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annewithaneofthegreengable · 2 months

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Smile, we're on the camera

max verstappen x reader

Content warnings: unprotected sex (p-in-v), rough sex, dirty talk, language, public sex,..

my masterlist

“Here?!” you screeched.

“Yeah.” Max shrugged, unfazed. “What’s wrong with that?”

You choked on your own spit at his nonchalance, how carefree he was about this. “W—What do you mean what’s wrong with fucking here, Max? We’re in a damn photo booth!”

The blank expression on his face was unchanging. “So?”

The words on the tip of your tongue died out. Your boyfriend could be a little freaky in the bedroom sometimes and you were all for it. Never had you both risked the danger of public sex, however.

"So?" you sputter, eyes wide in disbelief. "Don't you have any decency, any boundaries?!" Max's stoic face only serves to enrage you further. "Fine, if that's how you want to play it,"

Max slammed his arm against the opposing wall, effectively blocking your path of going out of the photo booth.

“We’re not leaving until I’ve fucked you.”

A shudder of arousal ran down your spine at the gruffness of his voice. “Baby,” you laughed nervously. “I know we like to experiment sometimes, but this is a little far, don’t you think?”

The air between you was thick with tension, especially with a pair of bright blue eyes staring you down so intensely you imagined the burning embers of a fire raging behind them.

You gulped as Max slowly licked his lips, giving you a once-over that made you feel too exposed in an already revealing sundress. There was a short distance between you, and your boyfriend’s stature was towering and beefy, taking up a large presence — his imposing nature made the hairs on your arms stand up.

He walked you backwards slowly, step by step until you hit the far wall of the booth. Pressing his nose against the curve of your neck, he snarled. “All I know is that my cock is so fuckin’ hard for you right now and if I don’t have your pussy wrapped around it within the next thirty seconds, I’m gonna haul you over my shoulder and take you out there in front of the whole damn mall.”

A shiver ran down your spine at his menacing words, your body instinctively pressing back against the cold metal wall of the photo booth as Max's muscular frame loomed over you. The heat of his breath on your neck, the raw intensity in his voice - it was intoxicating and terrifying all at once. You can feel the hardness of his muscular chest through the thin fabric of your dress, as his hands gently but with confident grip move up from your thighs. They slide around to cup your ass, pulling you even closer against him.

You thought you could tamp down the moan trapped in your throat, but you were sorely mistaken when it unleashed without remorse. Your chest heaved with exhilaration and your fingers twitched excitedly at the prospect of something so scandalous.

“So what’s it gonna be, Liefje? In this photo booth with a little privacy? Or out there where everyone can watch me ruin you? Your choice.”

You had not expected this outcome when you had dragged your boyfriend over to the booth. You wanted to take cute pictures and add them to your keepsake memory box. Now you were deciding your fate; whether you would be leaving your dignity in the tiny stall or chance getting arrested for public indecency in the middle of the shopping mall.

Max raised an eyebrow, awaiting your answer.

“In h—here,” you whispered in anticipation.

The cheshire cat grin you received in return spiked your nerves even further. “Bingo.”

Without giving you a chance to backtrack on your decision, Max hoisted you up into his arms and smothered your squeal of shock with his lips. He wasted no time snaking his tongue into your mouth, fighting for dominance like always.

“Mmph!” you moaned when he flicked his tongue against yours. A zing of electricity shot down to your pussy and you threaded your fingers through his hair, trying to grab a hold of it tightly.

“Maxie, I swear to God, if you ever cut your hair short again I will leave you then and there.”

Max chuckles against your lips, the vibration sending a shiver down your body. "I wouldn't dream of it, love," he murmurs, breaking the kiss to trail his lips down your jaw and neck, all the while keeping you lifted in his arms.

Even after so many years, the spark between you and Max was still alive. Throughout the trysts of your sexual experiences together, the attraction to each other had only intensified. He was sexier now than ever before. And even if he came up with outlandish ideas that made you step out of your comfort zone, you held so much trust in him that it was easy to follow him to the depths of sin.

