you were until the water went cold, until you could hear Tim’s strained breathing and see white dripping from his hand. You waited for him to clean himself up before moving on to the salvage – towel, clothes, etc. You kept your eyes low, your lips pursed, but Tim wasn’t as stand-offish. He orbited around you as you shrugged open the bathroom door and stepped out, his voice chipper. Giddy. “Feeling better?”

“When’s Bruce coming back?”

“Can’t be sure. His schedule’s the hardest to pin down.” He rested a hand on your shoulder by way of apology. Your skin crawled. “Barbara has the next shift.”

You mumbled something affirmative. Still fully dressed, you crawled into bed and pulled the sheets over your head.

Tim watched.

You were right. Bruce’s insistence on the pretense of deniability put the others on-guard, all reluctant to be the one to condemn their father’s favorite lamb to death.

Some were worse than others. Barbara let you watch a season’s worth of some perfectly generic, perfectly mindless reality T.V. dating show in one sitting, only occasionally looking up from her laptop and paperwork to yell at the screen on your behalf. Cas pawed at your tits through your shirt while cuddling until you were too sore to lay on your chest. Damian took advantage of the art studio to paint a terribly forlorn, but relatively flattering portrait of you while you struggled with a crochet hook. Stephanie had you try on three shopping bag’s worth of lingerie, snapping pictures all the while. Kate told you every piece of gossip she’d picked up during Gotham’s social season. Jason stayed away, which was the worst thing he could’ve done. Even serial killers had the decency not to leave their victim’s corpses to the scavengers.

And Dick…

Dick let you out.

Never to go very far, never for very long, and always to somewhere mind-numbingly civilian - a café, or a boutique, or the nicer stretch of docks tourists tended to flock to in the summer. Like the rest, he’d established his own set of boundaries, as defined as they were irrational. He never talked about Bruce, to Tim, or any of the others. He kept his distance when you two were alone and held your hand when you weren’t. If you had to say anything, he said it for you. It was weird, but nothing you couldn’t live with. No – your fears were more abstract than that, more likely to take the form of ticking clocks than groping hands. Things were bad, now. You could live with that. You understood that.

You were just having trouble keeping yourself sane while you sat around, wasted time, and waited for things to get worse.

“Don’t like the view?”

Ah. You must’ve been lost in thought again. You glanced towards Dick, your head resting gingerly on his shoulder, then outward, to the grassy plains of the local park. It was a good day (or Gotham, at least) so you weren’t entirely alone. Couples jogged. Families picnicked. Children played. It might’ve been nice if Dick hadn’t decided that you’d spend the day rooted to a bench on the outskirts, a half-eaten cup of ice cream melting to your side, his arms slung over the backrest and some part of you always making contact with some part of him. So he could be sure you didn’t run, he’d claimed. As if any amount of distance would be enough to get you away from him.

“Just wondering why you’re doing this.”

He chuckled. “What do you mean?”

“Taking me outside. Making me look at happy, smiling people.” Delaying the inevitable. Giving you false hope. “It’s a little mean, considering I’m just going to be rotting again in a couple hours.”

“Better than leaving you locked up all day, right?”

You scuffed your heel into the dirt. Dainty kitten heels – nothing you’d ever been able to run in. “I guess the fresh air is nice. And the lack of security cameras.”

At that, Dick cringed. You were still testing for sore spots, trying to find holes in the fabric that held your captors together, less as part of some future plan and more to keep yourself busy. Bruce’s near-constant invasions of your privacy was, rather transparently, one of Dick’s. “Tell me he’s not recording you.”

“He’s not supposed to be,” you sighed. “I think Stephanie might’ve gotten into the system, though. She’s been on an amateur photography kick.”

It was his turn to sigh, to groan, to let his head collapse onto your shoulder. His arm found its way around you, hauling you that much closer to his chest. “…I don’t like it,” he admitted, his reluctance layered on so thickly, it was hard to believe he didn’t choke. “You know I don’t like it, right?”

“How the others treat me?”

“That they know you exist.” Another groan. You kept your eyes trained straight ahead. “B told you I was the first, right. I… I think I’m always the first. He knows I can handle the deep-end.” And then, more sentimentally, “He knew I’d fall in love with you at first sight.”

Hands curled into fists. Eyes forced open. You couldn’t look at him. You couldn’t blink. “Please don’t say things like that.”

“But it’s true. I used to let myself into your apartment at night – you always left the door unlocked. And remember the last time you went out with your coworkers?” You did. One minute, you’d been at the dive-bar closest to your office, happily accepting another round of shots bought on the company card, and the next, you’d been waking up in your own bed, undressed and hung over. You’d figured you’d managed to get yourself home despite blacking out, but the way Dick was grinning against your throat suggested otherwise. “It should’ve been like that all the time. Just you and me – taking care of each other.”

You couldn’t blink. You couldn’t blink. You’d fall apart the second your eyes closed, and you couldn’t keep letting them break you like that.

“B’s mind works on a switch,” Dick explained. “He can turn it off whenever he wants to, but I’m not like that. I can’t decide when not to love you.” He paused, smirked. “Even if you could be a little nicer to me, some—”

“Help me escape.”

The sound of your own voice caught you off-guard. Dick jolted against you, raising his head, equally surprised. Your face suddenly felt warm, and your heart was beating too quickly. It was by someone else’s – someone stronger, someone dumber - volition that you went on, digging your grave that much deeper. “If you hate the way I’m treated, if you think you love me, then help me leave. I’ll go wherever you want to, I just—” The air hitched in your throat. “You know I can’t stay here, any longer.”

For a second, Dick didn’t respond. For a second, he stayed there, pressed against you, all-but unmoving.

Then, he straightened and laughed, taking your hand in his. He squeezed gently, like he was trying to show you that he cared. Like he loved you.

“Bruce’s shift is coming up. We should get you home, right?”

You let your eyes fall to the ground. Not blinking hadn’t helped – you could feel tears forming in the corner of your eyes, regardless.

“Right.”

It rained on your walk back, despite the clear sky. Neither of you had brought an umbrella, and the downpour was too sudden to seek cover, so you were soaked by the time you reached the apartment. The artificial chill clung to you like a second skin, turning your body to shell hostile to its contents. In hindsight, you probably should’ve taken it as an omen of things to come. Or, maybe you just should’ve expected calamity in general – predicted or otherwise.

You were late, too. Bruce was already there by the time you finally made it through that suffocating entryway – sitting on the foot of your bed, a suit jacket hung over his knee and the first few buttons of his collar undone. With a nod by way of acknowledgement, you moved to scurry past him and find something dryer to wear, but he caught your wrist on the way by. “Can you stay for a second, honey?”

Absolutely not. No way in hell. You’d rather die. “…I guess so.”

There was a gentle squeeze by way of gratitude, then he turned to Dick. “Be honest with me. Have any of you touched her?”

Dread formed a bottomless, pitch-black well in your chest. Even Dick seemed reluctant to answer – setting his jaw and squaring his shoulders. Making himself into one of Bruce’s soldiers, rather than his son. “No. Not like that.” He swallowed. “Not since Jason.”

“Good. I was hoping we could talk, first.” With his free hand, he waved Dick closer. Silent and unquestioning, Dick obeyed.

The blocking of your little scene was awkward. You were too close to Bruce and Dick was too close to you while the distance between them was left deliberately more vast. Dick didn’t touch you. He never would, not with Bruce watching, and Bruce seemed to know that. “It’s alright,” he said, with the same stoicism he might’ve showed to a wild, rampaging animal. “Go on. I want to see how you handle it – if you can handle it.”

Dick glowered. “This isn’t something you can train out of me, old man.”

“I’m not trying to.” You made a half-hearted effort to pull your hand out of Bruce’s hold. His grip only tightened, in response. “Show me that you know how to put your hands on something without breaking it.”

There was a second’s worth of hesitation, but not much longer. One of Dick’s hands wrapped around your forearm, replacing Bruce’s, while the other caught your chin. He kissed you – messy, sudden, hard – and you wondered if you really did die on the bathroom floor that night, and this was your own special brand of hell.

When Dick came up for air, there was no pretense of consent, no pause taken to assess you for the mutuality Bruce always seemed so desperate for. His lips pressed into the corner of your mouth, then your jaw, then the corner of your throat – lingering there while his hands dropped to your waist, pawing at the fabric of your sundress. On instinct, you thrashed, shoved at his chest, dug your claws into his chest. Dick only laughed, pulling you that much closer against him. “C’mon, sweetheart, we’re just making up for lost time,” he mumbled into your ear, his breath warm and tacky against your skin. “You remember what I said last time, right? It’s just you and me – you don’t have to think about anybody else.”

“I don’t even want to think about you, little prick complex-having fucking bast---” Your hissed insults were cut off by Dick’s hands on your hips, by your feet suddenly being torn from the ground as he half-lifted, half-threw you onto the bed. The collision was rough, sudden, knocking the air out of your lungs and giving Dick time to get on top of you. Two fists found the collar of your dress and tore, cold air rushing over your chest, your navel, your legs. You tried not to think about the technicalities of it – how planned it seemed, how little hesitation there was, how his grin stretched wider with each inch of mutilated fabric. Your mind was more focused on broader concepts – the all-encompassing hateyou felt for both of them, the acid sitting heavy and thick on your tongue. The fact that you’d already showed Bruce what you do if your life ever turned from unpleasant to unbearable, and the haunting awareness that he was sitting there and watching it happen again, this time from the comfort of his own bedroom.

Dick wasn’t helping. You hadn’t expected him to, but there was still a fresh sort of sting to the feeling of his mouth on your neck, to the sound of his voice in your ear. “So pretty,” he muttered, cupping your cunt through your panties. You lashed out at random, scratching at his chest, but Dick only chuckled, leaned into your assault as if he could pretend it was the sweetest, most saccharine form of affection. “So perfect, and all mine. Could’ve been doing this months ago, in a better world. Would’ve, if I had it my way.”

His thumb pressed harsh circles into your clit, made coarser by satin fabric. You let out a miserable whine, and Bruce clicked his tongue. “Too rough. She’ll bruise.” He moved closer to the side of the bed. “Use your mouth. She prefers it.”

Dick nipped at curve of your throat – another pitchy, humiliating sound. “I don’t hear any complaints.”

“Have I ever told you that, when I first brought you home, Alfred suggested having you neutered? Less hormones that way. A smoother rebellious phase, when you hit teens.” He drummed his fingers against his knee. “I wonder if it’s too late to reconsider the offer.”

Dick grumbled, but the message was clear enough. With one more lingering kiss, he was on his stomach between your legs, head buried between your thighs and tongue drawing shapes into the seat of your panties. You tried to keep your eyes shut, to imagine you were anywhere else, and when that failed to blur the images of claustrophobic car interiors or stop Dick from pulling the now-soaked fabric to the side, you went rigid and tried to sit up. Emphasis on tried. Bruce was already there, of course, holding your shoulders, easing you back down. He always seemed to be at your beck and call when you didn’t want his help.

He wasn’t smiling. You could still feel Dick’s as he ground the bridge of his nose into your clit, but Bruce wasn’t smiling. His gaze bore into your expression appraisingly, occasionally flitting to Dick to make sure his grip was still loose, his teeth kept behind lips. It took seconds for him to break, and even then, the extent of his falter was a sigh, a new set of crow’s feet on the corners of his eyes as he leaned down, pressing his lips into your forehead. “You’ll be the death of me,” he muttered, pulling away. As if you cared. As if he hadn’t already been yours. “Keep that pace. She’s getting closer.”

You weren’t. You really, really weren’t. But, you’d gotten so used to Bruce touching you every minute of every day, and you hadn’t even touched yourself in weeks, and Dick was moaning unabashedly as he fucked his tongue into your cunt – the reverberation steady and pulsing. You didn’t let yourself cum. You wouldn’t let yourself cum, but your thighs kept trying to shut around Dick’s head, and your skin felt like it was on the verge of melting away, and Bruce wouldn’t stop looking at you with the same slight, softened expression he put on whenever you tripped over your own feet or cried after a spanking. Dick’s fingertips bit into the plush of your thighs, and Bruce’s hand came up to cup your cheek. You tried to push him away, but even lifting your arms off of the mattress felt like a waste of energy. You wondered if playing dead would be more effective, would make them stop. You knew it wouldn’t. It hadn’t the first time.

“So beautiful,” he mumbled, leaning down to kiss you. His lips were chapped, and his teeth scraped against your bottom lip too roughly, too clumsily. “And so generous, too. I always hoped you and the kids would get along but—” He paused, chuckled. “It might’ve gotten a little out of hand.”

You tried to open your mouth, to tell him he and his hoard of orphaned sex fiends could go to hell, but all that made it past your lips was a cracked, trembling sob. Bruce hushed you with a low coo, calloused fingers carding through your hair. “Daddy’s right here, honey. Just lie back and bear with me for a little longer, alright?”

As if you were having a tooth pulled. As if his oldest son didn’t have his head buried between your thighs, as if he wasn’t tracing his own name into your cunt over and over and over again. The flat of his tongue ran over your pussy, your clit, and with a stifled gasp, you were pushed over the edge, sent plummeting into an abyss of heat and tension and bright, white lights. Dick nursed you through your orgasm lovingly, but hastily, and Bruce turned his attention away from you to ruffle Dick’s hair. You tried not to linger on the gesture longer than you absolutely had to.

Eventually, Bruce moved aside, and Dick was on top of you again, his chest pressing into yours as he rushed to pull his shirt over his head, to undress in a way you hadn’t been given the choice to. You thought about calling out for Bruce, reaching for him, begging him to make it stop, but you were really too old to be entertaining fantasies. He’d already told you what you needed to do: lie there, shut up, and take it.

Dick wasn’t so pragmatic. He pushed a long, open-mouthed kiss into the side of your neck, sucking and biting until you could be sure that you’d wear the bruise for weeks. You felt something hot and blunt slot against your entrance, but did your best to pretend it was only your imagination.

The contact was too much, too hot, too stifling. Dick’s tongue ran over your cheek, then he dipped lower – hiding his face in the crook of your neck. “I love you.” And then, again, like there was a quantity of desperation that would make you believe him, “I love you.”

He might’ve believed it. You almost did, but then hips were grating against yours, his cock thrusting into you, and suddenly, you weren’t in a state to believe in love at all.

It was dark by the time you were allowed to leave the bedroom. Bruce insisted on a long, well-monitored bath and Dick held you against his chest like he was afraid you might be taken away from him, but eventually, Bruce took a call from Barbara and Dick fell into a deep enough sleep to make slipping away something more than a delusional, escapist fantasy.

Once free, you made your way to the kitchen, tore the framed band poster off the wall, and smashed it against the tile floor until the glass shattered. Dick found you less than a minute later, trying to pick up a few of the larger pieces with your bare hands.

He was still grinning. The expression seemed more off-kilter jagged than it should’ve been in the dim light, more patronizing as he lifted you onto the counter, checking your hands over for hairline cuts or other micro-injuries before squeezing them in his. “Stay right here. I’ll get something to clean up with, and—” His eyes moved from your hands to your face, and his voice cut out abruptly. “You’re so perfect,” he sighed, leaning down to press his lips into the apex of your wrist. “Let’s do it.”

Something sharp and hot stabbed into the back of your throat. More out of self-preservation than curiosity, you asked, “…do what?”

“Leave. Run. Get out of here.” Another kiss, this one to the base of your ring finger. It wasn’t hard to picture what kind of life he was imagining for you. “I’ll get a new place in Bludhaven. You’ll lie low for a little while. We’ll be together.”

You grit your teeth. Bruce and his ilk weren’t the type to play mind games with you, but only the most idiotic man you’d ever met, so deeply entrenched in his own delusions that there was no hope of ever dragging him back to the surface again, would’ve believed you had any love in your heart for him after you’d called him so many awful names. After you’d spent hours practically catatonic in his arms. After tonight.

Thankfully, the most idiotic, delusional man you’d ever met was standing in front of you right now. Little miracles, you guessed.

“You make me so happy, Dick.” You ran your fingers through his hair, and he melted into your palm. “It’s just – there’s one thing I’d like to do, first.”

“Anything. Whatever you want, I’ll do it.”

“I think I should talk to Jason.”

Immediately, Dick’s expression fell. “Why Jason?”

“Just to tie off loose ends. Make sure I’m not leaving anything behind.” You forced yourself to smile, letting your head tilt to the side. “And then I’ll have the rest of my life to spend with you, right?”

You could practically see his eyes glazing over, the same way they had when he found you reading to Damian or chiding Duke for getting himself hurt. Your current reality immediately substituted for a glossier, more appealing replica – or, more appealing to Dick, at least.

“Right.” And then, with one last kiss pressed into your knuckles, “I love you.”

For once, the words didn’t taste so bitter on your tongue.

Dick was a lot of things, but he wasn’t a liar. Bruce clung to you for the next few days – monitoring your diet, watching you sleep, fucking you with more care and more fervor than he ever had before. When he was forced to leave, he held you up until the point he absolutely had to go, then spent another few precious seconds promising Tim would take his place in twenty minutes. That didn’t matter, though. Jason was there in five.

“I love you.”

You found him in the living room. He’d come through the balcony, left the door ajar and everything. A handgun was strapped to his thigh, and his helmet sat on his knee. He’d never worn it around you, not so far as you could remember.

Ever the coward, he left it up to you to break the silence. That was fair, in a way. You were the one who wanted to talk.

“Hi.”

“Hey.”

“You look like shit.”

He rubbed one of the dark, sunken circles under his eyes with the back of his hand. “B can’t keep us all trapped inside and sedated. Some of us have to be outdoor dogs.”

“Guess so.” You let a measured beat pass, then asked, “Wanna get out of here?”

There was a twitch at the corner of his lips, a spark of something familiar. By the time Tim was due to arrive, you were on the back of a black and red motorcycle, miles away from the nearest sky-scrapper.

Jason’s apartment was just how you remembered it – albeit, slightly less intimidating in daylight. Bloody clothes and dented body armor laid over couches and cluttered and tables. Drawers filled with bullet casing and pocketknives sat open, on display, while anything comforting or sentimental remained hidden in safes or behind closed doors. His corkboard had gained a few more pictures, and in the corner, there were new sketches of Dick and Bruce. They looked recent.

Steering clear of the makeshift bedroom, you collapsed onto a worn leather couch, sinking into the beaten cushions and savoring the feeling of a well-loved piece of furniture. Jason skirted around you, never lingering, never edging too close. You followed his erratic pacing in the corner of your eyes while you spoke.

“You haven’t visited me.”

One step forward, two back. Both hands shoved into pockets. “I know. I’m sorry.”

“You should be. I’ve been bored to tears.” A pause, a breath of a laugh. “I didn’t realize how much I relied on you, back at the manor. The only people I can talk to now are either in on it or completely oblivious. I’m pretty sure Damian thinks I’ve driven his father insane.”

“He was like that before he met you.” A lap around the couch, then to the nearest window. “They all were. Dick can’t stand being along and Tim would jerk off to a cardboard box if it looked at him the right way.”

“It’s the girls now, too. I think Steph’s just having fun, but Cas…” You trailed off, shaking your head. “I feel a little bad for her. I mean – she’s so young, and she’s already been through so much. It’s hard to blame her for taking after a marathon of bad examples.”

That was enough to have Jason turning on his heel, making a beeline for the front door. You caught his wrist as he passed by. “Slow down. You’re acting like the building’s on fire.”

“Sorry, I just—”

You squeezed, and he sucked in a harsh breath, shutting his eyes. You did your best to keep your voice light, gentle. “When was the last time you got any sleep, Jason?”

“It’s been—” He opened his eyes, his gaze landing on you before quickly moving away. The answer was obvious enough. “—a while.”

“C’mon, Jay. You can’t live like this.” You tugged on his hand. “Why don’t you lay down for a few minutes? I don’t want to watch you fall apart on me.”

He swallowed, his shoulders squaring. There was a moment of reluctance, of hesitation before he asked, “Can I…?”

It wasn’t hard to guess what he wanted, not with his eyes trained so intensely on your lap. Smiling, you nodded, and in an instant, he was on his knees, limp and clutching at your ankles as he laid his head over your thighs. The position was awkward – he was too stiff, too tall – but you tried to make the best of it, running your fingers through his hair. At least he’d asked, this time.

“I’m sorry.” And then, again, his voice raw enough to break, “I’m sorry. I thought they’d back off, or we’d run away together, or—”

“You didn’t want to run away with me.” With your free hand, you patted down your jacket pocket. “And that’s alright. You’re a part of a family. I was never going to ask you to leave them.”

You could practically feel him try to deny, try to say that if you ever asked, he would’ve in a heartbeat. In the end, though, it was all he could do to sigh, sinking further into you. “I love you.”

How many times had you heard that, lately? You tried to remember if Bruce had ever parroted the same phrase. “I love you too, Jason.”

Tucked inside, your fingertips brushed against something hard and jagged. You curled your hand around it. “Every day, I had to watch them pretend they felt the same way about you, watch you pretend to tolerate it. It was like having to rip my own heart out of my chest.”

A sharpened edge sliced into your palm, breaking the skin. You ignored it. “That must’ve been hell.”

“I shouldn’t complain. You had it worse. Obviously, you have it worse.” His nails bit into your calves. “I’ll kill them. If they’ve so much as looked at you, I’ll kill them.”

You hated it when they lied to you.

You couldn’t wait any longer – didn’t have a reason to. In one motion, you tore the long, ragged piece of glass out of your pocket and stabbed it into Jason’s shoulder.

You’d managed to hide it before Dick found you huddled over the broken frame, stowed it away on your person as soon as you realized Bruce was going to take his eyes off of you. Reflexively, Jason jerked back, clamoring for the gun on his waist, but he was staggered, caught off-guard, and you weren’t. Your fist was already curled around the grip, already dragging the weapon out of its holster and forcing the muzzle against his stomach. Your index finger rested on the trigger, the safety disabled, but you didn’t shoot.