He continues to pepper kisses along your collarbone, his warm breath sending goosebumps down your arms as he makes his way to the sensitive spot just above your breasts. Your nipples ache in response, and you arch your back, pressing your chest against his.

“Hold on,” he warned before handling your weight over to one arm. With the other, he unzipped the fly of his trousers and shuffled them down just past his ass until his cock bounced out.

You gasped at the sight. Max really was hard for you already, if the angry-looking vein straining from his thick length was anything to go by. He was throbbing, you could see his dick viciously twitching with need and your thighs clenched around his waist with hunger.

The sight of Max, so clearly overwhelmed with desire for you, was indeed a powerful aphrodisiac. The way his throbbing member twitched with need only served to fuel your own desire, your thighs clenching around him in response.

Max's hand finally made contact with your skin, his touch sending a jolt of electricity through your body. His fingers traced a path up your side, causing you to shiver with anticipation. "You're enjoying this, aren't you, Liefde?"

You tightened your lips to try and hide your smile and shrugged innocently. “Can’t say I mind it so much.”

His hand reached your breast, cupping it possessively as he squeezed the soft flesh through the fabric of your clothes. "You're so responsive to me," he murmured, his voice low and husky. "I can feel how hard your nipples are, even through the thin fabric of your top.

The amusement was quick to wipe from your face when he reached down and ripped the panties covering your mound. “Max!” you scolded. “Those were new!”

Your heart raced as Max's fingers hooked into the waistband of your new, now destroyed lingerie, effortlessly peeling the delicate fabric away from your heated skin. The cool air of the small photo booth caressed your exposed lower half, a stark contrast to the burning desire that seemed to radiate from the man holding you.

He rolled his eyes playfully, trying not to laugh at the way the shredded material now hung from your ankle. “Oh, hush. I’ll buy you some more.”

You huffed. “What? So you can rip them off me again?”

Max chucked under your chin condescendingly. “Look at you, learning so fast.”

Smug bastard, you cursed internally.

“Gonna stop complaining and let me fuck you now, mijn kleine meid.?”

You scowled and poked his chest with your finger. “You better watch the way you speak to me— OH!” The retort on your tongue cut off as Max sheathed the entirety of his length inside of your pussy in one smooth thrust. Your nails dug harshly into the firm muscle of his shoulders and you buried your head into his neck. “H—Holy shit.”

The sudden surge of pleasure that coursed through you at Max's forceful thrust stole your breath away. Your back arched instinctively, pushing yourself harder onto him. The roughness of his actions, the sound of his breath hitching, it was all too intoxicating.

Max's hands roamed your body, gripping your hips, pulling you closer, his fingers leaving imprints on your skin. His thrusts became more urgent, sending waves of pleasure crashing over you with each movement. The feeling of him inside you, filling you completely, was almost overwhelming.

Your moans grew louder, more desperate, as Max's pace quickened. Sweat dripped from his forehead, onto your skin, as he lost himself in the sensations. The air was thick with tension, heavy with anticipation, as you both hurtled towards the edge of a shattering climax. "Max...

The nails of his fingers dug crescent shapes into your bare thighs, but the sting of pain was nothing compared to the slow drag of his cock leaving your cunt. You whimpered as his thick girth left you inch by inch until only the tip sat inside of you.

“Gonna beg me for it, baby?” he asked.

"Please," you whimpered, not even realizing the word had escaped your lips. Max's grin was wolfish as he began to ease out completely, just the head of his cock nestled against your entrance. He rocked back and forth, teasing you with the promise of returning to your warmth.

“My baby is so polite. Come on, tell me, Liefde, what do you need and I’ll gladly give it to you.”

"Please, Max," you managed to gasp, the desperation clear in your voice. The denial was torture, the touch and then the swift removal driving you crazy with need. "Please, fuck me, fill me up again."

He shrugged. “Good enough.”