“Please,” you whispered, instead, as Jason froze against you. “Don’t say anything, don’t stand – just back up. I don’t want to hurt you.”

Slowly, reluctantly, he did as he was told. Staying on his knees, he edged back, giving you enough space to push yourself to your feet. You kept the gun trained on his chest, never once turning away. His distraught expression had twisted into something more raw, something more angry. Not hateful, but hurt, betrayed. You knew the look well.

“Drop it, (Y/n). You don’t know what you’re doing.”

You tilted the barrel down, shut your eyes, and fired. There was a crash of deafening noise, the pure force of recoil, and then Jason’s muffled cursing. By the time you could bring yourself to look, he was clutching his ankle, fresh blood seeping through his fingers. “I spent a lot of time with Alfred. I mean, a lot. Basically whenever I wasn’t on the verge of getting molested by you and your gang of traumatized fetishists.” You took a step backward, then another, inching your way to the door. Eventually, your back pressed into wood. “I know you keep cash on-hand – for when Bruce finally cuts you off. Slide it to me.”

“Or what? You’ll kill me?” His laugh was awful, barking, pained. “Go ahead, baby. I’ll finish the job myself if you leave me.”

He wouldn’t. Jason wasn’t that directly self-destructive, none of them were.

Thankfully, you’d always had a little more motivation.

The muzzle was hot against your skin where you pressed it into the underside of your jaw. Jason’s expression didn’t drop, but it changed, stilled, every thought save for those of preservation erased in a fraction of a second.

You didn’t have to make your demands twice. He rummaged one of the holsters on his belt, and then, a stack of hundred-dollar bills was lying at your feet, secured by a single band pulled taut. You let the gun drift from your jaw to your temple as you bent to pick it up, watching Jason all the while.

Finally, you grappled for the knob behind you, sliding deadbolts out of place and turning locks until you stood in an empty doorway. You were free to leave, free to go, but you lingered, keeping your eyes on Jason.

“If you ever really loved me,” you said, fighting to keep your voice even, your hand steady. “You won’t try to find me.”

He might’ve said something. He looked like he was going to, but you were already over the threshold. The door was shut before he could try to convince you to stay.

Once safe on the other side, you lowered the gun to your side, took a deep breath, and started to run.

#yandere #yandere x reader #yandere x you #yandere imagines #yandere dc #dc x reader #dc imagines #dc #yandere batfam #batfam x reader #yandere bruce wayne #bruce wayne x reader #yandere dick grayson #dick grayson x reader #yandere jason todd #jason todd x reader #yandere tim drake #tim drake x reader

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dakusan · 17 days ago

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BLOOM UNDER NEEDLES

Tattoo Artist!Hwang Hyunjin x Reader | he’s touched you five times. tonight, he ruins you

🔞synopsis: Tattoo Artist AU. You’ve been friends for years. He’s inked every part of your body except the one he’s dying to ruin. But the second you show up again, hips bare and eyes burning, asking for another piece? He doesn’t just mark you. He fucks it into you. This is possession. This is art. This is obsession.

💌a/n: This one’s for @bemyaehiweloveskz, who sang into my inbox the sweet sounds of "tattoo artist!Hyunjin x reader". You asked. I delivered. We’re doing this first come, first serve, so next Filthy Friday, it is Seungmin's time to shine. So buckle the fuck up. p.s. reblogging = mouth-to-mouth resuscitation p.p.s. yes, you can request the other members, please do. who do you wanna read after Seungmin? p.p.p.s. If this fic made you moan, clench, or whisper “jesus fuck,” you now owe me your spine, one (1) unhinged tag, and a slightly sinful reblog. That's the deal. I don’t make the rules. (I do.)

📌 Please read responsibly. Hydrate. Stretch.

📍credits: dividers by @cafekitsune

🎧 » Love Talk — WayV « 0:58 ─〇───── 3:53 ⇄ ◃◃ ⅠⅠ ▹▹ ↻

Seoul's early spring was always deceptive—sunlight soft on the surface but the air still kissed your skin cold when you walked too fast. Your coat’s too light, your hands half-numb, but the minute you step into NO SAINT INK, everything warms.

The scent hits you first: incense and antiseptic. Burnt vanilla over sharp alcohol wipes. Clean, familiar. The quiet hum of lo-fi beats weaves through the matte-black interior—half gallery, half hellmouth. Every wall is scattered with framed flash art—some crisp linework, others feral, chaotic sketches with phrases like “Bite Me” and “Pretty Hurts” etched beneath dripping roses.

The warmth isn’t just from the heater. It’s him.

Hwang Hyunjin is hunched over a drafting table toward the back of the studio, black hoodie sleeves rolled to his elbows, ringed fingers smudged with graphite. His hair is tied up—loose bun, strands falling across his cheekbones, lip bitten as he sketches something you can’t see. You pause in the entrance, watching him work.

God, he’s always like this. Still. Focused. A little too beautiful for a tattoo shop that’s home to chaos incarnate (read: Han Jisung) and Felix’s glitter-drenched custom piercings. Hyunjin feels like a walking contradiction—poetic and sharp, serene and volatile. An ink-stained symphony of clean lines and deliberate hunger.

He looks up.

His eyes meet yours instantly, like he felt you enter the room. Not surprised. Just… aware. Like you live inside a part of his brain he never locks.

“Hey,” he says, voice low, soft as velvet over bone. The corner of his mouth quirks—barely a smile, more of an acknowledgment. Like he’s happy to see you but won’t say it unless you ask.

“Hi,” you breathe, stepping inside fully, the door shutting with a soft chime behind you. “Still open?”

“For you?” His pen halts. “Always.”

You snort, dropping your bag onto the client couch. “That’s the cheesiest shit I’ve ever heard.”

He leans back in his chair, arms stretching over his head, hoodie rising to reveal the silver flash of his hip chain. “I save my best lines for Han’s clients. He likes to pretend he’s the shop flirt.”

“And you?”

“I prefer…” He pauses. Tilts his head. “Slow burns.”

There it is—that unspoken thing. You’ve known Hyunjin for years now, back when NO SAINT INK was just a cramped two-room hole above a bakery and he was still an apprentice shading roses on fake skin.

You were his first real client. Small piece. Inside of your arm. Something small.

Since then—five tattoos. All from him. All delicate. Personal. Quiet marks he made on your body with gentle hands and steady breath. And he never once crossed a line. But he always hovered near it.

The way his thumb would linger too long when wiping down ink. The way he’d mutter, “Hold still, pretty,” and your pulse would stutter like a skipped beat. The way he’d sketch flowers that looked suspiciously like the one he placed under your collarbone, and you’d find them in his book months later, unlabeled—but unmistakable.

Still, you stayed friends.

Coffee runs. Late-night ramen. Art gallery detours. Matching silver rings you bought at a flea market once and never really talked about.

And now, standing here again, watching him toss his sketch pad aside like it’s weightless, you feel it—that shift. The quiet knowing. Like the seed of something unsaid is finally cracking open.

“You working on a new piece?” you ask, nodding toward the table.

He shrugs. “Just sketching.”

“For a client?”

His gaze flicks to you. Unblinking. “Not yet.”

There’s something thick in the air now. Not awkward—just dense. Weighted. You clear your throat.

“I, uh…” You hesitate, fingers brushing your wrist. “I wanted to ask you for something.”

His brows raise slightly. “What kind of something?”

You pause.

Then you pull a folded sketch from your pocket. Smooth it out on the counter. His eyes drop to the paper.

It’s a flower. Hand-drawn. A Lily of the Valley—delicate, nodding petals arching off a thin stem. At the base of it, a faint phrase in cursive: “I bloom where I ache.”

He stares for a long moment.

When he speaks, it’s almost reverent. “You drew this?”

You nod.

His thumb traces the corner of the page. “Where do you want it?”

You swallow. “Right here.” You place your fingers at the sharp curve of your hipbone, just beneath your waistband.

Silence.

You can feel the air shift.

Hyunjin doesn’t move for a second. His jaw tightens. When he finally lifts his gaze, it’s slower. He looks at you like he’s taking you in all over again.

“You want me to tattoo you there?”

“Yes.”

A long breath. “Why me?”

You blink. “What do you mean?”

He steps around the counter. Closer. Close enough to smell the cedar on his hoodie, the faint scent of ink that never quite leaves his skin. “You could’ve asked anyone here. Jisung’s the wild one. Felix would pierce your entire soul if you let him.”

You shrug. “I don’t want chaos.”

He raises a brow. “And what do you want?”

You meet his eyes. Slowly. Gentle. “You.”

The pause between you is deafening. Then—his voice, low and frayed. “You can’t say shit like that when I haven’t even touched you yet.”

“You’ve touched me five times.”

“Not like that.”

Not yet, you think. And suddenly, the air feels even heavier.

But then he steps back. Just a little. Just enough to breathe. “Alright. I’ll do it.”

You nod once, pulse thudding.

“Tomorrow,” he says. “After hours. Just us.”

You try to play it cool. “For professionalism?”

His mouth twitches. “No. For focus.”

You arrive before closing.

The sun is already dipping past the horizon, casting long shadows across the alley where NO SAINT INK lives—half-sacred, half-possessed. The neon signs haven’t lit up yet, but the glow inside is warm. Low amber light spills from the studio windows, wrapping the interior in something softer than usual.

You knock once before nudging the door open, a little bell jingling above your head. Your hands are full—an iced Americano in one, a paper bag of pastries in the other.

“I brought bribes,” you call, stepping into the familiar scent of incense, ink, and disinfectant.

From somewhere in the back, you hear him.

“Depends,” Hyunjin says, voice echoing through the curtained hallway. “Are they sweet enough to justify me rearranging my entire night for your hipbone?”

You roll your eyes, smirking as you head toward the front counter. “Don’t act like you weren’t already gonna.”

He appears a moment later, pulling back the curtain with a casual flick—black long-sleeve pushed to his forearms, hair loose today, curling slightly at the ends. His silver earrings catch the light as he moves.

You offer him the coffee.

He accepts it without question, sipping as he glances at the bag. “What is it?”

“Strawberry scones.”

He pauses. Blinks once.

Then, soft and flat: “You’re trying to seduce me.”

You shrug, innocent. “You said you preferred slow burns. I’m just feeding the flame.”

He exhales sharply through his nose. Amused. Maybe impressed. Maybe ruined.

“Come on,” he murmurs, nodding toward the back. “Booth’s ready.”

You follow him through the curtain, until you reach Hyunjin’s space. It’s quieter here.

Dimly lit by a single lamp angled down over the chair. Black walls. Floating shelves with sketchbooks stacked high and carefully labeled bottles of ink arranged like altar offerings. A large framed print of a blooming rose leans against the far wall—your eye catches on the familiar linework.

One of his.

He gestures to the seat. “Make yourself comfortable.”

You do, settling your things on the side table as he rolls on a fresh pair of gloves. The snap of the latex still makes something flicker in your chest.

“Still want the Lily of the Valley?” he asks, voice calm but slightly huskier now. He hasn’t met your eyes yet. Too focused on laying out his stencil materials. Too aware of what’s coming.

You nod. “Still want you to do it.”

That makes his head lift.

His eyes find yours. And this time, they don’t look away.

Slowly, you reach for the hem of your sweatshirt. Tug it off in one smooth motion, leaving you in a cropped tank top and soft cotton shorts. No tights. No barrier. You watch his gaze dip—briefly—to the exposed skin of your upper thighs.

Then you hook your thumbs into your waistband.

“Here okay?” you murmur, sliding the fabric just low enough to reveal the curve of your hipbone—the exact place you want him to mark. The edge of your panties still covers what it needs to. Barely.

His inhale is so sharp you hear it.

“Yeah,” he says after a beat. His voice is quiet. Rough around the edges. “That’s… That’s perfect.”

You try to keep your tone light. “You’ve seen skin before, Hyun.”

“Not like this.”

Your breath catches.

He steps closer, holding the stencil between gloved fingers. His touch is steady when he kneels beside the chair, head tilting slightly to examine the space. But when his hand settles on your waist to hold you still, you feel it.

The difference.

It’s not professional anymore. Not strictly. Not the way it used to be.

His palm is wide. Firm. Anchoring you. But his thumb brushes the hollow just above your hip, a spot he doesn’t need to touch at all. His breath ghosts over your stomach as he positions the stencil, close enough that your skin prickles.

“Breathe for me,” he murmurs. The same words as always.

Only this time—you feel them in your thighs.

You inhale slowly. Exhale.

He presses the stencil gently to your skin. Smooth. Measured. His gaze flicks up once, meeting yours from below, and you swear—just for a second—he looks like he wants to bite.

“There,” he says softly, pulling back to admire his placement. “Check it in the mirror before I commit?”

You nod, rising carefully to your feet. His hand lingers a second too long before letting go.

You step over to the full-length mirror mounted in the corner. Turn slightly. Examine the stencil on your skin—delicate lines, tiny petals, soft cursive nestled against bone. It's beautiful. Quiet and aching and so personal it almost hurts.

He watches you from the chair, arms crossed now, gloves still on, forearms flexed just slightly as he leans back.

“Well?” he asks.

You meet his gaze in the mirror. “It’s perfect.”

“Then lie back for me, angel.”

You lie back on the chair, the black leather cold beneath your skin, even through the thin cotton of your tank. The lamp above casts everything in a halo glow—focused, intimate, like a spotlight trained just on you.

Hyunjin is quiet as he moves around the station. He preps with the same practiced rhythm you’ve seen five times before—ink cap, paper towels, sterile wipes, machine hum warming in the corner. But there’s something different in the air now.

A little too still. A little too loaded.

And then he turns.

Rolls his stool over beside you, knees brushing the base of the chair. He’s sitting close. Closer than he usually does when tattooing you. The heat of him radiates under the low light, hands gloved and resting on his thighs as he looks at you.

At your skin. At the spot where he’s about to mark you.

“You good?” he asks, voice low and a little hoarse.

You nod. “Yeah. Just… aware that I’m in my underwear in your lap basically.”

He snorts softly. “First of all, dramatic. You’re not in my lap—yet.”

Your breath catches. He doesn’t take it back.

You glance down. “I just meant, y’know. This placement. It's a little…”

“Intimate,” he finishes.

You nod once. Slowly.

He leans forward. Just a little. “Does it bother you?”

You blink. “No. Does it bother you?”

He tilts his head, mouth twitching like he wants to smile but won’t let himself. “You think I’m bothered?”

“I think you’re trying very hard to act like I’m just another client.”

That earns a quiet laugh. Low and sharp.

“You haven’t been ‘just another client’ since the first time you asked me to tattoo your collarbone with that stupid flower that made you cry.”

You shove his arm playfully. “It was a sentimental flower, not stupid.”

“It was both. And you cried like I stabbed you in the soul.”

“It hurt!”

“It was a two-inch peony.”

“Shut up,” you grumble, biting back a smile.

He smiles now. Full, real, warm. It fades just slightly as his gaze drags down again, returning to your exposed hipbone.

You feel your stomach tighten when he speaks again—softer now.

“Touching you like this… isn’t nothing.”

You swallow. “So don’t pretend it is.”

He nods. Silent agreement. Then slips back into motion.

He sanitizes your skin first. Cold alcohol on gauze. His fingers brush over your hip as he cleans the area, and even through the gloves, it feels like fire.

“You’re already warm,” he murmurs.

“You’re hovering,” you shoot back.

His laugh is quieter this time. “I have to. This is a sensitive area.”

“Mmm, right. Totally necessary to lean in so close your necklace is touching my stomach.”

He does not, in fact, move away.

Instead, his thumb brushes just below your waistband, fingers spreading gently across your hip as he holds your skin steady. “Stop wiggling.”

“I’m not wiggling.”

“You are.”

“You’re—” Your voice hitches slightly when his palm presses down with more intention. “You’re being a menace.”

“Always.”

He picks up the tattoo machine with his other hand. It buzzes softly to life, a familiar whir that still makes your nerves spike.

He notices. Of course he does.

“You okay?”

You nod.

“You always get twitchy right before the first line,” he says softly, like he’s reciting an old memory.

“You always hold my hand when I do.”

He pauses. Just a beat.

Then—he gently reaches up, slides his fingers between yours, and squeezes once.

You don’t let go.

And then—

“Here we go,” he says quietly.

The needle touches your skin.

Sharp. Hot. Deep. You flinch slightly, but his hand on your hip tightens instantly—not rough, but anchoring.

“There you go,” he murmurs. “Breathe. Just like that.”

The buzz continues, steady and rhythmic as he pulls the linework with impossible control. You force yourself to focus on the sound of his voice instead of the pain.

“You’re good,” he says again, thumb brushing a slow arc into your skin. “Taking it so well.”

You blink hard. “Don’t say it like that.”

“Say what?”

“‘Taking it so well.’ That’s porn voice, Hyun.”

He grins—sharp and unrepentant. “So?”

You glare at the ceiling. “You’re unbearable.”

He leans in slightly, still drawing. “You’re wet.”

Your whole body freezes.

“I—excuse me—”

“Your skin,” he says smoothly, as if he wasn’t just trying to end your life. “It’s damp. Warm. From the alcohol. What did you think I meant?”

“You know what I thought you meant.”

He hums, like he’s pleased with himself. “Interesting.”

You let out a long, slow exhale.

“Still doing okay?” he asks, voice back to low and sincere.

You nod, chest rising and falling. “Yeah. It’s just…”

“What?”

“Hard to stay still when you’re—” You cut yourself off.

His voice drops. “When I’m what?”

Your mouth feels dry. You look down at him. He’s crouched over you, hair falling forward again, neck bent in full concentration. One gloved hand spreads over your hip, holding you down, while the other guides the needle with ridiculous precision. He looks like he’s worshipping your skin. Like this act—this pain—is a form of reverence.

“You’re touching me like I’m yours,” you say before you can stop yourself.

The sound of the machine falters—just a fraction. He doesn’t speak for a second. Then, finally—his voice low and wrecked: “That’s because you are.”

Those words echo.

Not just in your ears—but in your bones. Your breath stutters. Your lips part. You watch him blink, jaw flexing like he hadn’t meant to say it out loud. Like he’s wondering if he can take it back.

You know he won’t. Because he meant it. Because it’s been there—under every lingering look, every playful comment, every time he touched you for just a little too long after finishing a piece.

This has never just been ink.

Not for him.

And not for you.

“Hyun…” you whisper, unsure whether it’s a warning or a surrender.

He doesn't answer right away. Instead, he sets the machine down—gently, slowly, deliberately—onto the tray beside him. The buzz fades into nothing.

His gloved hand is still on your hip.

Still holding you steady. Still not moving.

“I shouldn’t have said that,” he says softly, but his eyes never leave yours. “Not while I’m tattooing you. Not while you’re lying here half-naked and trusting me.”

“But you meant it,” you say.

His jaw tightens. “Yeah.”

The silence between you goes thick again. Almost unbearable.

And then—still seated beside you, still bent low enough that his breath brushes your stomach—he murmurs, “Do you want me to stop?”

You stare down at him. And shake your head. “No,” you breathe. “I want you to finish.”

It’s not just about the tattoo. It never was. Something changes in his face. His pupils dilate. His mouth parts slightly, like he’s tasting the weight of what you just said.

“Okay,” he murmurs.

But when he picks the machine back up, his hands aren’t steady anymore.

The lines are still perfect—Hyunjin doesn’t do less than perfect—but his breath is uneven. His gloved fingers flex harder on your skin, not quite possessive, but close. His knuckles brush the edge of your underwear again and again, and not a single one of those brushes feels like an accident anymore.

“You’re shaking,” he murmurs, like he’s talking to himself.

You’re not sure if he means you or him.

“I’m fine,” you manage.

He hums. Low. “You always say that. Even when I’m breaking you open.”

Your thighs press together involuntarily. You’re certain he notices.

“I’m almost done,” he says. “Just a few more petals.”

You nod, chest rising with shaky breaths. “Okay.”

Hyunjin works in silence for the next few minutes. Only the buzz of the machine fills the air. His jaw is tight, lips parted, eyes flicking from the lines to your face and back.

Your breath stutters every time his fingers press a little deeper into your skin to hold you steady.

He notices. He always notices.

"You need to stay still, baby," he murmurs after a minute, like it costs him to say it gently.

"I'm trying," you whisper.

"I know," he says. "You're doing so good for me."

The pet name lands hard. You bite your lip, trying not to squirm. He grins. Quietly. Like he’s winning.

Another petal. Another clean line.

Your skin stings, but his voice is soothing. Warm. Reverent.

“Almost there,” he breathes, wiping the fresh ink with gentle circles of gauze. “I promise.”

You nod, nails digging into your own palms.

And then—

He stops.

The buzzing dies.

You feel the soft click of the machine being placed down. The final swipe of his gloved thumb wiping excess ink. The moment his hand lingers too long, brushing up toward your waist.

“…Finished,” he says quietly.

You look at him.

His expression is wrecked. Dark eyes, blown pupils, the barest sheen of sweat at his temples. He swallows hard, blinking slowly like he’s holding back a flood.

He pulls the gloves off.

Snaps. Tosses them to the tray.

Then looks at you like he’s still starving.

“Let me clean you up,” he murmurs.

You sit up a little, and his hand immediately comes to your back to support you—too gentle, too familiar. The intimacy of it makes your stomach flip.

You watch him work.

He squeezes out clear cleanser onto a pad, drags it carefully across the ink. Wipes you down like you’re porcelain. Like you’re sacred.

You shiver.

“There,” he says, fingers resting lightly at your waist. “We should wrap it but…”

You blink at him. “But?”

His eyes flick to your mouth. Then to your thighs. Then back to your eyes. “…But I don’t think I can keep my hands off you long enough to give you proper aftercare,” he admits, voice breaking open.

But then Hyunjin blinks, jaw clenched, and suddenly he’s standing. Suddenly he’s all discipline again. You watch in disbelief as he turns, grabs a box of plastic wrap and surgical tape like he didn’t just tell you he wants to ruin you.

You blink up at him, chest heaving, as he cuts a clean piece and starts prepping like this is a normal day.

Is he seriously—

“Lie back,” he murmurs.

You hesitate.

“C’mon,” he says gently. “Gotta protect the art.”

You lie back, narrowing your eyes.

He crouches again, presses gauze delicately to your tattoo, then begins wrapping with the kind of precise tension you'd expect from a fucking surgeon. His fingers glide over your waist as he smooths the film into place—practiced, familiar, infuriatingly neutral.

"You're being professional again," you mutter.

His mouth twitches. “Would you rather I forget how to do my job?”

“I’d rather you remember what you said five minutes ago.”

“I remember everything I say to you.”

He tapes down the final corner of the wrap, hands steady even though you can see the vein twitching in his neck. You can see the way his mouth keeps parting like he’s holding back a groan. His eyes won’t meet yours for more than a second.

And then, like a fucking menace, he clears his throat and reaches for the aftercare sheet.

The goddamn printed paper.

“I know how to—”

“I’m required to go through it,” he interrupts, not looking at you. “So. No heavy workouts. No soaking in water. No scratching even if it itches. Moisturize gently once the wrap’s off—”

You sit up abruptly.

His words die in his throat.

You reach for the collar of his shirt, grab it, and pull him in. You kiss him like you’re done waiting. Like his little show of professionalism just lit a fire under your skin. Like you’re done pretending you’re not his.

His body reacts before his mind can catch up—he lurches forward into you, hands bracing behind your back, and kisses you back like he’s making up for every second he spent pretending he wasn’t about to come undone.

Your legs wrap around his waist on instinct.

He groans into your mouth, deep and unfiltered, like the leash he had on himself just snapped in two.

“You’re such a fucking tease,” you whisper against his lips.

He pulls back, just enough to rest his forehead to yours, breath heavy.

“You think I was trying to stop myself?” he says, voice rough. “No. I was trying to deserve you.”

Your breath catches.

He kisses you again—deeper this time, desperate.

Then he’s standing. Hands sliding under your thighs, lifting you like it’s nothing. You wrap around him, gasping into his mouth as he sets you down on the tattoo chair again—but backwards this time, so your back is to his chest, your legs spread.

“So,” he says low in your ear, voice gone completely to sin now, “how’s your pain tolerance, baby?”

“Why?”

“Because I’m about to fuck you without touching your new tattoo,” he growls. “And I’m not sure if that’s going to make you scream louder… or quieter.”

Your breathing’s uneven. Your skin still stings faintly from the tattoo. And Hyunjin—Hyunjin is standing behind you, hands gripping your hips like he’s trying not to shake.

"Stay still," he murmurs. “You’ll make me lose it.”

“You already have.”

He huffs a breath that sounds like a laugh if it weren’t laced with so much need. Then his hands trail lower—thumbs hooking into your shorts.

He pulls slowly. Too slowly. The fabric drags over your thighs, bunches at your knees. You shift, arching slightly without meaning to, and he groans low in his throat.

"Fuck," he breathes. "Look at this."

His palm smooths over the curve of your ass, fingers spreading wide like he’s cataloguing every inch.

"You’re unreal," he mutters. "Always knew it. But like this?"

The shorts hit the floor.

And you hear it—the hitch in his breath when he sees your panties.

Thin. Soft. Lace-trimmed. They’re slightly pulled up from your earlier writhing on the chair, and now they’re framed perfectly. Your ass is practically spilling out of them.

Hyunjin makes a sound that is not human.

“Oh, baby…” he murmurs, hand splaying fully across one cheek. He squeezes—firm, greedy. “You wore these for me?”

“I didn’t know I’d be bent over in front of you,” you say, voice breathy.

“Bullshit.”

He leans in, lips brushing your lower back, just above the wrap.

“You always knew where this was going,” he whispers. “You’ve been showing me this ass every time you walked into my shop with your little skirts, your cocky smirks—”

A kiss over the curve of your ass.

“I tattoo you with a straight face, and you sit there like I’m not fucking hard the entire time—”

His hand slides lower, palm pressing against your inner thigh. His fingers trail along the hem of your panties, teasing.

“I should rip these.”

“You won’t,” you gasp.

“Oh?”

“You like how they look too much.”

He chuckles—low, dark, reverent. “You’re right.”

And then he does something you don’t expect.

He kneels behind you.

Both hands on your thighs, spreading you gently. His thumbs drag upward, slow, until they reach the curve of your ass again. He groans softly under his breath—visibly, audibly, aching.

Then—

A kiss. Right on your left cheek. Then another. And another. Trailing closer to the centre. “You know,” he murmurs between kisses, “this view might actually kill me.”

His thumbs hook into the waistband of your panties, and pulls them down.

Hyunjin lets out a shaky, reverent breath. His hands grip your thighs harder. His lips are parted, his eyes wild.

“…Holy fuck. You’re dripping. Just for me.”

His voice is guttural—low enough to make your spine arch without thinking. You can feel his breath right there—hot, heavy, reverent.

Then—

Spit.

The sound is sharp. Obscene. You gasp as it hits you—warm and wet, mixing with your slick, sliding between your folds.

“Fuck,” Hyunjin breathes, watching it trail down. “You make me so fucking messy already.”

And then he dives in. No hesitation. No soft teasing. He licks you like it’s instinct, like it’s oxygen, like this is the first and last meal of his entire life. His tongue parts you, slow and deep. He groans into your pussy like he’s overwhelmed by the taste.

“Jesus,” he whispers between licks. “You taste like a fucking dream.”

His hands grip your ass, spreading you wider. His tongue flicks over your clit—once, twice, and you jolt, gasping into the leather chair.

“Keep still,” he mutters, voice wrecked. “Let me enjoy you.”

Then he sucks. Hard.

Your whole body shudders. Your knees nearly give. He doesn’t stop. Doesn’t even slow down. He alternates between long, deep licks and desperate flicks, burying his face in you like he wants to live there. Like he’s tattooing his tongue into your memory.

One of his hands slips down, fingers trailing to your soaked entrance. He groans when he feels how ready you are.

“Holy shit,” he pants. “You’re gonna let me fuck this perfect pussy, aren’t you?”

“Yes—god, yes,” you whimper, pressing back against him, dizzy from pleasure.

His fingers press in—two at once, slow but deep. Your walls clench around him, and he curses under his breath.

“Already so fucking tight,” he groans. “Can’t wait to stretch you out on my cock, baby. But first—”

He curls his fingers. Licks again. And you scream. It’s filthy. It’s divine. It’s Hyunjin with a mouth full of you, humming like he’s high off the taste, dragging you toward the edge faster than you can take.

“Don’t hold back,” he says against your cunt. “I want you to cum all over my face.”

You don’t even answer. You can’t. You’re too far gone. Your thighs start to tremble, hips twitching uncontrollably, and he knows.

“Yeah,” he murmurs, tongue relentless. “That’s it, pretty girl. Let go for me. Cum for me.”

And with one more curl of his fingers and one more harsh suck on your clit—

You do.

You break. Hard. Shaking, moaning, collapsing forward against the chair as your orgasm rips through you. You gasp his name, legs trembling, slick dripping down his chin.

But he doesn’t stop.

He keeps going. Licking you through it. Kissing you through the aftershocks. Fingers still inside you, soothing, teasing, owning every wave of it. When you finally lift your head, panting, dazed, and weak in the knees—he pulls back just enough to look up at you. His lips are slick. His eyes are dark. His chest is heaving.

“You’re even prettier when you fall apart,” he whispers.

Then he licks your juices off his bottom lip—

And stands.

You see the outline of his cock in his jeans—thick, hard, straining.

He steps forward, rubbing against your ass, groaning into your shoulder. “Now,” he says, voice wrecked. “I’m going to fuck you so deep, the next time you come in for ink, you’ll still be dripping from this.”

His hands fumble with the button of his jeans, curses falling from his lips like prayers.

“Fuck, fuck—why are these so tight today—”

You glance back, dazed and flushed, still bent over the chair, legs weak from his mouth.

He finally shoves them down, briefs included—and there he is.

Long. Thick. Red at the tip. Veins tracing the sides. So hard it curves slightly, twitching with every heartbeat. Your mouth parts involuntarily. He catches your gaze.

“You staring?” he says, breathless.

“Obviously.”

He smirks—then hisses when his own hand wraps around the base, pumping once to relieve the pressure.

“I’ve dreamed about this,” he mutters, stepping closer, cock dragging over your ass, your soaked thighs, your still-sensitive folds. “Bent over my chair… ink still fresh… wrapped like a fucking gift—”

You whimper as he grinds against you, the head of his cock smearing pre-cum along your skin.

“—and all mine.”

He strokes himself once more, then lines up—sliding the tip through your slick folds, teasing your entrance.

You jolt.

“Still sensitive?” he asks softly.

You nod.

He leans down, voice curling around your ear.

“Good.”

And then—

He pushes in. Slow. Deep.

Your breath catches hard. He’s thick—stretching you inch by inch, until the pressure is so full, so overwhelming, it blurs the edges of your vision.

“Fuck,” he groans, gripping your hips, fingers sinking into your waist. “You’re so tight I could die.”

You moan, forehead pressing into the leather. “Move, Hyunjin—please—”

He pulls out halfway—

Then slams back in.

Your cry echoes through the studio.

“Sound so pretty,” he pants, setting a rhythm—deep, deliberate thrusts that hit every nerve-ending you didn’t know you had.

Every time his hips meet your ass, your body jolts.

“You were made for this,” he mutters. “Made for me.”

One hand slips around your waist, sliding between your legs again, fingers finding your clit with pinpoint accuracy.

“Hyunjin—!”

“That’s right, baby,” he growls. “Take it. Take all of me.”

He pounds into you harder—louder now, the slap of skin on skin obscene in the quiet room. His name spills from your lips over and over, useless and raw and desperate.

The tattoo stings with every motion—but you don’t care. You’re fucked open and filled and god, he’s not stopping. You look back over your shoulder, dizzy, ruined.

And Hyunjin’s eyes are locked on your face—wild. Starved. Obsessed.

“I’m not done,” he says, voice barely human. “Not till you cum on my cock. Not till I fuck my name so deep into you it echoes.”

His fingers rub faster. His thrusts get rougher. And then—

Everything snaps.

You cum again—louder, harder, legs shaking, walls pulsing around him like a vice.

“Holy fuck,” he shouts, cock twitching—

And then he’s spilling into you, deep and hot, hips stuttering, breath caught in his throat.

For a moment, the only sound is your breathing. The ruin. The afterglow. His cock still buried inside you. His arms wrapping around your torso as he leans in and presses a kiss to your back.

“Worth every second I waited,” he whispers.

You laugh—wrecked and glowing. “Told you you’d break the chair.”

“Worth it,” he grins.

Then: “Round two?”

You snort. “Gimme ten minutes and a juice box.”

He kisses your shoulder. “Done.” He kisses again, again, and again. “You okay?” he whispers.

You nod slowly. “Better than.”

He chuckles under his breath, one arm tightening around your waist. “I could stay inside you all day,” he murmurs. “But we’d destroy the whole damn shop.”

You feel him pull out—slowly, carefully, letting you feel every inch retreat until your body clenches one last time in protest.

A gasp escapes your lips.

Hyunjin groans softly behind you. “Don’t do that,” he warns. “I’m already thinking about round two.”

You give him a breathless laugh and he grins. Now pulling up your panties, still bunched halfway down one thigh. He slides them up slowly, smoothing the lace back into place, pressing a kiss to your right cheek as he finishes.

Next come the shorts. He helps you step into them, then pulls them up gently, carefully over your still-tender skin. He pauses at your waistband. Fingers resting there. Holding.

“Let me see it,” he whispers.

You glance back, confused.

“The tattoo.” he clarifies, voice soft.

You shift your hip toward him, tugging the waistband down just enough.

He crouches again.

One hand cradles your thigh. The other touches just above the wrap.

His eyes go soft.

“I can’t believe I finally got to mark you,” he says, almost to himself. “Right here. Where no one else gets to touch.”

You watch him trace the wrap with two fingers, reverent. Then—

He kisses the corner of it. Barely-there. Sacred. You feel your heart stutter. He looks up at you—flushed, hair a mess, lips swollen, eyes absolutely feral with devotion.

“Come home with me,” he says.

Your breath catches. “Hyunjin—”

“I’m not done with you,” he murmurs. “I need to see that tattoo in the morning light. Need to kiss every part I didn’t get to tonight. Need you in my bed. On my sheets. Wearing nothing but your bruises and my name.”

You stare at him. Then lean down. And kiss him. Soft. Slow. Final.

“Yeah,” you breathe. “Okay. Let’s go.”

You wake up to the feeling of his fingers on your hip.

Not just touching—tracing. Careful. Curious. Worshipful.

The morning light spills through the blinds in lazy stripes, painting the sheets in pale gold and soft gray. You’re lying on your side, half under the duvet, one leg bare and bent—perfectly exposing your hip. The wrap is still on.

Hyunjin is shirtless, hair an absolute mess, lips kiss-swollen and pink. His chain dangles forward as he leans down to look closer, one hand brushing back your shirt to keep it out of the way.

You blink sleepily. “You’re staring.”

He doesn’t even pretend to deny it.

“Can’t help it,” he murmurs. “I know I just did this, but I still can’t believe it’s mine.”

You snort. “You mean mine.”

His gaze flicks up.

“No,” he says softly. “I meant what I said.”

He leans in. Kisses just beside the wrap. “You let me mark you,” he whispers. “Right where I’ve always dreamed.”

You feel your stomach flip, heat blooming down your spine. “You’re being sappy,” you mumble, hiding your face in the pillow.

He grins. “You love it.”

His fingers trail lower. Along your thigh. To the dip just before it curves into your ass.

You squirm. “Hyunjin—”

“Let me see how sore you are,” he says, voice suddenly lower, throatier.

He lifts the covers. Exposes both legs. His eyes darken at the sight—faint bruises from where he held you. Scratches on his arms from when you clung to him.

And then—he kisses your thigh. Slow. Open-mouthed. Lingering. “I want to put another one here,” he says.

You blink. “Another what?”

“A tattoo,” he says. “Something small. Hidden. Right where only I get to see it.”

He slides lower, kissing your inner thigh now. His hair brushes your skin. His breath is hot.

You shiver. “Hyunjin…”

His mouth pauses a breath away from your cunt. Then: “Or maybe I’ll just taste you again first. Remind you who you belong to before we start sketching.”

You moan—already soaked, already clenching.

But he just smirks.

“You want it, don’t you?” he murmurs. “Want to be mine in ink and sweat and everything else.”

You nod, voice wrecked. “Yes. Fuck, yes.”

He lowers his head again. “And you will be,” he whispers. “One mark at a time.”

#stray kids #skz #stray kids smut #stray kids x reader #hwang hyunjin #hyunjin x reader #hyunjin smut #filthy friday #skz smut #황현진

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madamechrissy · 2 months ago

Text

If I didn't Know Better

Pairings - Sylus x f! reader

Summary - You are arranged married to the powerful Sylus, sight unseen- and the moment you meet him, the two of you butt heads. He seems so arrogant and self sure, and he sees you as a bratty little Kitten - but that first night changes everything. Your duty is to make heirs, but Sylus gives you the choice - not to be with him for duty, but because you choose to. You both find yourselves interested to learn more and more- but just because it's good, does it mean you're in love?

Warnings- NSFW- This is SO smutty, fluffy, cute and sweet! Arranged marriage trope, a lil bit enemies to lovers, oral (f and m receiving) explicit sex, Sylus calling you Kitten and sweetie bc YES, teasing, asking for consent ofccc, talking you through it, getting 'tied up', cervix kissing, riding Sylus and making him whimper, lil bit of a spit kink hehe - you know there's a breed kink - happy endinggg - oneshot- wc- 11k!

Based on the Arranged Husband Sylus headcanons! Happy birthday to my Aries Dragon <3 Comments/rbs appreciated if you enjoy!

The rustle of silk and the clicking of your heels along the marble floor is the only sound that seems real as you descend the altar steps, as your pounding heartbeat resonates in your ears and drowns out the organs playing in the background. The dress you wore was a pristine white, along with a ruby red brooch that the attendants had pinned on your bodice, and fuck it feels heavy, a weight of the truth.

You’re about to be his.

You’re going to belong to him, a stranger. You eye him across the room in a bit of a daze, as eager onlookers study you, as if every step you make is being assessed. You can barely breathe with the pressure, let alone comprehend that you're about to marry a stranger you have only heard rumors of.

Sylus.

His name echoes in your mind, a dark, enigmatic man - some know him as a philanthropist, but rumors are there is much more to him. The dark interior of this grand hall, all reds and blacks and antique, are a stark contrast to the soft, romantic notions usually associated with weddings. You wear white, and it’s even more of a contrast to what is happening around you.

You had dreams of a day where you’d fall in love, you were still young, at least too young to marry in your opinion, you’re twenty four, and that to you is still plenty of time to find love. Though, your work tended to leave you always on assignments, always busy before this, so love was not on your mind. But the choice being taken away from you is hard to swallow.

You didn’t have parents to talk to about this, just a guardian who’d arranged this long ago. You have no clue just what you’re getting into, are the dangerous rumors true, is he ruthless? The leader of a dark, underground crime ring, or are they mere fiction, and he’s the sweet, generous hero of the N109?

This isn't a romance. This is an arrangement. You must do your duty.

Duty, always duty.

As you finally stand before him, endless steps across the elegant hall, your gaze instinctively locks onto the figure before you, and your heart skips just a beat. To say he was handsome was an understatement, the man in front of you is much more. Sylus is breathtaking, a sculpted masterpiece of sharp angles and striking features that you’ve never encountered.

He’s insanely tall, towering over you and everyone in this room, silently watching behind their masks, as if this were a masquerade. Sylus is wearing a blood-red suit screams power, and mirrors the color of his ruby eyes, god those eyes, lidded and framed with dark lashes, in contrast to silver locks. Those eyes that seem to pierce through you now, glinting in the dim lights.

His lips part just a bit, full and glossy, as his insane eyes are assessing, judging, dragging them down your face, and across your body, you feel it so vividly- like a fucking caress. God he is beautiful, undeniably so, but a chilling undercurrent of danger radiates from him, causing your fingers to tighten around the bouquet, the mix of black and red roses.

You’ve heard whispers, rumors that paint him as the richest man alive, a titan of industry, and a force to be reckoned with. You knew you were marrying into power, but the reality of it is far more overwhelming than any briefing could have prepared you for, money is one thing, this was quite another, intense power and energy unlike anything you’ve ever encountered.

Sylus frowns at you, feigning disinterest, but he loves beautiful things, his manor is full of the finest jewels, rarities from centuries prior, and the finest art. The finest music, anything beautiful was something he collected, and of course he enjoyed a beautiful woman, but nothing quite has prepared him for you and just how stunned you’d have him.

You’re trembling just a bit as you tilt your head up, the brooch settled right on your intricate bodice, he watches your breasts rise and fall with your nerves, perfect and silken skin, pressed up high from the corset of the gown. Sylus tenses just a bit, he hadn’t expected this, this beauty of yours was not exaggerated, no perhaps it was understated.

Your eyes are full of apprehension, of fear, but they’re gorgeous how they glitter under your lashes, your lips stained with the same ruby red that adorned those roses, as if they themselves had stained them. Your body is perfect in its silhouette, you’re so small compared to him, most people are of course- his neck hurts from constantly having to look down at others with his huge frame.

But this was different.

He has a vivid image of just how easy it would be to pick you up like you’re nothing, to carry you and sit you right on his bed. Your scent, something so familiar yet foreign, fills his nostrils, as intoxicating as your beauty. For a moment he can’t even think of just a word to describe you, he planned to complain about the wait, he needed this done with after all, the loss of some of his freedoms.

But he finds it hard to think when you’re right here.

Then you notice it, you see on his shoulder as something lands, drawing your attention in the eerily quiet hall. Perched on his shoulder, a mechanical crow sits, its metallic eyes blinking with what appears to be genuine confusion, a gold coin in its beak.

"What's a crow doing here?" The words escape your lips before you can filter them. It was a genuine question, born out of surprise and a desperate attempt to break the suffocating tension and quiet, but big mistake.

His reaction is immediately full of irritation, his gaze hardens, and you feel the full force of his displeasure. It's clear: you've committed some grave fucking offense.

"Don't dare disrespect Mephisto." He growls, the first words you hear from him, and god if the man’s voice isn’t as sexy as it was intimidating, a deep, raspy rumble that sends shivers down your spine.

Is that desire or fear!?

Both!?

You feel the heat in your cheeks now, as others murmur around you, going on about ‘how dare you offend your husband like that’ which just makes you curse internally. The room was filled with those who orchestrated this union, the judging faces all around you. The very room seems to shrink around you, practically suffocating with all these fucking eyes on you, it seems one comment and you’ve already offended everyone here.

Including the irritated, arrogant man in front of you, as Sylus himself fixes you with a glare that could melt steel. "Now, on with the wedding. You’re late."

Late!? You are on time, holy fuck you’d been preened and done up like some stupid damn doll, and he has the audacity to call you late!? You feel it now, the anger and annoyance, because really fuck this, not only has the man got a crow cawing and flapping at you, he’s going to also be a whole dick?

"I am not late! I'm on time!" You stomp your foot just so, as he scoffs, raising a thin silver brow.

“We’ve been waiting, and I hate to be kept waiting.” You roll your eyes, arms crossed under your breasts.

“I’m here now, let’s just get on with it.”

“Lets,” comes his bored tone, a dismissive sound met with it that only ignites your irritation at this man’s audacity. He turns to the masked man holding an enormous, faded black book. “On with it.”

Is that all he had to say?

This man.

The ceremony proceeds in a blur, a fucking whirlwind as you panic now, the crow cawing it’s agreement, and you see Sylus actually smile - at the fucking crow - as if he’s marrying him instead, while the priest's words are an echo. You barely focus when the vows are exchanged, Sylys couldn’t look more bored.

The thing was, he didn’t seem cruel. Just so bored!

As if this is exciting for you, you’re giving up your entire life. The exchange of your vows feels so empty, just going through the motions, you’re in your head completely, imagining a life with a stranger. One who likes a damn crow better than you already - snapping out of it only with the touch of his hand.

When he touches you for the first time?

He’s not just annoying, or pompous, or arrogant, he feels good.

Fuck him for that.

He pauses too, the tingles of your hands exchanged, making him tense up, as he struggles to focus, eyeing your little hand being held by his - something feels perfect, it feels natural, like it’s always been there. He pauses completely, Mephitsto is holding the ring in his beak, a black ring of obsidian and rubies, one he’s had for far longer than he’d admit.

Now it’s going on one of your pretty little fingers.

Your eyes met his, they were so full of fire, determination and anger despite how small you are in his comparison, cute like some… kitten. An angry kitten who thinks she has claws, but then, you seem to have them, nails filed all pointy and painted blood red, doing erratic things as he thinks of having them…

Why is he thinking this way?

It’s an arrangement.

Sylus would not be cruel or treat you poorly, but he surely wasn’t going to enjoy you, having his choice taken and being forced to just have heirs, as archaic as he himself is. “Gonna do it?” You make him glare again with your bratty little question, even as your hand trembles in his.

“Tch. Impatient little thing, aren’t you?” Your eyes narrow, while he slips the ring onto your finger. The metal feels cold against your skin, fuck it feels heavy, you’re looking at it carefully, eyes now meeting his, the same ruby as your ring and your damn brooch.

Like he owns you - but you guess, he does.

Now, you’re bound to Sylus, forever and that weighs so heavy you can hardly breathe - forever with a stranger. Not for love, no, a contract, with a man you don't know, a man who already seems to dislike you. Fuck, you’re tied to a man with a mechanical crow that won’t stop cawing, while Sylus acts so casual, like nothing even happened, hands in his pockets, bored look on perfect features.

“Let’s go, I guess. Come now.” The dismissive gesture is not met with holding your hand, leading you, no, just a fucking look with eyes that bore through you. “Going to keep me waiting?”

This man!?

Soon you’re stepping - rather than being romantically carried - over that threshold, right into Sylu’s decadent mansion, as imposing as it is beautiful. He does have your luggage, the few important things that you’ve brought, handing them to two large masked men, whose eyes are following you behind those masks eerily. ‘Mephisto’ or the mechanical crow, is flying forward.

You swear the crow tells you to fuck off in his own language.

You glare at it, only for it to ‘caw, caw’ at you, and Sylus’s perfect, gorgeous face - damn him - to look at you with an arched brow. “This way, or you’ll get lost.”

You follow him, his dress shoes glimmering as they click on his marble floor, looking at your surroundings, draped in elegance, his mansion is impeccable, gothic in fact. You peer around at the choices of black and red everywhere, there are no bright tones aside from bright rubies glinting, and the elegant chandeliers that catch your attention overhead.

Roaring fires crackle and fill it with warmth, something from so long ago, almost homey in an otherwise cold, gloomy manor, the home screams Sylus truly. He snatches up a bottle of red and one glass as the two of you pass his massive banquet hall, you suppose it’s a dining room but is basically a banquet hall. He glances at you, arrogant brow up, you want to smack his pretty face.

“Am I drinking from the bottle?” You earn his smirk.

“You want some of my wine, then?”

“What sort of host are you!?”

“You’re not a guest. More like a pest.” You scoff as he picks up another glass, with the greatest effort, clearly annoyed by your existence. “Come, then.”

You’re already tired of following him, passing those large men again, who are laughing softly and whispering at each other. “You have a mechanical crow and two weirdos living here, huh?”

“Weirdos!? Boss!” One of them says, but Sylus actually laughs softly, god that sound is way too pleasing, shaking his head and continuing to walk with his stupidly long legs, as you try to keep up.

“You’ll get lost if you don’t walk faster, sweetie.” His tone is so mocking, so annoying it drives you even more crazy, as you rush through the halls of the elegant manor, footsteps softly echoing.

“I have heels on, you know.” You’re lifting your dress up, ascending another stupid flight of stairs, trying not to notice just how nice your husband’s backside was with a flush- did the pants have to be that tight?

“You can take them off when we get to our chambers.” Finally you both get to a huge wooden double doors, where Sylus opens them with a heavy creak, as you blink in confusion.

“Our chambers? Who has chambers anymore? I… oh…” When he reveals the enormous, beautiful room you realize why it’s called that way. Soft red plush rugs over marble floors, a fireplace that he roars to life with a fucking snap - four post bed big enough for several people, black beams with a black thin curtain around them.

You blush as you do focus on that bed, its velvet blood red blankets and silky golden pillows, like something you’d expect in Dracula’s castle.

Was Sylus a vampire?

He looks like one.

Your eyes narrow, studying him then, eyeing the bottle of red. Was it blood?

“You’re staring, sweetie.” He murmurs, even though his back is turned, and he’s opening the wine bottle with a satisfying pop.

“You wish.” He chuckles once more, while you take in the rest of the room, sleek sleek dark wood furniture and high ceilings, some mix of ancient and modern that shouldn’t make sense, but it does.

“Your stare is intense.” You roll your eyes, leaning against a long side table to ease off each heel carefully, sighing in relief as you do. “I bought you a wardrobe, it’s right in that dresser.”

“A wardrobe? How would you even know…”

“Think I didn’t know about you?” Sylus eyes you now, they’re glinting, the fire casting shadows of his long, tall figure across the expanse of the room, shadows enveloping you, while you stand there, heat blooming across your cheeks.

“Did they give you all the statistics first?” Your question is full of venom, but for some reason you still scream kitten to his mind.

“Go get in something comfortable, there is a bathroom right there.” He pours two glasses of dark cabernet then, as you tentatively go to the dresser, blushing when you see the top drawer, filled with black lingerie. “Something wrong?”

“N-no.”

You’re to have his heirs, that’s the whole purpose, marrying the heir to her own fortune - though much, much less than Sylus’s - to the richest, most powerful man. To have a family and babies was good for his image, and of course everyone must have pressed him to do this as well, but you wonder then, would he even want to do that with you tonight?

“You don’t have to put them on, there are pajamas in the next drawer over.” You clear your throat just a bit, opening that drawer, seeing black and red silk, running your fingers gently over them, feeling the smooth texture as you peer in the mirror, and catch him eyeing you for a moment.

“You really like red, huh?” You see his smirk in the reflection, as you take the red silky slip and pull it out, delicate lace running across the neck.

“You could say so.”

“I um… could you unlace me?” Your words shoot through him then, he has never been nervous around anyone, not a man with his power, and as long as he remembers he has always been at ease with women.

You do something quite irritating.

His hand almost cracks his favorite wine glass, while you wait, brushing your hair to one side, and he slowly steps behind you. “Kitten, can’t even undress, hmm?”

“Kitten!?” You glare at him as he tugs on one of the laces, jerking you just a bit with the force, deepening your scowl.

“You’re an angry little kitten, who thinks her tiny meows are intimidating. Hmm…” He further tugs, stepping back a bit as you eye him in the mirror, biting back a gasp when you’re unlaced, and he traces his fingers down your spine. Your tummy clenches, breath catching as he does, body reacting so intensely it makes no sense. “Was too tightly laced…”

His murmur is met with him touching the criss cross marks left behind, imprinted on your delicate skin, eyeing the goosebumps that rise then, as he imagines everything he’d like to do to you. The urge to kiss your annoying mouth for the first time is almost too strong and vivid, followed by kissing every mark left by your corset. You shiver a bit, and he catches your eyes, his own dilating - almost black.

“Something wrong? You’re all unlaced now.” You pull yourself together, blinking rapidly and turning, far, far too close to this man, his hand suspended in the air, exhaling slowly, as you clutch the pajamas tightly to yourself.

“Nothing, um, over there?” He nods, when your top slips down just a bit, revealing too much of your breasts, your shoulders, he has to stop himself from touching them, stiffening just a bit.

Though he was furious he was forced into this marriage, he has to admit looking at you all the time was not something he’d dare complain about, even glaring you’re far too pretty. You back away, turning, clutching the dress, giving him far too much of a view of your skin, and he has to clutch that dresser, shutting his eyes as he feels it.

He’s hard looking at your back.

He curses softly, willing it to go down but nevertheless failing, waking back over to grab his glass of wine and sipping it, letting the rich flavor hit his tongue, shutting his eyes to push back all of the thoughts when you come out. He sees you in it, the red silk slip of material, your nipples pressed against it, as if they’re begging for his mouth to suck on them.

You stand in front of him, taking the proffered glass, and that’s when Sylus almost spits out his drink, as you down the little bit in one gulp. “Do you know what vintage that is!?”

“You’re stupidly rich, it’s fine.” You grab his bottle and pour more, he smacks your hand like you’re some bad child, making you laugh just a bit. “It’s yummy.”

“You’re supposed to savor it, tch.” You drink this a little slower, tilting your head now.

“We should get this over with, right?”

“Excuse me!?” His deep voice gets raspy, ruby eyes narrowing while you shrug just a bit, a little wine dripping down your lip, wiping it and wrecking his mind.

“Making an heir. The sooner we do it, the better, right?” He almost loses it, as you down the glass again.

“That’s a two hundred dollar gulp, Kitten.”

“Hmm, it’s tasty - crow.” You both scowl again, he sets his glass down angrily, and that’s when you feel that power of his again - intense and beautiful - it makes you pause for a moment, before you set your glass as well, turning. “So we should get on with it, right?”

“Get on with it!?” He sputters, you are by far the most insolent creature he has ever met.

“Yes, I know what we are here for, let’s not pretend with each other, all right?” You’re shaking even as you speak, when his hand brushes against your arm, and the light hairs raise from the contact, your tummy clenching.

“You’re cute, Kitten.”

“Stop calling me Kitten, Crow.”

“You know what to do then, hmm?” You nod shyly, when he lifts you suddenly, making you gasp, hoisting you on one fucking arm like you’re nothing, walking you over to his bed now. He tosses you in the middle then, leaned over you, his dress shirt falling gently open, revealing his strong, pale chest, as your heart races.

You can’t answer him, not when he laughs at you, so mocking, right in your face, and two of his hands grip your delicate wrists, pushing them over your head. You bite back a whine, you shouldn’t be soaking wet already, what the fuck was this man doing to you? You struggle to keep your composure, feeling his thick, hard length pressing under his slacks, making you flush.

He seems to notice his effects, as he leans down too close, heavy weight pressing you further into the soft mattress. “Are you scared, sweetie?”

You manage that glare again, but almost moan when you speak, just barely holding it back. “N-no. I’m fine, just do it and then let me get some sleep. I’m tired, you know.”

“Ah, I see, you think this would be quick, that’s cute.” He sighs now, releasing your wrists, leaning on an elbow and slipping his hand down your waist, slipping under your silk shirt, touching all your skin on your waist, humming quietly to himself. He wants to whisper of your beauty, but holds himself back, instead smirking so mockingly at you.

“Sylus just-” He slams his lips down on yours then, plush and firm, and your thighs grip his hips, as you sigh into them, your hands gripping his luxe blankets. He delves his tongue inside your parted lips, hot and messy and nothing like you’ve ever felt before - making your tummy flip with desire.

“Just what?” He murmurs softly, eyes lit up so bright it’s difficult to even look at, sighing now as he studies your body slowly, thumb brushing your nipple over your soft silk, bringing it to tighten and press harder on the fabric. You cry out before you can stop it, and the sound ends him.

But as badly as he wants to fuck you?

He won’t if it’s not your choice, if it’s to ‘get it over with’. He’ll only do this if you beg for it, writhing under him soaking wet, and even then, you have to want it, for more than your situation. He doesn’t tell you just yet, because god he is loving toying with you, eyeing you under dark lashes as he unbuttons your shirt, one by one, maintaining his casual stance as he throbs for you.

Fuck his cock twitches when he reveals one of your perfect, pretty breasts, breath ghosting over the sensitive nipple. “What are you… doing, I- ah!”

You’re gripping his silken hair before you could think any better, pulling at his roots, while he sucks your nipple into his hot, hungry mouth, making your cunt gush until he can fucking feel it, your heat, even over his clothes. Your back arches, bringing your cunt further against him, he almost shakes with how badly he is filled with the need to take you, barely holding himself in.

“You seem to enjoy this a lot for wanting to ‘get it over with’. Hmm?” You don’t acknowledge him, letting go of his hair only to grip it again as he sucks your other nipple into his mouth, hand trailing over your tummy, feeling it tremble under his touch. “Something wrong, sweetie?”

“No… I just… ngh…” He’s brushing his fingers over your hot, slick pussy, groaning out as he does, eyeing you while he balances himself over you.

“Awfully wet for your duty, aren’t you?” You glare again, just making Sylus grin, white teeth glinting as he kisses down your body, tasting your sweetness, lapping a trail down the valley between your breasts, kissing lower and lower, his hands now on your waist as your thighs tremble.

“What are you doing?” He laughs again, against your skin, making it tickle, you’re getting wetter just from that, your entire body reacting to every soft brush of his lips along your skin.

“I enjoy playing with my food a bit, before I eat my meal.” Your shorts are slid down your thighs now, you’re closing them just a bit as he sees all of you, so intimate you can’t make some witty reply.

“A meal?” Your weak little squeak would amuse him if he wasn’t staring at the prettiest pussy he’s seen, fuck even it’s like art to him. He thumbs your plump lips apart, watching the slutty little hole pouring wetness out of it, making him groan, inhaling you and sighing. “Are you like sniffing me, just get up here and- oh, oh I-”

Your words are cut off as his tongue slips up your slit then, you cry out at how fucking good it feels, hot eager tongue slipping up and collecting the juices there- then when he tastes you, his nostrils flare, lips glossy from you. His hands grip and press into your thighs, losing the tentative control he has with just how sweet his bride happens to be.

“You taste so sweet for a bratty little thing.” He smirks, those glossy lips shimmering with you, and you can only blush in response, breaths so fast you feel yourself overheating. “So quiet suddenly, where’s all that talk, hmm?”

Your only words are muffled moans as you try to cover your mouth, screaming out when his tongue laps at you again, this time on your clit, moaning as you feel it, sensitive, twitching in response. Suddenly your arms are bound by swirling red energy, thrown over your head, and he chuckles at your expression - eyes already fucked out, mouth open in a gasp.

“What is this, your… evol?” You’re not well versed with this sort of thing - you’ve only heard things. He chuckles, breath alone making your clit twitch in response, which he avidly stares at now, humming to himself as he spreads you wider.

“I’d like to hear those moans, so I need you to stop covering them. Now…” He drags your ass closer, you feel the lines of his teeth as they’re against your cunt, and you’re already dangerously close. “Has anyone drank you, kitten?”

“Drank me!? I… oh fuck, fuck!” You’re whining as he teases you, body twisting under his firm hold, his fingers are pressing into the plush of your inner thighs, slurping you up then - yes, drinking you - as if you’re wine he’s downing, except that he’d sip, not devour.

“Oh you love it, don’t you? Thought you wanted to get it over with, but she’s soaking wet f’me.” Sylus fucks you with his tongue then, your gummy walls fluttering around his wet muscle, as you feel the very texture inside you, yanking at your own arms and gritting your teeth not to scream.

You fail completely.

Letting go and hoping those two men weren’t just - what listening, or that damn crow wasn’t somewhere cawing about this - your hoarse cries echo in his enormous, elegant room, mixing with the crackling of that fireplace and Sylus’s loud moans while he sips every bit of you up. His tongue fucks you, long, so long, while he eyes you, red ruby eyes glinting with hunger.

“What is… you are… oh my…” You’re getting toppled over that goddamn edge now, when his straight, perfect nose bumps your engorged clit, and he curls his tongue up, you can’t stop it, your orgasm starts in your tummy, hot and torturous before it spreads through every inch of your body. “Sylus!”

Sylus pulls back finally, licking his lips, you flush as you see the mess you’ve made of his perfect features, when he grins down at you, psychotically hot, and you’re so disoriented you can barely understand. “And do you like fingers buried inside you, sweetie?” He asks, you just bite that lip one more time, nodding.

He shoves two fingers inside you, studying your face like a predator would his fucking prey, groaning as he watches you now, feeling your quivering hole gripping and spasming around his lengthy fingers. You’re so ready for him it’s ridiculous, imagining him naked- god you can feel those muscles, that cock.

He’s got you cumming again like it’s nothing for him, like he’s in twenty minutes figured out your body better than you do. You’re writhing under him, crying from the force of them, of cumming over and over as he watches with pure delight, dying for more, to feel him so deep, but you can’t even articulate it.

“So beautiful like this,” he’s sucking on those fingers, cheeks hollowing, moaning again at your taste, when he lets go of your wrists, and you respond by pressing your nails into his back over his dress shirt, earning his moan. “Sharp little claws.”

“Fuck, I’m ready please no more teasing… I c-can’t take it…” he sighs then, standing and confusing you. He waltzes over to grab wine then, sauntering back to you with a sway of his hips, though you see it - the huge outline of his cock. “Sylus, I said I’m ready.”

“For your duty, right?” You hadn’t even thought of duty, of anything but him then, you try to focus, clearing your throat, when he tilts your chin up, your hair falling back, lidded gaze on him. “No, I’ll sink my cock inside that pretty cunt when you ask me too, not because you have to.”

God what is this man!?

You just blink as he leans down, fingers gripping your chin, taking the glass of wine and pressing it to his lips. “You’re… wanting me to decide?”

“Mmhmm. Open that pretty mouth.” You do as he says, how can you not? And he sips that wine then, humming as he leans over, pouring the wine in your mouth from his, you swallow it down, the action itself causing that ache to build. He pulls back as you look up, wiping a droplet from your lips. “So you can listen.”

“I… huh? You… aren’t you sleeping in here?” You ask softly, he sighs then, pressing a kiss far too sweet to your forehead.

“I sleep during the day mostly,” is he a vampire!? “But I’ll lay with you when you want me to as well, not until then. I expect an answer when I get back.”

“What, like how long?” You hop up, dressing quickly, and he pauses at the door, looking back at you.

“Less than a week, I had to put the mission on hold for the wedding. When I’m back, you let me know what you decide - my role as your husband.”

He leaves then, and you feel empty without him, cold even, stumbling over to his expensive, fancy wine, about to gulp it down, then sighing, sipping it instead, looking at the fire still roaring. You pull up a seat, sitting in front of it and watching as the flames lick and snap, thinking of the man you’ve just married.

Who is he?

*****

You’re trying to actually go out, tired of getting lost in Sylus’s mansion a few days later, and you swear he’s cursed it at first, you couldn’t find the damn front door for days! His staff makes sure you have everything you need, but you’re alone, nothing but a phone Sylus bought you, with one damn number- his.

He texts you mockingly the next couple days, as you finally get the two men - Luke and Kieran - to escort you out, so you can breathe fresh air, but they just follow you like lost puppies- as Mephisto circles overhead. Every time you look at something they’re just buying it for you.

“I didn’t even-”

“Can’t make the boss look bad.” Luke scolds, buying you a pretty bracelet that you’d just touched.

“Not with all these eyes.” Kieran agrees, and you touch a little rose, cursing as he buys that now too. “Everyone knows the boss.”

“Caw!”

“Mephisto I didn’t ask you!” You scowl at the crow, and it flaps its wings at you, cawing even angrier. You finally get your phone out, video calling the only number, surprised when he actually answers.

“I’m busy, what is it?” He says, and you take in his surroundings, likely some fancy suite as he sits with his gun.

“Busy? Not a way to greet your wife.” He rolls his ruby eyes now.

“Mmm, and what does my wife need?”

“To know why are these two bozos following me everywhere I go and watching me like a hawk, hmm?”

“Bozo, who’s a bozo huh?” Luke crosses his arms then, tilting his head, and Kieran does the same.

“Boss, you need to get your girl under control.” Kieran says.

“Caw!” Mephisto is circling you, as you’re just trying to shop, but no of course now you’re all a spectacle, everyone is whispering about the three - four if you count Mephisto- of you all standing there.

That’s Sylus’s wife!

She seems a little angry.

She’s yelling at that bird!

Oh fuck everyone.

You sigh as Sylus laughs at you. “You seem really worked up, do you need anything?” His intentions are clear, and you act as if it’s the sun warming your skin and not his words.

The memories.

His tongue and fingers pushing you to climax over and over, god your tummy clenches just thinking of it. And missing a man you barely fucking know - one that you want to learn, a mystery of a person truly. What was there about him that was making you this way?

“What I need is to not be babysat by these two, and your crow! Everywhere I go.” You’re scowling at Sylus’s amused face on the video call, as he sets you down on his desk, raising a brow and pulling out a gun, cleaning it calmly, meticulously, as if everything is peachy. “What are you even doing?”

“I’m resting before a mission, sweetie.”

“Cleaning your gun is… relaxing?”

“Mmm, you should try it.” You giggle then, you can’t help it, and the sound over the phone along with your pretty face lit by the sun does something to him then, his heart pounding in his chest.

“Would you trust me with a gun?” He shakes his head as he looks down where he’s polishing that barrel, lips quirked up.

“Absolutely not. Now,” he sets the gun down, picking the phone up and looking directly at you. “You are my wife, and that’s why they’re there - to protect you.”

His wife.

The way he says that does something, as badly as you want to be annoyed- there’s another part that’s touched by him, his care, his words, even if it’s overbearing, overprotective. You want to shove it down, the longing for someone you barely know, who overall annoys you with his arrogant attitude, but something just clicks as you meet his eyes on the screen.

“Okay fine, but… Mephisto?”

“Caw, caw, caw!”

He laughs genuinely, running a hand through his silvery locks, leaning an elbow on that table as he looks at you. “Mephisto is for me to keep an eye on you - ah there’s that cute little scowl, angry kitten.”

“You say that like you don’t purr.” Your turn to smirk as he glares, then you hang up on him, facing the two angry men now. “Look, I was rude, okay? I’m sorry.”

They look at each other, then at you, both nodding. Mephisto caws and flaps his black and gold wings, and you hold out your arm for him to land, gently touching one of his gears. “Caw?”

“I was rude to you too. I just… it’s a new, stressful situation. Maybe you all could teach me more about him?”

“About the boss?”

“We know all about the boss!”

“Caw!”

Soon the four of you are back home, and you’re in one of Sylus’s room- his music room, it seems, there is an organ that looks like it belongs in beauty and the beast itself, a record player sitting there, you gently push down the fine bronze point, as music fills the room. It’s slow and beautiful, the sounds from it, your eyes close and it’s as if you feel him there.

Every day you’ve tried to explore this mansion, slowly and bit by bit, to reveal more of the mysterious ‘boss’ and ‘leader’. But moreso, the man that instead of lying with you that night, let you have his room to yourself, pleasured you and asked nothing in return, let you have the choice.

Who was Sylus?

“Boss loves music.” Luke states the obvious, you giggle a bit, turning to look at them now.

“Well I see that. And he loves art, and pretty jewels.” You walk up to the display glasses, where he’s gathering trinkets like some dragon in a cave.

“He loves beautiful things. Probably why he was so adamant about us watching over you- oof!” Kieran gets elbowed by Luke then, and you shyly look back down at the glass, fingers hovering over, afraid to leave a print.

Did Sylus find you pretty like these jewels?

*****

One week without Sylus, and it seems like the longest week of your life- when what was without him before? You lived without him all of your twenty four years, but you find yourself giggling at his texts, playing silly phone games with him even, as if the two of you have become…

What are you?

He sends a ‘Good Night Kitten’ you send a ‘Good night Crow’.

He sent a picture of himself ‘on accident’ he says, but you don’t believe him at all, apparently he was trying to video call you and it sent - him shirtless, towel slung low over his hips, body glistening. You think he’s trying to thirst trap you - that damn man knows how fine he is and makes no act to appear humble about it. He keeps making little remarks as if you could forget that night.

Kitten seems angry, does she need something?

You find yourself sleeping in his bed alone, touching yourself to the memory of his lips sucking in your clit, humming on it, his long, thick fingers stretching you out. You can’t help yourself, every time you try to not think of him, there he is, hovering right over you. You know he’s coming back tomorrow, and you feel like he’ll get his answer then, an unequivocal yes.

Sylus walks in quietly that night, just a little early - but he’d be lying if he didn’t admit he was dying to see you, to feel you. Fuck, he couldn’t stop himself from stroking his cock thinking of you, remembering your sweet taste and how you coated his face with your arousal. God you did things to him, but more than that - he wonders who you are.

The teasing all week on the phone - yes, he meant to send that image - had him even more intrigued, you’re funny and smart - too smart at times. A smart ass, and he would know, he tends to be one himself. Mephisto’s reports along with Luke and Kieran were showing how they were in just a week falling for the lady of Sylus’s manor, and that’s what you were.

His.

The need to claim you is so fierce, to fucking breed you, but he must let this be your choice, he wants you to come to him. That night his steps are quiet, when he opens the door, expecting you to be asleep, but he hears it then, your whine out, that sexy little moan. He pauses, fingers gripping the brass knob, as he sees the blankets raise just a bit - hears your soft whines.

Fuck, are you touching yourself?

“Mnh! Ugh, it won’t work.” You let out a frustrated huff, shoving your blankets down, when you see him.

Shit.

“Sylus!? I thought um… you were… I had a bad dream, is all! Nothing else is going on here!” You’re panicking, as this man just smirks, shutting the door behind himself casually, taking off his black leather jacket and propping it on the coat stand then, as you shift in his bed.

“Oh, is that so? What was the dream about, sweetie?” His soft, husky voice just makes you ache more, as he so casually sits, undoing his laces of his boots.

“Um… just a weird one. Do you… need help?” You ask then, he pauses, nodding a little, watching you leave his bed now, your shorts so askew it told right on you, you’re wearing a little black top that covered nothing and a pair of black panties, revealing too much of your pretty body.

“I should ask you the same - if you need help.” He murmurs, brushing your hair back when you get on your knees before him, making his mind go wild, while your fingers tug on the thick black laces.

“Need help with what?” Your innocent question is met with your eyes meeting his, easing his boots down, one by one, placing you right between his thighs, Sylus tilts your chin up then, calloused thumb brushing your lower lip softly.

“Sounds like you were having trouble, I could help now that I’m here.” He smiles as that color hits your skin, as your cheek is hot to his touch, and your shaky hands touch his thighs over his jeans. “Shouldn’t a good husband help his wife?”

“You love to tease me, don’t you?” Your knees press against the plush rug, as you unbutton his jeans, watching the usually confident man pause, his hands gripping your hair then, at the nape of your neck, while the sound of his zipper echoes off the walls. “Something wrong, Sylus?”

“What do you think you’re playing at?” His voice breaks then, thoughts of you sucking his cock nearly ending him - it was one thing to please, he’s very confident in his abilities to make a woman cum, but seeing you like this would end him.

“Maybe I’m returning the treatment. Should I leave a week after you cum over and over too?” He glares now, standing, so lanky and tall you hardly reach him on your knees, having to look up at him, towering over you, cock outlined in silky black - begging for you to touch it.

“You have the brattiest attitude, should we do something about that?” He slips his top off then, and you’re met with that perfect, sculpted physique, tracing your fingers across a sculpted abdominal, watching his head fall back, moaning softly, making your cunt throb around nothing.

“What do you have in mind, a lesson?” He can’t stop his moan when you tug at his pants, slowly revealing more of him, until he yanks you up, earning your pout. “Do you not want me to?”

“Do I not want you to, what a stupid question, foolish kitten.” You glare again, just becoming more attractive, when he lifts you up, sitting you on his bed now, slipping off your top and moaning softly as your breasts spill out. “I don’t want your knees to hurt.”

“Oh…” You’re so touched then, by his thoughtfulness, while he slips off his boxers, revealing himself now - thick, hard and so pretty, reddened tip leaking white pearly precum. You see how big it is, almost intimidating, touching it then with your hand, feeling it burning and so heavy, and eliciting a…

Is that a whimper?

Fascinated you repeat the action, he instead this time moans softly, huskily, eyes darkening as he strokes your hair back gently. “Touch yourself for me, show me what you were doing, hmm?”

You nod, a jerky motion, as he spreads your thighs, and you reach under your panties, finding your soaking wet clit and whining, right when Sylus tugs gently at your chin.

“Open, Kitten.”

You obey him so easy, where is the feisty little thing he knows? She’s in there, but you’re sweet, pliant, shy even, as you open your mouth looking so wanton, and his cock leaks even more, twitching when he finally brushes it on your tongue. You’re lapping his sweet pre cum up then, tonguing the slit and trembling when your hands falter on your pussy.

“Rub circles on that little clit, hmm? Press up a bit. F-fuck… you’re doing such a good job, sweetie.” He’s gripping your hair as you suck him, and you do as he says, feeling your clit tighten up, as you’re ruining your panties, looking up at him under your lashes. “Beautiful…”

Beautiful.

You tremble more as he gazes so intensely down at you, staring at you like you’re the only thing there is, you know you shouldn’t think that way - you know he’s probably just enjoying this, but there is something so addictive to his look. To how he’s stroking his cock in and out of your mouth, so easy with his motions, gasping when you suck harder, tongue lolling on the ridge of his tip.

“Still can’t cum without me, hmm?” He’s whispering, but you pull back, strings of saliva dripping from his blushing tip, pulling back your fingers and showing them glistening.

“I can, I just… am failing currently.” He shocks you then, climbing onto the bed now, laying on his back. You go to suck him again, when he flips you around, dragging your panties off in one motion, then putting your thighs on either side of his head, your hot eager cunt right on his face. “Sylus!”

“Hmm, fuck I missed your taste.” Did he say that out loud? Or was it muffled into your perfect cunt? He parts your folds, seeing how wet you are as it drools down him, slipping a finger inside you. “Miss me?”

“Just a bit,” you try to tease, leaning over him now, arms on either side of his thighs for balance, hair falling against his bare thighs, as you lap a line down his cock again, making him groan. “You miss me?”

“Just a little.” He drags you back down on his face hungrily, licking a filthy line from your clit all the way to your ass, and you almost choke on him as you take him deep in your throat, body shaking over him. “Mmm, she sure missed me.”

“She did.” You admit after pulling up with a suctioned pop, and then your eyes roll back in your skull, as he sucks and hums against your clit. “M’gonna cum!”

“Mmm,” he’s just humming quicker, feeling your mouth fail to hardly move, you’re in the throes of cumming all down his handsome face. He urges you then, hands gripping the fat of your ass, pressing you down even further until his face is fucking buried against your cunt.

“S-Sylus!”

His name, you moaned his name.

You’re trying to press hasty kisses to his hips as you cum so hard you can’t think, gushing down his face and drenching him in your arousal, his face, his throat, his fucking lips. He almost cums from just that, feeling you shake and tremble while you blink back your vision, which has gone black from how hard your release rocked you, walls fluttering around nothing, dying for more.

You feel so greedy then, thinking of how badly you want him inside you, stroking his pretty cock gently, as he drinks up all he can. “Oh my god…”

“Mmm, you got wetter than last time, didn’t know that was possible.” You’re covering your nervous blush against his thigh, as he chuckles softly. “You don’t have to finish, Kitten, I can just do this.”

“Sylus, I…” You ease off him with his help, turning and straddling with trembling thighs, making Sylus tense when he feels it, you pressing on his cock, he grabs your waist bruisingly, eyeing you.

“That’s dangerous, sweetie, I can only hold back so much.” You lean over him now, lips hovering just an inch, gripping his wrists with your little hands, and he smirks up at you. “Are you a big, bad, scary kitten?”

“Maybe I am, and you’re a sweet little crow.” He scowls just a bit, only making you wetter, as you grind on him now, and he immediately loosens your grip, hands flying to your hips as his tip twitches against your slit.

“Are you…” You press him back down, making him huff, blinking up at you as his eyes glow bright fucking red, and you’re cupping his face, thumb tracing a cheek bone.

“Sylus, I have your answer.” He swallows then, breathing heavier and heavier, as his hands trail up your spine, then back down, cock leaking all that precum right against you.

“Do you now? What’s the answer then, sweetheart?”

You press a kiss on his lips, both of you taste each other, one of his huge hands entangling in your hair, as your bodies move just slightly, casting your silhouettes across the dark walls in the night. “The answer is yes, I want this Sylus. I want you.”

“Oh, sweetie…” He can’t stop himself, his emotions he always holds back, when you whisper those words. “Not just because you have to?”

His words break you, tears burning your eyes, as you shake your head. “How could I not want you?”

He’s ended then, drowning in your kisses, letting you take control - for this moment, he muses - and reach down as he lifts your hips up, and you rub his tip along your folds, earning the most pornographic and filthy moans, mixing with your soft ones as your head falls back, hair falling like a curtain down your shoulder blades. He watches you, hands holding you up, suspended, eyeing you again.

“Still sure?” You nod eagerly, he exhales at that, pressing you down just a bit, watching your tight little cunt try to suck him up and struggling, so tight he could cum just from his tip sinking in.

“Oh my god, s’big I…” You’re struggling when he yanks you forward, until you’re resting on his chest, and he’s pulling back, sliding deeper while he watches your every expression, hands slipping down to your ass to grip you.

“If it hurts, tell me, you’re so tight…” He whispers, and you nod, so touched by his care, before he sinks you half way down, groaning and kissing you now, you kiss him back, hungry, messy, your nails pressing into his shoulders. “Oh, fuck feel you, this tight around me? Does she want more?”

“Yes, yes, please…” He manages a breathless laugh, lifting you up and dragging you down more of his inches- god how many inches - stuffing you so full while you gush all around him, clinging and trembling.

“Please, is this what I had to do to make my kitten sweet?” You’d glare but he’s shoved more of his cock - how much was there god you couldn’t take it all - you’re shaking as your cunt stretches to accommodate- the pressure building in your tummy while he caresses your face, brushing your hair behind your ear and exhaling.

God, you feel perfect around him.

“You tell me when you’re ready to move.” He whispers, you nod, trying to adjust, gasping as you shift your hips and his tip drags on your spot, and he feels those walls just clench around him like a vise, eyes avidly watching your face and just how pretty it is when in pleasure.

“I’m ready, please.” Your throaty whisper destroys him, he picks you up once more, yanking you down his length fully now, you scream out at it, head falling back, your breasts right in his face, he catches a nipple between his sharp teeth. “Oh! Sylus mnh!”

“Perfect, you’re perfect.” He can’t stop it, the words from spilling, as he pumps up into your cunt now, flats of his feet on the enormous bed, jerking his cock so deep he bottoms out as much as he can in you, tip kissing your cervix.

“Ah! Mnh! F-fuck… you’re so big.” You’re sobbing the words out, when he grinds you on him, hugging your body against his, and you’re cupping his face, lips just hovering, noses touching.

“Can you take more in your perfect little cunt?” He groans as you nod, and he fucks up into you harder now, sounds of skin slapping and your soppy cunt echoing, he’s flipped you then, holding one of your thighs up high, eyeing the bulge his cock makes inside you and getting fucking feral.

“So deep!” You buck off the bed, and he moans now, slowly pulling out, sole of your foot on his chest while he watches your cunt suck him in so greedily, disappearing his huge cock in your body, watching your tummy move. Fuck he was getting ruined at the sight, but when you cry out and jerk and he pauses.

“Are you hurt?” His soft ask is such a delicious contradiction to his commanding presence, huge body tense, as you shake your head, take a breath, letting him sigh in relief as he tilts your chin down now. “Look at me inside you, can’t even take all of me, can you?”

One moment sweet, one moment sarcastic and cocky, but you cannot think of anything when you see it too, the way your stomach expands with his cock so deep. All you can do is bite your lip, hands slipping up his obliques, feeling the muscles move as he shoves hard then, it hurts so good, and he notices, repeating it then, over and over again.

“That’s it, you like that, don’t you kitten?” You weakly nod, there are no more words, not when Sylus is pounding your pretty pussy with his huge cock, leaning lower, letting your legs wrap his narrow hips. “You’re close, aren’t you?”

You just nod again, it’s apparently all you’re capable of as this man fucks your brain out. He moans softly when he kisses you, jerking his hips just so, as you fall apart underneath him, orgasm rocking through you, he has to pause, you’re squeezing so fucking hard and pulsing. “Ah, S-Sylus - ngh!”

“Milking my cock, already,” he’s losing it with you, fucking you through one orgasm and into another, feeling you gush down him, down your ass, his heavy balls smacking it, then futher- soaking his covers. “Fuck…”

He slows his thrusts now, laying on top of you, hand entwining as his eyes drink your pretty face in, you grip him then, struggling to breathe, as his heart races so fast against your breasts, and you both pause. You stare into endless rubies of his eyes, as he squeezes your hand so tightly, the red ropes of energy binding your wrists together even more tightly.

You look at it then, nervously, then back at him, as he stares at the connection. “Are you…”

“It’s not on purpose.” He murmurs, looking as it swirls, and you feel him throb inside you, his tip oozing against your abused cervix. “Another choice, kitten. I can cum inside your perfect cunt,” he thrusts once more, watching your eyes flutter shut in pleasure. “Or I can pull out, and we wait until you want it.”

Your choice, again.

But you want him inside you, buried to the fucking hilt, opening your eyes and feasting on the man on top of you. “I want you to cum inside me, Sylus.”

Fuck.

He almost busts then, but he pauses, clutching your hand and pressing you deeper into his mattress, taking you over. “You want me to fill you up, sweetie?”

“Please,” Sylus moans heavily, kissing you as he fucks into you deep, long strokes, and your hand grips him, the other entangling in his hair as your tongues dance with each other, and he pounds harder and harder. “Please, please, please- ah!”

“Fill you up so much, you won’t be able to walk, kitten.” His eyes flash dangerously as he slams into you one more time, white hot cum pouring from his cock, and when he does, the light red rope glows more, burning hot on each of your wrists as he cries out against your ear, burying his face in your neck. “Oh, fuck, f-feel her…”

You’re a pathetic mess, twitching around him as he coats those walls, trying to catch a breath. He leans up then, the ropes fading, pulling out his cock, you watch as the cum just pours out of your slutty little hole, and he delights in seeing it. A mix of all your arousal and his load is slipping out of you as your hole puckers and quivers, spasming from the aftershocks of him.

“Such a messy girl, aren’t you…” He sighs as he pulls back, toying with his own cum, smirking as your hips jerk.

Is he sweet or an ass!?

Is he both?

He is something else then, when his eyes are so red they’re shining, and he’s slipping his two fingers up and down you, making your sensitive cunt throb in response, aching from his stretch. “Ah-ah, you said you wanted it, you even said please, yet here it is, wasted. That won’t do.”

“What do you- ah! F-fuck!” You’re breathless when he shoves his own cum back in your cunt, smirking down at you, silver hair falling over his brow then. “Sensitive mnh!”

“Mmm, you don’t want to keep it in? That won’t do.” He’s pouting, slipping more of the cum inside your sore little entrance, enjoying you far too much, you’re covered in a sheen of sweat, face so fucked out, there’s just a little drool on the corner of your mouth dripping.

You’re so beautiful.

“Be a good kitten.”

“Mean crow, mnh!” You yank his wrist then, taking his hand, and he glares as you put it to your lips now, lapping him off you with a stroke of your tongue, smirking right back at him. “Can’t take it?”

“You’re a brat.” He flips you over then, you gasp at it, slipping two fingers back inside you and pressing up.

“Sylus, we just…”

“Think I’m done with you yet?”

*****

Two weeks later

Sylus cannot stop fucking his new bride- no he needs to fuck her in every room of his mansion, hear her moans and cries, feel her perfect pussy clenching him. He has to make sure every inch of the room has had her arousal dripping down onto it, that he makes sure to have her taste on him constantly. He soaks in you like the sweetest perfume there ever could be.

He left for days again, in his office, and you eagerly came to meet him, kissing him deeply, only to get bent over it, his cock shoved so deep as he lifted up the skirt you’re wearing, his hand on yours over the desk. Breathing heavy in your ear, he can’t get enough of you, not even fucking close, reaching under your chin to cup it and tilt your lips to his.

“Miss me, kitten?” He whispers, and you shock him then, arching your ass for more and earning his groan, as you nod.

“I missed you.” Sylus pauses then, hand squeezes yours brutally, his other on your hip, his cock twitching inside you, as the two of you inhale and exhale each other. “Don’t stop, please.”

“You missed me?” He says again, you nod, you’re tired of acting like you don’t, like you aren’t falling for your husband.

Like he doesn’t make you so happy.

Like he doesn’t drink you up at every opportunity.

Like you don’t love being held in his fucking arms at night.

Like you don’t just literally enjoy him - his laugh, his kindness, his humor, god everything about his presence.

Like is a weak word, a wrong word…

“I missed you too, kitten.” His husky declaration is met with him fucking you harder, deeper, hand choking your throat and squeezing, taking your oxygen as he kisses you, drinking up your cries, busting his hot ropes so deep you’re cumming right with him.

When he’s done he never just leaves, no he’s cleaning you up - lapping his own cum out of your cunt eagerly as you’re spread on his dark wood desk, head falling back while he makes you cum again. He lavishes every inch of your walls as he scoops out the taste of both of you, pulling back and kissing you deeply, saliva dripping so you taste it too.

“Fuck, you distracted me. I got you something.” He murmurs then, taking a shaky breath and pulling up his pants, leaving them undone just a bit.

“Y=you did?” You swipe at your mouth, standing with his help, when he pulls out a black, rectangular velvet box.

“I went to an auction, this belonged to a princess.” You’re gasping as you see it, glittering diamonds and rubies - almost as beautiful as his eyes.

“Sylus you didn’t have to do this…”

“No, sweetie, I do. Hold up your hair for me, turn around.” You obey his gentle orders, lifting your hair for him, feeling the cold metal hit your collarbones, as he rests the necklace on you. He clasps it now, sending shivers down your spine as his fingers dance across your neck. “Let me see.”

You turn back around and he sighs, looking how beautiful you are, your breasts rising and falling with every breath. He wants to say it - foolish words - that he’s falling, but he is terrified. A man like him, who can annihilate a room of monsters like it’s nothing, a man who is feared has just one weakness.

You.

“It’s beautiful, thank you so much.” You whisper, touching it, seeing how the prismatic gems reflect the soft lights. “I love it.”

“It looks perfect on your chest.” He tilts your chin up, kissing you then. “Go get ready for dinner, I want you to wear it.

After dinner Sylus’s always perfect - until you - control slips.

You’re on his lap, as the two of you sip the wine, and you giggle suddenly, the sound that makes his heart always race. “What is it, kitten?”

“Remember you spit wine in my mouth?” He blushes then, and you giggle more. “You’re so cute.”

“Cute!? I’m not cute, that’s you.”

“Mmhmm. What if I do it to you?” He pulls you closer, brushing your hair back gently, as you sip the red wine.

“I’d let you do anything to me.” His words are so soft, so impactful then, your heart hammers as the blood rushes to your ears.

“Anything, hmm? Where's the big bad leader?” You’re trying to keep it light, teasing, but he lowers his gaze to that necklace, thumbing the delicate skin around it, making you gasp.

“I’m afraid he’s been destroyed by a kitten he loves.” You blink rapidly, the words don’t feel real, there’s no way he…

Does he…

Feel the same way?

You’re so quiet he looks away, his hand falling. “Endless ammunition I just gave you against me-”

“Sylus…” He looks back, and you’re crying then, tears streaming down your cheeks, he falters, swiping at them gently.

“Yes?” His words are quiet, careful, you lean in, cupping his face, fingers tracing his sharp jaw.

“I love you too.” He slams his lips on yours, desperate and messy, as he lifts you up, propping you on the table and shoving plates away, you gasp as they clatter down to the floor, eyes wide on him.

“Say that again, kitten. Louder.” He’s shoving up your dress, eagerly slipping his hand between your thighs, your back arches as his fingers fill you, fingers you missed for days, his lips trailing up your neck, loud, messy kisses.

“I love you, Sylus.” He exhales so shaky, pulling back and gripping your hair at the nape of your neck, fingers entwined as he finds your spot, making you drool on him, while you fall even deeper into his gaze.

“I love you, , you mean, angry little kitten. Ruined me.”

“Hey now!” You’re laughing softly, but it’s cut off by his fingers, and your laugh is turned into a desperate cry. Sylus fucks you right there, uncaring of poor Mephisto flying by, who darts out as quickly as he came, and you soon find yourself in only the necklace, on your hands and knees on his bed.

“Mine, mine…” He keeps repeating them like a mantra, pressing his thumbs in the simples of your back. “Can’t wait to breed you, god. You want that?” He whispers, bending over you, and slamming so deep, necklace dangling as he hits every spot, hands gripping your hips hard.

“Breed me.”

“What do good kittens say?” You glare, just making him closer to cumming, and he pauses, reaching around to press a hand on your tummy. “Do you want all my babies so deep inside you?”

“Y-yes. I do.” You bite your lip, and he smirks again. “Please?”

“Good girl.”

Sylus will give his pretty bride anything she wants - if it’s a mating press where he fucks endless loads of cum inside her, if it’s just holding her in his arms and stroking her hair after a bad day. He’ll give her any snacks she’s craving when one day she’s full of his babies, and he’ll make sure she stays full of him. He’ll buy her anything that catches her pretty eyes and makes her smile, he’ll sing her to sleep.

He’ll do anything for his wife, a wife he fell so in love with - some would say, he became obsessed with her.

With you.

Ahhh I hope you all enjoyed this!! I had way too much fun - I love arranged Marriage tropes and had to do one for Sylus. Happy birthday Lil S! If you'd like more Sylus lmk in the comments or inbox any ideas for our dragon bc I love him<3

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blood-smiles · 2 months ago

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𝐎𝐍𝐋𝐘 𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑𝐒 ᛝ

𝗬𝗔𝗡𝗗𝗘𝗥𝗘 𝗟𝗔𝗪𝗬𝗘𝗥 𝘅 F! 𝗥𝗘𝗔𝗗𝗘𝗥 . MDNI . NSFW MENTIONS . VERY UNEDITED

A freckled woman scrolled on her phone, her nails clacking against her phone screen gently. Her eyes scanned over a profile,

(Y/N) freaking (L/N).

A loser with little to no followers but somehow in a relationship with the hottest man she had ever seen.

She huffed out her nose, her hand playing with a delicately curled strand of her light brown hair. She clicked on your newest photo.

There you were, with that beautiful man again, he smiled at the camera delicately, the sunlight kissing his sharp features, the crystal of his thin rimmed glasses catching the light in a way that would suit a model.

She scrolled lower, this time the both of you were in some type of snowy place, white all around the both of you, a pretty snowflake on the tip of your nose. That wasn’t what caught her eye, heavens no, someone as boring and.. average as you could never even hold a candle to her.

But, your boyfriend. His pretty pink lips pressed up against your cheek, a soft flush spreading over his pale cheeks, his skin almost as white as the snow around him. She stared at his lips for what felt like hours, she saw how the corners of his mouth quirked up into a little smile, obviously enjoying the moment of tenderness with you.

Roma shut off her phone, throwing it on her bed as she got up, peeling her past boy toy’s hoodie off her body.

She had seen that you were going out today, you had posted a photo of yourself at a mall. That must be your activity for today.

She went through her closet, her hands moving across different articles of clothing with distinct colors, textures and patterns.

She picked out an off shoulder top and some skin tight bootcut jeans, golden jewelry decorating her soft skin.

Roma looked at herself in the mirror, her makeup was perfect. Alluring, sexy and refined. She smiled a little, running her tongue over her carmine red lips.

The shopping center was filled with people, full but not the point it would feel uncomfortable or stuffy. You latched onto Alejandro’s arm, cheek pressed against his shoulder as the both of you navigated the mall.

He gazed down at you for a moment, he could stare at you until his eyes dried up and he went blind, it wasn’t even a challenge for him, he would do it without a protest as if it was just another day.

He sighed contentedly, this was perfect, the perfect moment with you. He nuzzled against your head, inhaling the scent of your shampoo.

You pointed and awed at different things, whether it was an item of clothing, a book or a cute plushie. The male added each item to his mental list of items he would get you this weekend.

It was all fine, all was well until someone approached you, slightly taller than you, not quite reaching his height though.

“Oh my god! Is that my little (Y/N)?” A sultry voice called out, moving closer to the both of you.

You furrowed your brows for a moment, arms letting go from your boyfriend to wrap around yourself subconsciously.

You didn’t even notice but someone else did, the man accompanying you did. His eyes narrowed in thought, something was wrong.

..Was it that woman?

“O-Oh.. Hey, Roma!..” You strained a smile, your own hands rubbing your elbow gently.

Roma smiled cunningly, noticing how your body language was closed. How she loved that look on you, that insecurity made her strive.

“And who is this?~” she purred, leaning closer to your partner, licking her lips suggestively, her long eyelashes fluttering.

Holy shit, this was your significant other? How were you even able to pull him?

Behind thin silver frames, eyes like ruby gems peered down at her, silky hair draping over one shoulder, the slightest intimidating tilt of his head telling her to stay at a distance.

Alejandro was not impressed, his arm curled into the inside your bicep, hugging your arm close to his chest.

He subtly raised a brow. He hadn’t ever heard of her, but he did see that you scrolled on her page once in a while, although all she ever posted was her body in clothing you can barely consider as decent one.

“Uh. This is Alejandro, my boyfr—“

“Husband. I’m her Husband.” Alejandro cut you off sharply, nails gently pressing into your skin.

“..Is that so?” Rome asked, well this was even better! He had done his vows, wouldn’t it be wonderful if he were to break them with your own ‘best friend’?

“You wouldn’t mind if I joined you both would you?” The pretty girl smiled innocently, wedging herself between the two of you, nails indiscreetly raking down his forearm to the back of his hand, her long fingers ghosting over his veins.

“Yes, we would mind.” Alejandro immediately responded, not taking even a moment to think it over, snatching his arm away as if he had been burned by fire.

You frowned, knowing that this moment would come, Roma always had this habit of being a home wrecker. But it seemed that your partner didn’t even bat an eyelash her way, completely uninterested and repulsed.

He moved to your side, grabbing your hand forcefully and pressing it on his waist, his arm rested on your shoulder.

He glared at Roma with disgust, did she not get the fucking hint?

The woman was not affected though, so he was a mean one? God, that just made her panties wet.

The three of you walked about, a cycle going on and on, Roma trying to openly flirt with Alejandro, him saying something absolutely awful to her, then clinging on to you. The cycle went on and on.

You were on the verge of tears, this was supposed to be a fun day out with the man you loved but it had been spoiled by your worst enemy.

You had begun to feel that burning sensation in the back of your throat, the corners of your lips beginning to twitch.

“I-I’m going to go to the bathroom, I’ll be right back.” You squeaked out, finally sniffing as you brought your hand up to press against your mouth and nose.

The obsessed man began to chase after you like a lost puppy following its master, however he was stopped as a certain flirtatious woman appeared, hugging his mid section, full breasts pressed against his back.

If he had a knife with him right now, he would have impelled it right between her eyes.

He almost bashed her head into the wall next to him as he realized that she had no bra on, feeling the prick of her nipples against his lower back.

“Let go of me you insolent bitch.” He snarled, elbowing her in the side roughly, trying not to make a scene in public.

She giggled, as if not having heard him. Holding her hands up in mock surrender. Was he like this in bed too? Oh how she couldn’t wait until she had him under the sheets.

You wiped your tears, knees hugged against your chest as you hiccuped tears out.

This was not fair, just when you had something going for you, that woman had to swoop in and ruin it for you.

She had everything always, ever since the two of you were girls she had always been the better one, she had developed early and like a beautiful blooming flower, you still didn’t even know if you had developed at your big age.

You flinched as you heard a soft knock on your stall door, the soft but deep voice of your boyfriend softly speaking to you.

“Sweetheart.. I’m sorry this happened, I understand why you’re upset. I..I am trying my best to keep your friend in check, but I know it’s hard for you to see her hitting on me. It’s frankly irritating me too. Can you please open the door?”

You gently pushed the stall door open, wiping your eyes with your sleeve, not waiting a minute more, you ran into his arms, hugging him tightly.

Alejandro sighed softly, wrapping his arms tightly around you, “Awh.. poor baby..” He cooed, gently smoothing down your hair and placing a chaste kiss on the crown of your head.

His hands found your face, gently cupping his hands around your cheeks as he raised your head with them. His thumbs gently brushing against the drying tear streaks along your apple of your cheeks.

“Look at me.” He whispered lovingly, tilting your head up to meet his eyes.

“I love you so much. You know that. I love you so damn much I wouldn’t think twice about burning this place down to the ground.” He offered a sweet smile, something only reserved for you.

Your hands came up to cup over his own that were gently holding your face, wrapping around his bigger ones.

“I have never seen you jealous. I don’t want you to be, that’s my job. Believe me that I would never, never ever in a lifetime betray you with anyone, not even if I was dying.”

His hands dragged yours down, to wrap around his waist.

“I am yours.” He quietly uttered, only for your ears to hear.

“My body is yours.”

“All yours.” He whispered, dragging your hands lower to his hips “This is yours.”

Then shifting them higher to his chest, closing your hands over his pectorals. “This is yours.”

Finally, he put your hands over his heart, his heartbeat pounding under your hand firmly, steady, controlled, at ease.

“And most importantly, my heart is yours.” He said louder, closing his eyes for a moment, a soft blush reddening his cheekbones.

His arms embraced you again, pressing you so hard against his own body you might think he was trying to mold your bodies into one.

“Let’s go home, okay?” He interlaced his fingers with yours, gently pulling you out of the bathroom and into the corridor.

He glanced down at you, gently bumping his hip closer to yours, you were a sensitive little thing, now he knew that.

He thought all his rivals had been eliminated, however a slimy worm had slipped between his fingers.

Alejandro needed a new method of extermination.

He had found a shiny red axe under a bed, brand new and gleaming under the light ominously.

Now Alejandro has a new Roma shaped target to try out too.

@madam8 Hey!!! I saw your ask and wanted to answer it so here you go!!! It’s brief but I hope I wrote your ask in an okay way!!

#dividers by enchanthings #yandere x reader #smilesyanderes #yandere #male yandere #male yandere x reader #fem reader #gn reader #gender neutral reader #smilesanswers #yandere male #yandere tendencies #yandere x darling #alejandroposting #yandere blog #yancore #yandere community #╰┈➤ 𝒮𝑀𝐼𝐿𝐸𝒮. 𝒜𝒩𝒮𝒲𝐸𝑅𝒮 ᛝ

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kole-cooler · 4 months ago

Text

Take it or Leave it

Shin Yuna x male reader

word count: 9K

It’s Friday night, and the week’s been a grind—exams looming, group projects sucking the life out of you, the usual college chaos. Your phone’s been buzzing on and off with Yuna’s texts all day, starting with some dumb meme about a cat in a wig, then escalating to her dropping flirty little jabs like “u surviving without me or what?” You play along, firing back with your own sarcastic quips, but deep down, it’s gnawing at you. The way she struts across campus like you’re a ghost, not even a flicker of eye contact when her squad’s around, it’s like you’re her dirty little secret. And yeah, maybe you are. Four months of this shit—her sneaking over, the two of you tangled up in your sheets—and still, you’re nothing to her out there. But tonight, she’s coming over again, and your stomach’s already twisting, half from want, half from dread.

The doorbell chimes, and there she is, bursting through the frame like she owns the place, her voice spilling out before the door’s even shut. “Oh my god, you won’t believe what Chaeryeong said to me today—she’s so extra, I can’t,” she’s rattling on, tossing her bag onto your couch like it’s her second home. You catch a good look at her, and fuck, she’s dialed it up tonight. She’s wearing this black satin slip dress, short enough that it’s riding the line between bold and reckless, the hem cutting off mid-thigh to show off those legs that could kill a man. The fabric’s got this subtle shimmer, clinging to her slim waist and flaring out over her hips—those wide, perfect hips that you’ve memorized by now. A cropped leather jacket’s slung over her shoulders, unzipped, giving it that effortless cool-girl edge, and underneath, the dress dips low, a little lace trim peeking out where it teases her chest. Her hair’s loose, dark waves spilling down her back, and she’s got these chunky silver hoops glinting when she moves. It’s sexy as hell, provocative without trying too hard, but chic enough that she could pull it off anywhere. She’s a walking Instagram post, and she knows it.

She spins around mid-sentence, all that energy zeroing in on you, and before you can blink, she’s bounding over, arms outstretched like she’s about to pull you into her orbit. Her lips are glossy, puckered for that kiss she always lands on you the second she walks in—half playful, half claiming. But tonight, you don’t budge. You just stand there, hands shoved in your pockets, jaw tight, letting her momentum crash into your stillness. Her lips hover an inch from yours, and you see the flicker of confusion in her eyes when you don’t lean in. She pulls back a little, tilting her head like a puppy who’s been denied a treat. “What’s up with you?” she says, half-laughing. You take a breath, feeling the weight of everything you’ve been swallowing for weeks piling up in your chest. “Yuna, we need to talk,” you say, voice low but steady, and her whole vibe shifts—she steps back, crossing her arms under that damn dress, her jacket sliding off one shoulder, and she’s staring at you now, lips parted, waiting for the bomb you’re about to drop.

“Maybe we should just stop seeing each other,” you say, letting the words drop like a brick on the hardwood floor. She freezes, her arms still crossed, that leather jacket slipping further down her shoulder. “What?” she says, voice spiking with disbelief. You shift your weight, rubbing the back of your neck, and say it again, slower this time, “I think we should stop this, Yuna. Whatever this is.” Her brows knit together, and she steps closer, heels clicking on the floor—she’s still got those strappy sandals with heels on, the ones that tie up her calves like she’s some goddess descending from Olympus. “Why the hell would you say that?” she asks, and her tone’s sharp now, like she’s daring you to keep going.

So you do. You let it all spill out, raw and messy, like you’ve been holding it in too long and the dam’s finally busted. “Because I’m sick of feeling like shit, okay? At college, you act like I don’t exist—like I’m some random dude you barely know. I’m busting my ass with these classes, trying to keep up, and then there’s you, waltzing around with your crew, pretending I’m not even on your radar. But here? In my apartment? It’s all good, right? You’re all over me, and I’m supposed to just be cool with that split? Nah, it’s fucking with me.” She blinks, lips parting like she’s about to interrupt, but you push on. “I’m starting to feel like you’re embarrassed to be seen with me—like I’m some loser you’d never admit to touching. It’s like I’m just your little plaything you pull out when you’re bored or horny, and I’m done with it.” Your chest’s heaving by the end, and you can feel the heat creeping up your neck, but it’s out now, no taking it back.

Yuna’s staring at you, and for a second, you think she might actually get it. But then she rolls her eyes, tossing her hair back with a little huff. “Oh my god, chill out. This is just a casual thing—we’re not dating, you know that. Why are you catching feelings over something that’s not even serious?” She uncrosses her arms, gesturing with her hands like she’s trying to wave your words away. “I’m not embarrassed of you. I just don’t see why it’s a big deal.” You laugh, but it’s bitter, hollow. “Not a big deal? Yuna, it’s not simple for me. I can’t just switch it off like you do. And yeah, maybe you’re not embarrassed, but it sure as hell feels that way when you won’t even look at me in public. Like that time I came up to you when you were with your friends—middle of the quad, broad daylight—and I asked about the project? You brushed me off, said, ‘Text me about it,’ and walked off without a second glance. Didn’t even introduce me, didn’t even pretend I was worth a damn to you. I felt like a fucking idiot.”

Her face shifts—she remembers that day, you can tell by the way her lips twitch, but she doubles down anyway. “I’ve always treated you fine! I come over, we hang out, we have fun. I don’t get why you’re making this a thing.” She’s pacing now, sandals clicking again, her dress swishing with every step. You shake your head, leaning against the counter to steady yourself. “If it’s not a thing, then why can’t you talk to me out there? Why’s it always gotta be this secret shit? I’m telling you, it’s better if we end it here. You can find some other guy to mess around with—someone who’s cool with being your shadow.” That flips a switch in her. Her eyes narrow, and she stops pacing, planting herself right in front of you. “Oh, please,” she snaps. “You’re the one who’s pissed because I won’t parade you around like some trophy. What, you think I’m using you? Maybe you’re the one chasing me, trying to ride my coattails because I’m popular and you’re—what—just some nerd who got lucky?”

You can’t help it—you laugh again, loud and sharp, cutting through her bullshit. “That’s rich, Yuna. Yeah, I’m totally the one taking advantage here. I’m the one sneaking over to your place, right? Oh wait, no, that’s you.” She glares, cheeks flushing pink, and you can tell she’s not used to this—being called out, being rejected. She steps closer, voice dropping low. “You’re ruining my night, you know that? I was so pumped to come over, kick back, watch that stupid horror movie you’ve been on about. I even brought snacks—those sour gummy worms you like.” She points at her bag on the couch, like that’s supposed to fix everything. You smirk, leaning in a little. “Yeah, and you were also pumped to fuck me, right? That’s the routine—movie, snacks, then you’re climbing on top of me like clockwork.” Her jaw drops, and she looks genuinely offended, hand flying to her chest. “Wow, rude much? It’s not like you’re complaining in the moment—you’re just as into it as I am!”

And that’s the kicker. The way she moves, the way she tastes, the little gasps she lets out when you’ve got her pinned under you—it’s like a hit of something strong, something you can’t shake. “Yeah, I am,” you admit, voice quieter now, “and that’s the problem. It’s too good, Yuna. You’re too good. It’s like a drug, and I’m hooked, and that’s why I’ve gotta cut it off before I’m in too deep.” She stares at you, lips parted, and for once, she doesn’t have a comeback ready.

The silence stretches out for a beat too long, and then Yuna’s voice cuts through it, soft and low. “Okay, fine… if that’s how you feel, then this’ll be the last time.” She’s looking at you with those big, dark eyes, and there’s something in them—maybe a flicker of hurt, maybe just stubbornness—but it’s enough to make your stomach twist. You shake your head, leaning back against the counter, hands gripping the edge. “Nah, Yuna, I don’t think that’s a good idea. We’re trying to end this, not drag it out.” She steps closer, her sandals clicking softly, and her voice firms up, sharper now, like she’s made up her mind. “No, listen—I’m here, right? I didn’t haul ass across town for nothing. Let’s make it the last fuck, then. One more, just to say goodbye proper.” She’s right in front of you now, close enough that you can smell her perfume—and it’s hitting you hard, stirring up that familiar ache.

She reaches out, her fingers brushing your chest through your shirt, light but deliberate, and it’s like a jolt straight to your core. You clench your jaw, trying to hold your ground, keeping your hands locked on the counter so you don’t give in and grab her. “Come on,” she murmurs, leaning in, her lips hovering near your ear, breath warm against your skin. “Please, I know you want it too. Don’t make me beg.” Her hand slides lower, grazing your stomach, and your resolve’s crumbling fast. You sigh, loud and ragged, and before you can stop yourself, your hands are on her hips, pulling her closer. “Fuck it,” you mutter, voice rough, “this is the last time, Yuna. The farewell fuck, that’s it.” She’s already nodding, her lips crashing into yours, hungry and messy, and between kisses she’s gasping, “Yeah, last time, promise.” You’re tugging that leather jacket off her shoulders, letting it hit the floor with a soft thud, and she’s pressing herself against you, all heat and curves.

You stumble toward the couch, half-guiding, half-dragging her, and she’s giggling—low and breathy. You collapse onto the cushions, pulling her down with you, and she lands on your lap, straddling you for a split second before you roll her under you. Your mouth’s on her neck, kissing and nipping at that soft spot just below her jaw, and she lets out this little sigh—half moan, half surrender—that sends a shiver down your spine. Your hands slide up her sides, finding her small, perky tits through that satin dress, squeezing just enough to make her arch into you. “Goddamn, you’re too much,” you mutter against her skin, and she laughs, tugging at your shirt. You pause, sitting up to yank it over your head, and her eyes rake over you—chest, abs, the whole deal. “You’re so fucking hot,” she says, grinning, reaching out to run her nails lightly down your stomach. It’s cheesy as hell, but it still gets you—except tonight, you’re not in the mood for her commentary.

��Shut up,” you say, diving back in to kiss her hard, swallowing whatever smartass reply she’s got lined up. Your tongue’s in her mouth, and she’s melting under you, but then she pulls back just enough to whisper, “Gonna be tough—I can’t keep quiet when you’re fucking me. You know you love it when I get loud.” She’s right, and that’s the problem—her voice, those little gasps and whines, they’ve got hooks in you, and tonight you need this to be clean, primal, no strings. “Then I’ll keep your mouth busy,” you shoot back, smirking, and you shift off her, sitting up. “Get on your knees.” She doesn’t hesitate, sliding off the couch with this wicked little gleam in her eyes. Before she drops, she reaches down, shimmying that black satin dress up over her head in one smooth motion—leaving her in just a lacy black thong and those sandals still strapped around her ankles. The sight of her—tan skin, curves bare and glowing in the low light—almost knocks the air out of you.

You’re on your feet now, kicking off your jeans and boxers in a rush, and your cock springs free, already hard as hell, aching from just the thought of her. She’s kneeling in front of you, looking up with that mix of defiance and want that’s pure Yuna, her hair spilling over her shoulders, framing her face. “Last time, huh?” she says, voice teasing, but there’s a tremble in it—like she’s feeling the weight of it too. You don’t answer, just step closer, and she reaches for you, her fingers brushing your length before you tangle a hand in her hair, guiding her where you want her. The room’s quiet except for the hum of the fridge and the sound of your breathing, and you know this is it—the final hit of her before you try to quit cold turkey.

You’re standing there, one hand still tangled in her dark hair, the other gripping the back of the couch for balance, and you look down at her—kneeling, bare except for that skimpy thong and bra—and you can’t help but feel the weight of this moment. “Memorize it good, Yuna,” you say, voice rough, edged with something raw. “This is the last time you’re getting anywhere near my cock, so make it count, 'cause you're gonna miss it.” Her eyes flick up to meet yours, and there’s this spark in them—part challenge, part hunger—and fuck, it’s like pouring gas on a fire. She doesn’t say anything right away, just leans in closer, and you feel her breath hot against your skin as she drags her nose along the length of you, inhaling deep like she’s savoring it. Then her tongue darts out, slow and deliberate, tracing from the base all the way up to the tip, leaving a wet streak that’s got your knees twitching. She’s kissing it now—soft, teasing little pecks along the shaft, down to your balls, where she lingers, sucking gently, and it’s so damn good you have to bite the inside of your cheek to keep from groaning too loud. The way she’s working you, it’s like she’s putting on a show just for you, and it’s flipping every switch in your brain.

She pulls back for a second, lips shiny, and smirks up at you. “Goddamn, I’m gonna miss this cock so much,” she says, her voice all husky and low, like she’s confessing some deep, dirty secret. “It’s my favorite, you know? Perfect size, perfect everything. Gonna be a crime not having it anymore.” She’s laying it on thick, and you’re caught between rolling your eyes and getting lost in it because, shit, she knows exactly how to play you. Her hands are on you now, one wrapped around the base, stroking slow while her tongue flicks over the tip, and you can’t tell if she’s for real or just fucking with you to keep you hooked. Either way, it’s working—your dick’s throbbing, and every little move she makes is winding you up tighter. Then she takes you into her mouth, full-on, lips sliding down until you’re hitting the back of her throat, and it’s so wet and warm and tight that your head tips back, a low curse slipping out before you can stop it. There’s nothing in the world like watching her suck you off—those pink lips stretched around you, her cheeks hollowing out, the little slurping sounds she makes like she’s starving for it.

She’s bobbing her head now, steady and deep, but then she pulls off just enough to talk, her hand still pumping you, keeping the rhythm. “You know,” she says, voice muffled around you, “I was so fucking jealous when Yeji dropped that bomb about hooking up with you. Just casual, like, ‘Oh yeah, that guy you doing the project with? We fucked at that party.’ Like it was nothing.” She’s licking you again, long, slow stripes, and her eyes don’t leave yours, like she’s daring you to react. “And then she started going on about your dick—how big it was, how she couldn’t believe I hadn’t jumped you yet. I was standing there, fuming, thinking, ‘No way this bitch gets to have him and I don’t.’ So I made my move—stole you right out from under her nose before she could even think about round two.” She laughs a little, soft and smug, then sinks back down, taking you deep again, and you feel her throat flex around you. “Yeji was cool about it, though—she’s a real one. Said she wasn’t gonna fight me over some guy. Lucky for me, huh?”

You’re barely processing her words, caught up in the heat of her mouth and the way she’s working you like she’s trying to etch herself into your memory. But it’s too much—her voice, her story, the way it’s all tangled up with how you feel. “Shut up, Yuna,” you growl, tightening your grip in her hair, pushing her back down. “Just keep sucking.” She hums around you, obedient for once, and dives back in, harder this time, her tongue swirling over the tip every time she pulls up, her hand twisting in this perfect rhythm that’s got your head spinning. You can see her thighs pressed together, like she’s getting off on this as much as you are, and it’s driving you wild—the idea that she’s this into it, that she’s claiming you in her own fucked-up way. Her cheeks are flushed, and she’s making these soft, needy noises that hit you right in the gut. You’re not sure what’s true anymore—whether she’s really gonna miss you or if she’s just spinning a line—but right now, with her on her knees, worshipping your cock like it’s the last time, you don’t give a shit.

Yuna’s relentless, her mouth working you like she’s got something to prove, and she’s not letting up with the dirty talk either. She pulls off for a second, just enough to catch her breath, and she’s grinning up at you, spit glistening on her lips, her tongue flicking out to tease the tip of your cock. “You like this, don’t you?” she purrs, voice all sultry and rough. “Me down here, choking on you, making a fucking mess of myself.” It’s obscene, how perfect she is, all that polished campus-queen vibe turned into something cheap and nasty just for you. “Look at you,” you say, voice low and biting, “you look like a fucking slut right now.” It’s harsh, but it’s true, and you mean every word.

Her eyes light up at that, like you’ve just paid her a compliment, and she lets out this wicked little laugh. “Then I’m your slut,” she shoots back, leaning in to kiss the underside of your cock, slow and sloppy, leaving a trail of spit that drips down to her chest. “Yours to fuck however you want.” She’s baiting you, and she knows it—knows how her words twist you up, how they make you want to give in and let her have it all. But she’s pushing too far, talking too much, and you’re not about to let her take control of this. You need her quiet, need to shut that pretty mouth up before she worms her way deeper into your head. So you grab a fistful of her hair—those silky waves bunching up in your hand—and yank her forward, hard. “Enough talking,” you growl, and then you’re shoving your cock back into her mouth, past those glossy lips, all the way until you feel her throat clench around you.

She gags a little at first, eyes watering, but she doesn’t pull back—fuck no, she leans into it, like she’s been waiting for you to snap. You start thrusting, rough and fast, holding her head steady so she’s got no choice but to take it. Her hands fly up to your thighs, nails digging in, and the sounds she’s making—wet, choked little moans vibrating around you—are pure sin. You’re moaning too, can’t help it, because her mouth’s a fucking dream—hot and tight, that tongue still trying to swirl around you even as you’re pounding into her. “Yeah, that’s it,” you mutter, voice ragged, “take it like you love it.” And she does—she’s a mess now, mascara streaking down her cheeks, lips swollen and red, spit slicking her chin, and it’s so goddamn satisfying to see her like this. That perfect, pampered face—always so untouchable at college, always too good for the likes of you—getting ruined, all because she can’t get enough of your cock.

Her bra’s slipping, one strap falling off her shoulder, and her tits are bouncing just enough to drive you crazy as you keep up the pace. She’s trying to say something, muffled words garbled around you, but you don’t let up—don’t want to hear it, don’t need her sweet-talking her way out of this. “Fuck your face feels good,” you groan, tightening your grip in her hair, and she whimpers, eyes fluttering shut like she’s lost in it. You can feel the heat building, that tight coil in your gut winding up fast, but you’re not ready to blow yet—not until you’ve pushed her as far as she can go. She’s drooling now, a steady stream of spit spilling down onto the floor, and the sight of her like that—kneeling, wrecked, totally at your mercy—has your head spinning. “Look at you,” you pant, slowing just enough to let her catch a ragged breath, “fucking gorgeous and filthy all at once. Bet your fancy friends wouldn’t believe it, huh?” She tries to nod, or maybe it’s a gag, but you’re already moving again, slamming back into her throat, the rhythm of your hips relentless as you fuck Yuna’s face, no holding back, no mercy—just raw, animal need driving every thrust.

Her mouth’s a perfect mess around you, wet and tight, and she’s choking on your cock, little gags and sputters escaping every time you push in deep. Those big, dark eyes lock onto yours, watering like crazy, tears pooling at the corners and streaking down her cheeks, but she’s not backing off—she’s taking it, every brutal inch, like she’s daring you to keep going. Her mascara’s a disaster, black smudges framing her gaze, and her lips are swollen, stretched wide around you, spit dripping down her chin in sloppy strings. “Fuck, you’re such a slut,” you grunt, voice rough and low, and it just spills out—you can’t stop it, not when she’s looking up at you like that, wrecked and willing. She moans around you, a muffled little hum that vibrates through your cock, and it’s like she’s agreeing, reveling in the name.

Your hand tightens in her hair, fingers twisting into those dark waves, and you pull hard, angling her just right so you can slam even deeper. Her throat’s convulsing around you, squeezing every time you hit the back, and the sound—wet, messy, obscene—fills the room, mixing with your own ragged breathing. “Yeah, choke on it,” you mutter, half to yourself, half to her, and she does, her eyes fluttering shut for a second as she gags hard, but then they snap back open, fixed on you again, like she’s begging you to see her take it. You’re moaning louder now, can’t help it—low, guttural sounds ripping out of you because her mouth’s so fucking perfect, so hot and sloppy, and the sight of her like this—kneeling, ruined, all that campus-princess polish stripped away—is pushing you right to the edge. “Love this, don’t you?” you pant, thrusting harder, feeling the pleasure coil tight in your gut. “Love me fucking your pretty little face.” She can’t answer, not with you buried in her throat, but her hands grip your thighs, nails biting into your skin, and that’s enough.

You go deeper, as deep as you can, your cock lodged so far down her throat you’re sure she can barely breathe. Her whole body jerks with each thrust, tits bouncing in that flimsy bra, heels digging into the floor like she’s bracing herself. You’re close—fuck, you’re so close—and you can feel it building, that hot, electric rush surging up your spine. “Gonna cum,” you groan, voice breaking, and she makes this desperate little noise, eyes pleading even as they water more. You thrust once, twice, then hold her there—head yanked back by her hair, your cock shoved all the way in—and you let go. You cum hard, pulsing deep in her throat, thick and hot, and she’s choking, coughing around you, but she doesn’t pull away. She swallows it all, every drop, like the good little slut she said she’d be, her throat working against you as you empty yourself into her. It’s intense, almost too much, and your legs are shaking as you ride it out, keeping her there, softening in her mouth while she struggles to keep up.

Without even thinking, your hand loosens in her hair, and you start stroking it—gentle, absentminded, like some weird reflex kicking in while you’re still coming down. She’s trembling, chest heaving, and you finally pull out, slow and deliberate, your cock slipping free with a wet pop. Yuna gasps, gulping air like she’s been underwater, panting hard as she slumps back on her heels. Her face is a total fucking wreck—mascara streaked down to her jaw, lipstick smeared, spit and cum glistening on her chin—and it’s gorgeous in the most fucked-up way. You grab a handful of tissues from the coffee table, crouching down in front of her, and start wiping her face, soft and careful, tracing over the mess you made. “You okay?” you ask, quieter now, a little worried you went too far. She looks up at you, still catching her breath, and then she smiles—weak at first, then breaking into this raspy little laugh. “I’m fine,” she says, voice hoarse, “just… gimme a sec to breathe, yeah?”

You nod, standing up and dropping onto the couch, your own chest still heaving as you try to recover. She crawls over after a minute, still in that bra and thong, heels clicking faintly as she moves, and plops down next to you, snuggling in close. Her skin’s warm against yours, her head tucking into your shoulder, and it’s weird—soft and intimate after all that roughness. “Can I crash here tonight?” she asks, voice small, almost shy. You hesitate, rubbing a hand over your face. “I dunno, Yuna. Not sure that’s smart.” She shifts, propping herself up to look at you, her hair falling messy over one eye. “Come on, it’s the last time, right? One night won’t kill us. Be nice to just… chill, y’know? After all this.” She’s got a point, and you’re too wiped to argue hard. You sigh, slumping back into the cushions. “Fine, yeah, okay. Just tonight.” She grins, snuggling back in, her body curling against yours like she’s already settled, and you’re left staring at the ceiling, trying not to think about everything that's happening right now.

Her body shifts, warm and soft against yours, and before you can fully register it, her lips are on you—slow, lazy kisses trailing across your chest, her breath hot against your skin. Her hand slides down your stomach, fingers brushing over your softening cock, and she gives it a gentle squeeze, coaxing it back to life. “Gonna miss this so fucking much,” she murmurs, her voice low and husky, lips hovering near your collarbone as she strokes you slow and steady. You feel that familiar twitch, the heat creeping back in, and you can’t help but let out a quiet, “Yeah, me too,” your voice rougher than you mean it to be. It’s true—she’s got you hooked, and even if this is supposed to be the end, the thought of not having her like this again stings more than you’d admit.

She pauses, her hand still wrapped around you, and looks up, those dark eyes narrowing just a bit. “This isn’t about Yeji, is it?” she asks, and there’s an edge to her tone—like she’s fishing for something, testing you. You shake your head, meeting her gaze dead-on. “Nah, Yuna. It’s just you. All this shit—it’s about you, not her.” She doesn’t say anything for a second, and you can’t tell if she’s pissed or pleased—maybe both. Her lips part like she’s about to snap back, but instead, she crashes her mouth into yours, hard and needy, kissing you like she’s trying to prove a point. It’s all teeth and tongue, messy and desperate, and your hands are on her before you can think, fumbling with the clasp of her bra. It’s one of those flimsy lace things, and you get it undone in a snap, letting it fall to the floor as her tits spill free—small, perfect, begging to be touched. She’s stroking you faster now, and your cock’s fully hard again, pulsing in her grip, ready for round two.

You pull back from the kiss, both of you breathing heavy, and she’s got this wild little smirk, like she knows she’s got you right where she wants you. “Fuck the couch,” you mutter, grabbing her by the hips and hauling her up with you. She lets out a surprised little yelp, but it turns into a laugh as you spin her around, pushing her toward the wall by the kitchen. Her hands brace against it, palms flat, and she arches her back, sticking her ass out like an invitation. You’re right behind her, pressing up against her, your cock nudging her thong to the side—no time to take it off, no patience for it. “Goddamn, you’re unreal,” you say, voice low in her ear as you line yourself up, feeling how wet she is already, slick and hot against you. She shivers, tossing a look over her shoulder. “Just fuck me already,” she says, half-pleading, half-demanding, and you don’t need to be told twice.

You slide in, slow at first, just the tip, teasing her until she’s pushing back against you, desperate for more. Then you thrust hard, burying yourself deep, and she gasps—loud, sharp, echoing off the walls. “Fuck, yes,” she moans, her voice breaking as you start moving, pounding into her from behind. Her hips rock back to meet you, matching your rhythm, and the sound of skin slapping skin fills the room, raw and filthy. You’ve got one hand on her waist, the other gripping her shoulder, pulling her into every thrust, and she’s taking it all, her body trembling but holding steady. “Miss this too much,” she pants, her words choppy between gasps, “your cock—fuck, it’s so good.” You smirk, leaning in to nip at her neck, tasting the salt of her skin. “Told you I’d miss it,” you say, driving deeper, feeling her tighten around you, hot and perfect. “But this is it, Yuna—last fucking time.”

She doesn’t answer, just moans louder, her nails scraping the wall as you fuck her harder, the pace brutal now, chasing that edge again. Her thong’s bunched to the side, cutting into her skin, and those heels make her legs look endless, trembling every time you slam into her. You reach around, sliding a hand down her stomach, fingers brushing her clit, and she jolts like you’ve shocked her, a high-pitched whine spilling out. “Shit, right there,” she gasps, head tipping back against your shoulder, and you keep it up, rubbing tight circles while you pound her, her whole body shaking. “You’re such a dick,” she mutters, but it’s breathy, almost a laugh, like she’s loving every second of this. “Yeah, but you love it,” you shoot back, voice strained, feeling the pressure build again, your cock throbbing inside her.

You’re deep in it now, hips slamming into Yuna’s tight little pussy with a rhythm that’s borderline feral, every thrust rocking her against the wall like you’re trying to leave a permanent mark. She’s so fucking wet—dripping, slick, the sound of it loud and obscene every time you drive in, her thong still shoved to the side and soaked through. You can feel her squeezing around you, hot and greedy, pulling you in like she can’t get enough, and it’s got your head spinning, every nerve lit up. She’s moaning your name now, over and over, her voice all high and desperate—“Fuck, yes, harder, please”—and it’s like gasoline on the fire, making you want to wreck her even more. Her heels scrape the floor as she tries to brace herself, legs trembling, but you’re not giving her an inch to recover. This is too good, too raw, and you’re not stopping until she’s completely undone.

You shift your grip, grabbing both her arms and yanking them back, pinning them behind her with one hand. It’s rough, controlling, and she fucking loves it—you can tell by the way her back arches even more, her ass pushing out to meet you, giving you full access to pound her harder. “Oh my god, yes,” she gasps, her head tipping back, hair sticking to her sweaty neck, and you’ve got her totally at your mercy now, her body bending to your will. Her tits bounce free with every slam, small and perky, and the sight of her like this—helpless, pinned, taking it like a champ—sends a jolt straight through you. “You like that, huh?” you growl, leaning in close, your breath hot against her ear. “Me holding you down, fucking you senseless?” She nods, frantic, her breath hitching. “Fuck yeah, I love it—don’t stop, don’t you fucking stop.”

You tighten your hold on her arms, pulling her back harder so her spine curves just right, and you can hit that spot that makes her go wild. “Look at you,” you say, voice dripping with heat, “taking my cock like a good little slut—fucking perfect.” She whimpers at that, a shaky little sound that’s half pleasure, half surrender, and you can feel her pussy clench tighter, like she’s trying to milk you dry. The wall’s creaking under the pressure, her hands flexing where you’ve got them trapped, nails digging into her own palms. “Shit, you’re so deep,” she pants, her voice breaking, “ruining me—fucking ruining me.” And you grin, wicked and sharp, because that’s exactly what you want—to leave her a mess, to make sure she feels this long after you’re done.

Your free hand slides up her side, rough and possessive, gripping her waist, then her tit, squeezing hard enough to make her hiss. “This tight pussy’s all mine right now,” you mutter, slamming in again, watching her shake with it. “Nobody else gets you like this—nobody.” She moans louder, a slutty little “uh-huh” slipping out, and you can tell she’s losing it, her whole body trembling, thighs quivering like they might give out. You let go of her arms for a second—just long enough to grab her hips with both hands, spinning her around so her back’s flat against the wall, her legs instinctively wrapping around you. She’s panting, eyes half-lidded, lips parted and shiny with spit, and you dive back in, thrusting deep, her arms looping around your neck to hold on. “Fuck me up,” she whispers, right in your ear, hot and needy, “make me feel it tomorrow.”

You’re pounding her so hard the wall’s rattling, her heels digging into your back, urging you on, and she’s clawing at your shoulders now, nails leaving red streaks that sting just enough to keep you sharp. “You’re so fucking hot like this,” you say, voice rough and strained, “all desperate and slutty—can’t get enough of my cock, can you?” She shakes her head, frantic, her breath catching every time you bottom out. “No, fuck, I can’t—feels too good, gonna—shit, gonna lose it.” Her pussy’s gripping you like a vise, tight and wet and perfect, and you can feel the pressure building again, that hot, heavy pull in your gut. But you’re not there yet—not ready to let go—so you slow it down just a notch, grinding into her deep and deliberate, making her feel every inch. “Take it slow, baby,” you tease, smirking against her neck as you nip at her skin, “let me fuck you proper—gonna savor this tight little cunt while I’ve still got it.”

She’s whimpering now, clinging to you, her hips rolling to meet every thrust, and the way she’s pressed against you—sweaty, shaking, totally fucked out—is driving you wild. “You’re such an asshole,” she gasps, but there’s a grin in her voice, like she loves you for it. “Yeah, but you’re still begging for it,” you shoot back, picking up the pace again, slamming her into the wall so hard her breath stutters. “Fuck, Yuna, you’re killing me—gonna miss this pussy so bad.” And she just nods, too gone to argue, her moans turning into these broken little cries that hit you right in the chest, pushing you closer to the edge but still holding off, determined to drag this out as long as you can.

You’ve got Yuna pinned against the wall, her body trembling under you, legs hooked tight around your waist as you keep hammering into her. Her pussy’s so tight it’s unreal, gripping you like a vice, all hot and slick, and she’s losing it—moaning your name in these broken, needy little gasps that make your blood burn. You’re relentless, hips snapping hard, driving your cock deep with every thrust, and she’s taking it like she was made for it, her nails clawing at your back, leaving raw streaks that sting in the best way. “Fuck, you feel so good,” you growl against her ear, nipping at her lobe, and she shudders, her breath hitching as you hit that spot inside her that makes her whole body tense. “Yeah, right there,” she whines, voice all slutty and desperate, “don’t stop—please, don’t fucking stop.” Her submissiveness is killing you, the way she’s begging, totally at your mercy, and you’re loving every second of ruining her like this.

You shift your grip, one hand digging into her hip, the other sliding up to squeeze her tit, thumb flicking over her hard nipple. “Look at you,” you say, voice rough and thick with lust, “such a needy little slut—my big cock’s wrecking you, huh?” She nods, frantic, her eyes half-lidded and glossy, lips parted as she pants, “Yes, fuck, yes—wreck me, please.” You smirk, leaning in to kiss her hard, sloppy, tongues clashing as you pound her harder, the wall thudding with every slam. Her pussy’s dripping down your cock, soaking you, and the wet slap of your bodies colliding is loud enough to fill the whole damn apartment. She’s close—you can feel it in the way her walls flutter, the way her moans turn into these high-pitched whimpers, her thighs starting to shake around you. “Gonna cum for me?” you mutter, slowing just enough to grind into her deep, rolling your hips so she feels every inch. “Come on, baby, let that tight little pussy cum all over me.”

She’s practically sobbing now, clinging to you like she’ll fall apart if she lets go, and you speed up again, ruthless, fucking her through it. “Fuck, fuck, fuck—I’m—” she stammers, and then she’s there, her whole body locking up as she cums hard, a sharp, shuddering cry ripping out of her. Her pussy clamps down on you, pulsing tight and wet, and it’s like she’s trying to pull you over the edge with her, but you grit your teeth and hold back, not ready to finish yet. She’s shaking, gasping, her head dropping against your shoulder as she rides it out, and you keep going, slower now, letting her feel every thrust through the aftershocks. “Good girl,” you murmur, kissing her sweaty temple, “took it so fucking well.” She’s whimpering, oversensitive but still pushing back against you, needy even now, like she can’t help herself.

You pull out slow, her pussy clenching around nothing as you do, and she lets out this pitiful little whine, like she’s mad you’re leaving her empty. “Come on,” you say, voice low and commanding, grabbing her hand and tugging her toward your room. She stumbles after you, legs wobbly from the orgasm, her heels clicking unevenly on the floor. You kick the bedroom door open, the dim light from your bedside lamp casting shadows over the messy sheets, and turn to her, nodding at those strappy sandals still clinging to her feet. “Lose the heels,” you tell her, and she bends down—ass in the air, thong still askew—unstrapping them quick, kicking them off so they clatter against the wall. You're still fucking hard, cock throbbing just watching her, and when she straightens up, you point to the bed. “All fours, now.”

She doesn’t hesitate, climbing onto the mattress, sinking down on her hands and knees, ass up high like a fucking offering. Her back’s arched, thong stretched tight over her hips, and you step up behind her, running a hand over the curve of her ass before smacking it lightly, making her jump. “Goddamn, look at you,” you mutter, grabbing her hips and yanking her back a little, lining her up. “So fucking slutty—begging for more even after I made you cum.” She glances back over her shoulder, hair falling in her face, lips parted. “Please,” she says, voice shaky but dripping with want, “fuck me again—need your cock so bad.” You grin, dark and hungry, and tug her thong down just enough to bare her pussy, still glistening, swollen from before. “Yeah, you do,” you say, sliding your cock along her slit, teasing her until she’s squirming. “This big dick’s all you can think about, huh?”

You don’t wait for an answer—just thrust in, hard and deep, filling her up in one go. She cries out, loud and raw, her hands fisting the sheets as you start fucking her again, the bed creaking under you. “Fuck, you’re huge,” she moans, voice muffled as she buries her face in the pillow, but you grab her hair, pulling her head back just enough to hear her better. “Take it,” you growl, pounding her steady, watching her ass jiggle with every slam, “take this cock like the little slut you are.” She’s whining, pushing back against you, needy and wild, and you can feel her pussy still twitching from her last orgasm, sensitive as hell but greedy for more. “Ruin me,” she gasps, voice breaking, “fucking ruin me with it,” and you do—fucking her hard, deep, relentless, determined to leave her a shaking mess all over again.

Her pussy’s tight and dripping, swallowing your cock with every brutal thrust, and she’s rocking back into you, desperate, her elbows sinking into the mattress as she arches that perfect ass higher. The thong’s still tangled around her thighs, stretched and useless, and her skin’s glistening with sweat, glowing in the low light of your room. You’ve got her hips in a death grip, those wide, sexy curves filling your hands, and you’re pounding her so hard the sound of your skin slapping hers is echoing off the walls, filthy and loud.

Then she turns her head, just enough to catch your eye, lips parted and panting. “Spank me,” she says, voice cutting through the haze, all breathy and raw. “Fucking slap my ass—leave a mark so I’ll never forget this.” And fuck, that’s like a match to dry grass—exactly what you want, what you’ve been itching to do since you bent her over. You grin, dark and feral, and bring your hand down hard on her right cheek, a sharp crack ringing out over her scream. Her whole body jolts, ass jiggling from the impact, and she clenches around your cock so tight it’s almost painful. “Yes, fuck, like that!” she cries, voice breaking into this slutty little whimper, and you can tell she’s loving it, the sting, the heat, the way her skin’s already turning pink. You don’t stop—slap her again, harder this time, leaving a bright red handprint blooming on that perfect curve, and she’s screaming now, pleasure ripping out of her in waves.

“Goddamn, you’re such a freak,” you growl, smacking her left cheek now, matching the mark, and her hips buck back against you, chasing your cock even as she gasps from the pain. “Want me to brand you, huh? Make sure you feel this last fuck every time you sit down?” She moans, loud and shameless, nodding into the pillow. “Yes, please—fucking mark me, make it hurt, I don’t care.” You oblige, spanking her again and again, alternating sides, each hit stinging your palm as much as it’s lighting her up. Her ass is a masterpiece of red now, glowing hot under your hand, and you grab those wide hips tighter, fingers digging into her flesh as you keep railing her, the bed shaking like it might collapse. “Look at this ass,” you say, voice rough with lust, “so fucking sexy—gonna miss spanking it red, watching it bounce while I wreck you.”

She’s whimpering now, half-screaming into the sheets, her body trembling but still pushing back for more, like she can’t get enough of the mix—your cock stretching her out, the sharp sting of your hand, the way you’re owning her completely. “Harder,” she begs, voice muffled but dripping with need, “slap me harder—fuck me up, it’s the last time.” You growl low in your throat, bringing your hand down with a smack that’s so loud it’s almost deafening, and she shrieks, her pussy clamping down on you again, wet and pulsing. “Like that, you little slut?” you ask, spanking her once more for good measure, leaving her ass a fiery red mess of handprints. “Gonna remember this cock, this spanking—gonna feel me for days?” She’s nodding, frantic, her moans turning into these broken sobs of pleasure, and you can feel how close she is again, her walls fluttering, her body begging for release even as you keep punishing her.

You grab her hips with both hands now, holding her steady as you pound into her harder, the spanks still ringing in your ears, her ass so red it’s practically glowing. “Fuck, Yuna, you’re unreal,” you mutter, voice strained, feeling the sweat drip down your back as you fuck her senseless. “This tight pussy, this slutty ass—gonna miss ruining you like this.” She’s gasping, barely coherent, just a string of “yes, yes, fuck, yes” spilling out of her as she takes it, her wide hips swaying with every thrust, her skin marked up and claimed. You’re not letting up, determined to drag her over the edge again, to make this last fuck something she’ll never shake—your cock, your hands, the way you’re breaking her down into a trembling, needy mess.

Then you switch, flipping her onto her back on the bed like it’s the most natural thing in the world, and she doesn’t fight it—just lets you take control, her body pliant and trembling from how hard you’ve been working her. Her ass is still red-hot from the spanking, handprints stark against her skin, and that thong’s been stuck around her thighs long enough to be a damn nuisance. You grab it, yanking it down her legs in one rough tug, the fabric snapping against her sweat-slicked skin before you toss it somewhere behind you—don’t care where, just want it gone. She’s sprawled out beneath you now, slim and gorgeous, all tan lines and sharp curves, her chest heaving as she catches her breath. You climb on top, pressing your weight down on her, pinning her to the mattress, and her legs spread wide, instinctive, inviting you back in. You slide your cock into her again, slow at first, feeling that tight, wet heat swallow you whole, and she gasps, her hands flying to your shoulders like she needs something to hold onto.

“Fuck, I wanna see your face when you cum,” you tell her, voice low and gritty, locking eyes with her as you start thrusting again. Her pussy’s so slick it’s obscene, sucking you in with every move, and this new angle—it’s intense as hell, deeper, hitting her just right. She’s staring up at you, lips parted, eyes glassy with lust, and there’s something softer in there too, something that catches you off guard. You lean down, your chest pressing against hers, her tits crushed between you, and the pace picks up—still raw, still dirty, but it’s shifting, turning into this messy, passionate thing that’s got your head spinning. “Gonna watch you fall apart on my cock,” you mutter, lips brushing her jaw, and then you’re on her neck, sucking hard, leaving a mark—a dark, bruising hickey right where her pulse is hammering. She moans, loud and slutty, her fingers tangling in your hair, tugging at it like she’s trying to pull you closer.

“Babe—fuck, babe,” she gasps, the word slipping out all needy and raw, and it hits you like a punch, twisting something deep in your gut. She’s never called you that before—not like this—and it’s killing you, the way it sounds so desperate, so fucking real. Her legs wrap around your hips, pulling you in tighter, and you can’t help yourself—you’re kissing her neck again, leaving another hickey, then another, marking her up like she’s yours, even if it’s just for tonight. “You’re driving me insane,” you groan against her skin, voice breaking a little, and you pull back just enough to look at her—her face flushed, eyes wild, that perfect mouth open and begging. “You’re so fucking beautiful, Yuna—damn, you’ve got me losing it.” It’s too much, too honest, but you can’t stop it from spilling out, not when she’s looking at you like that, not when her pussy’s clenching around you, hot and tight and perfect.

She’s close—you can feel it, the way her breaths are coming faster, sharper, her body tensing under you, her nails digging into your scalp. “Fuck, I—I can’t,” she whimpers, her voice cracking, “you’re too good, babe, too fucking big—gonna cum again, I swear.” Her hips are rolling up to meet every thrust, needy and frantic, and you’re pounding her harder now, the bed creaking like it’s about to give out, your cock slamming into her so deep she’s shaking. “Do it,” you growl, nipping at her collarbone, leaving another mark, “cum for me, let me see that pretty face when you lose it.” She’s moaning your name now, over and over, her hands clutching at you like she’s scared to let go, and the way she’s giving herself up to you—raw, slutty, but somehow soft too—is making it impossible to keep your head straight.

You shift, propping yourself up on your forearms so you can watch her better, your thrusts slowing just a little—not enough to ease off, but enough to drag it out, make it linger. Her eyes flutter shut, then open again, locking onto yours, and there’s this spark there, this connection that’s more than just fucking. “You’re killing me,” she whispers, voice all shaky and sweet, and her hand slides from your hair to your cheek, trembling as she touches you. “Last time, huh? Then fuck me like you mean it.” You groan, leaning down to kiss her—hard, messy, tongues clashing—and it’s still dirty, still rough, but there’s this edge of something tender creeping in, making your chest tight. You pick up the pace again, slamming into her, her slim body rocking under you, and she’s so close—her pussy’s fluttering, her moans turning into these high, broken cries.

The room’s thick with it—the smell of sex, the sound of her moans mixing with your grunts, the slap of your hips against hers as you drive into that tight, pink pussy like it’s the last time you’ll ever feel it. Because it is. Her legs are locked around your waist, pulling you in, her nails raking down your back, leaving trails of fire that only make you thrust harder. She’s a mess beneath you—hair splayed out on the pillow, lips swollen and parted, hickeys blooming dark on her neck—and you’re just as gone, sweat dripping down your chest, your cock throbbing inside her with every move. You can feel it building, that hot, heavy pressure in your gut, and you know you’re close. “Fuck, Yuna,” you pant, voice rough and strained, “I’m gonna cum—gonna blow any second.”

Her eyes snap open, wide and wild, locking onto yours, and she tightens her grip on you, legs squeezing your hips like she’s scared you’ll pull away. “Cum inside me,” she says, voice low and desperate, cutting through the haze of your lust like a blade. You freeze for a split second, brain short-circuiting—did she just say that? “What?” you choke out, thrusts slowing but not stopping, and she nods, frantic, her hands clutching at your shoulders. “I’m on the pill, it’s fine—please, cum inside me, I need it.” You’ve never done that before—not with her, not ever. It’s always been her face, her mouth, those flat, tight abs, or that perfect ass. The thought of filling her up, pumping your load deep into that sweet, tight cunt—it’s like a switch flips, and suddenly you’re hornier than you’ve ever been, your cock twitching hard at the idea. “Fuck, you serious?” you ask, voice gravelly, and she nods again, biting her lip. “Please, babe—I need to feel your cum inside me, just once. Gotta know what it’s like.”

That’s it—you’re done for. “Alright,” you growl, leaning down to kiss her neck, sucking another hickey into her skin as you pick up the pace, slamming into her with everything you’ve got. “Gonna give it to you, Yuna—gonna fill that tight little pussy up.” She moans, loud and slutty, her whole body rocking with you, and it’s like she flips a switch of her own, turning into this needy, begging mess. “Yes, fuck, please—give me your cum, babe, make me your cumslut,” she whines, voice breaking as her legs tighten around you, pulling you deeper. “I wanna feel it—wanna feel you unload in me, need it so bad.” Her words are filthy, dripping with lust, and it’s driving you wild, the way she’s begging like some desperate little slut who can’t live without it. “You’re such a fucking cumslut,” you mutter, grinning darkly as you pound her harder, the bed shaking, her tits bouncing under you. “Begging for my load—gonna give you every drop, make you take it all.”

She’s panting, sweaty, her hands in your hair now, tugging at it as she stares up at you, eyes pleading. “Please, please, cum in me—make me yours, fill me up,” she chants, her voice all high and slutty, and you can feel her pussy clenching around you, hot and wet, pushing her closer to the edge again. You’re right there with her, the pressure in your balls building, your cock swelling inside her, and you know it’s gonna be big—huge, even. “Fuck, Yuna, I’m close,” you groan, thrusting deep, your hips slamming against hers so hard she’s sliding up the bed. “Gonna cum—let’s do it together, yeah?” She nods, frantic, her breath hitching. “Yes, yes—cum with me, babe, fill me while I cum on your cock, please!” Her begging’s got you teetering, and you can feel her tipping over too, her walls fluttering, her moans turning into these raw, broken cries.

Then it hits—you both lose it at the same time. “Fuck, here it comes,” you rasp, and you thrust one last time, deep and hard, burying yourself in her as you cum, hot and thick, unloading everything you’ve got. It’s a flood—your cock pulsing, pumping rope after rope of cum into her, filling her up just like she begged for. She’s cumming too, her pussy spasming around you, milking you dry as she screams, her head tipping back, eyes rolling up in pure, slutty bliss. “Oh my god—fuck, I feel it,” she gasps, voice shaking, “so much cum—shit, it’s so good.” You’re emptying your sack into her, a massive, sticky load, and she’s taking it all, her body shuddering under you, legs locked tight like she’s scared you’ll pull out too soon. You keep going, groaning as you pour it into her, and she’s beautiful like this—face wrecked, mouth open, those dark eyes rolling back as she savors every pulse.

You’re spent, chest heaving, but you can’t resist—leaning down, you kiss her cheek, soft and quick, then again, murmuring, “Fuck, you’re gorgeous—absolutely fucking beautiful.” She blinks up at you, dazed, a lazy smile tugging at her lips. “You gave me so much,” she says, voice hoarse but warm, “so fucking much cum—I’m never gonna forget this, babe.” You pull out slow, reluctant, and she spreads her legs a little, reaching down with shaky fingers to part her pussy lips. Your cum leaks out, thick and white, dripping slow from her swollen, pink hole, and she sighs—this long, satisfied sound that’s the hottest thing you’ve ever heard. “Look at that,” she whispers, almost to herself, “you filled me up good.” It’s obscene, the way it’s spilling out, pooling on the sheets, and you just stare, mesmerized, because it’s also the most beautiful fucking thing you’ve ever seen—her, marked by you, claimed in a way you never thought you’d get to have.

—

The shower’s running hot, steam curling up around you both as you stand under the spray, the water pounding against the tiles like it’s trying to drown out the heavy silence between you. Yuna’s in front of you, her back turned, all slim and delicate, her wet hair plastered down her spine like a dark ribbon. You’re soaping her up, hands sliding over her skin—smooth, slick, warm—rubbing the bar of soap across her shoulders, down the curve of her back, tracing the faint red marks from earlier that are starting to fade. It’s quiet, too quiet, and the weight of everything that just happened is sitting on your chest like a brick. The sex, the cum, the way she begged, the way you gave in—it’s all there, swirling in your head, mixing with the steam, making it hard to think straight. She’s not saying anything, just letting the water hit her face, and you’re not sure what to say either, so you just keep soaping, hands moving slow, almost mechanical.

Then she turns around, sudden and soft, and the water’s streaming down her face, soaking her lashes, dripping off her chin. “I don’t want this to end,” she says, voice low and shaky, cutting through the sound of the shower like a knife. You freeze, dropping the soap, letting it clatter to the floor, and your hands find her back, holding her there, feeling her heartbeat through the wet press of her, because it sounds like she’s crying—her words wobbling, her breath hitching—but the water’s blurring everything, and you can’t tell if it’s tears or just the spray. She steps closer, pressing her thin, naked body against yours, her arms wrapping around your waist, her head resting on your chest.

“I don’t want this to end,” she says. “I mean it—I can’t do this ‘last time’ bullshit. I need you, okay? I need us.”

You just stare at her, water streaming into your eyes, blinking it away because you’re caught off guard, heart hammering against your ribs. She’s crying now—you’re sure of it, her breath hitching, her lips quivering—and she steps closer, pressing her forehead to your chest, her wet hair sticking to your skin. “You’re so fucking great, you know that?” she mumbles, voice muffled against you. “You’re funny as hell—like, you make me laugh so hard I forget all the crap in my head. And you’re kind, not fake-nice like some assholes, but real, quiet kind. You listen when I talk, even when I’m just bitching about dumb stuff like my profs or whatever. And those late-night talks? After we fuck, when we’re just lying there, sweaty and stupid, talking about movies or what we’d do if the world ended? That’s my favorite thing. I didn’t even know I could like someone this much, and it scares the shit outta me, but I do. I like you—a lot. More than I ever meant to.”

She’s shaking a little, clinging to you, and you feel this knot in your throat because—fuck—you’re so gone for her it’s ridiculous. You pull her back gently, just enough to look at her—eyes red, lashes clumped with water, lips parted like she’s waiting for you to say something, anything. “Yuna,” you start, voice rough, scraping out of you like it’s been buried too long, “I don’t want this to end either. You think I can just walk away from you? From this? I’m fucking in love with you, alright? Like, stupid, head-over-heels, can’t-think-straight in love with you, and it’s been killing me pretending this is just some casual hookup thing.”

Her eyes widen, a little gasp slipping out, but you’re on a roll now, hands sliding to her face, cupping her cheeks as the water keeps falling, soaking you both. “You’re everything, you know that? You’re badass and smart—way smarter than me, don’t even try to deny it—and you’ve got this way of looking at me that makes me feel like I’m worth something. I love how you tease me, how you call me out on my shit, but then you’ll just curl up next to me like I’m your safe place or whatever. And those nights? When we’re just talking, laughing, fucking around until we’re too tired to move? That’s the best shit I’ve ever had. I love how you’re not afraid to be you—all messy and loud and real. I’ve never felt this way about anyone, and it’s freaking me out, but I don’t wanna lose it. I don’t wanna lose you.”

She’s staring up at you, water running down her face, and for a second, it’s like the world stops—just you and her, the shower drowning out everything else. Then she laughs, this shaky, relieved sound, and buries her face in your chest again, arms wrapping tight around you. “God, you’re such a sap,” she mutters, but it’s soft, affectionate, and you can feel her smiling against your skin. “I fucked up, okay? I was a bitch—pushing you away, acting like I didn’t care. I didn’t mean it. I was just… scared, I guess. Scared I’d fuck this up, scared you’d figure out I’m not as cool as I pretend to be. But I like you so much—too much. I love this, us, all of it. I don’t wanna stop.”

You tilt her chin up, thumb brushing over her wet lips, and she’s looking at you like you hung the damn moon. “So don’t,” you say, voice low but firm. “Don’t stop. I’m in this, Yuna—I want this, I want you. But you gotta stop running, alright? No more pretending I don’t exist out there.” She nods, quick and earnest, her hands sliding up your back. “I won’t—I swear. I’ll be better. I’ll brag about you to everyone, I don’t care. Just… give me another shot. Please.” You lean down, forehead pressing to hers, and it’s like all the tension just melts under the hot water. “Promise me,” you say, and she surges up, kissing you deep and slow, her lips soft and salty with what might be tears or just the shower. “I promise,” she whispers, pulling back just enough to meet your eyes, “I’m yours, okay? For real.”

You slide your hand to her cheek, cupping it gentle, thumb stroking over her wet skin, and you feel this dumb, happy grin tugging at your lips. “I’m happy,” you say, simple and honest, and her face lights up—really lights up, like the sun breaking through clouds. “Me too,” she says, voice soft but sure, and then she perks up, that playful edge creeping back in. “Hey, can we still watch that horror movie? The one you’ve been hyping up?” You laugh, the tension melting away, and nod, stepping back to grab the shampoo off the ledge. “Hell yeah, we’re watching it. Gonna scare the shit outta you, and you’re gonna love it.” She grins, turning around so you can lather her hair, and as you work the shampoo in—fingers massaging her scalp, her leaning into your touch—you’re both giggling like idiots, the heaviness from before washing away with the suds. It’s not perfect, it’s not figured out, but it’s something—something real—something big—and something yours.

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