A high pitched keen was forced out of you when Max thrusted his hips up, his dick sat deep inside of your pussy. “Fuck!”

You wrapped your legs around his waist, urging him deeper, needing him to touch every part of you. Max obliged, grinding against you with a primal intensity, his hips slapping against your thighs. "Take it, baby," he growled, his voice raw with lust. "Take every inch of my cock."

Your boyfriend’s eyes shone with pride. “That’s my girl.”

Max fucked like it was the first time every time. His movements were careful and his hands were greedy; always touching you, always gathering you as close as possible to him. And while he was soft with his caresses, his desire to roughly pound his cock into your cunt, as deep as it humanely could, was another story.

“God, you’re like a fuckin’ vice around my dick,” he choked out. “Would’ve thought you’d have loosened up by now, baby. But I can still barely move.”

Unable to speak without screaming, you sucked his neck, bruising his skin until it turned a dark purple.

“You markin’ me, huh? Want everybody to know who I belong to?”

You nodded your head while whimpering, the nails of your fingers scratching against Max’s scalp.

Max's eyes rolled back, his pupils constricting as he groaned, his fingers digging into your hips. The sound of his ragged breathing and the wet slapping of his cock against your pussy filled the air. The motion of his thrusts made his balls slap against your ass — he loved it when you got possessive. “Filthy fuckin’ girl. Don’t worry, Liefde. I’m all yours.”

Letting go of his neck with a pop, you loudly whined out, “So good— cock feels so good in me, baby. Fucking me just right.”

“Oh, I know. But you gotta turn down the volume, Liefje,” he chuckled. “Save it for the bedroom, alright?”

You tried, you really did. But the way the head of his cock repeatedly stroked against the sensitive spongy spot of your pussy made your inhibitions blurry and you couldn’t help moaning like a whore.

Max tutted and shook his head in mock disapproval. “Guess I have to do everything for you, hm?” His lips curled up in perverse satisfaction as he shoved three of his fingers into your mouth.

You hummed around them instantly while staring into his eyes. He made you this way; a willing body for him to toy with, a woman who was quick to fall under his command and you lived for it. You gargled around his large fingers as you jolted each time he drove his cock into you, drool dripping down from your chin and landing on your boyfriend’s lower stomach and dick.

“Can’t even let my fingers keep you quiet, huh? Just have to make sure everyone knows how good it feels to be fucked by me.”

You sucked on his fingers, your eyes half-lidded with desire as he began to take control. He pulled his fingers out of your mouth and trailed them down your body, tracing a path from your lips to your breasts, down your stomach, and finally to the apex of your thighs.

His fingers danced around your clit, teasing you mercilessly before he slowly slid them back inside you, plunging deep to stroke that sweet spot once more. You whimpered, your body trembling with pleasure as he bit gently on your earlobe. "You're going to come for me, baby?"

His strength only turned you on more and even with the intrusion of his fingers, your noises grew louder, more unabashed.

“Shit, you sound so pretty.” His eyes darted towards the swinging panties still attached to your ankle and he quickly removed his fingers to grab them. “Such a good girl for me, baby. But I think we need somethin’ a little more efficient to quiet my eager girl down.”

Before you had the chance to whimper again, Max shoved your underwear into your mouth. To both of your luck, your moans became muffled enough to not draw attention. “Perfect.”

Though the volume of your sounds had been solved, the slick noises coming from your dripping cunt became the center of attention. Max groaned, a bead of sweat trickling down his temple as he fought the urge to thrust deeper. "Fuck, babe, you're so tight... so goddamn wet." He grunted, trying to maintain control.

“Mhm!” you mumbled over your makeshift gag. Your worries of being caught had long disappeared, your main focus now to revel in the building tension from your lower stomach creeping to the surface.

The two of you were only concealed by a pathetic thin curtain that didn’t even close all the way. It left a large gap, one that should a member of the public managed to notice, would reveal Max’s bare ass and your scrunched up face, moaning in pleasure at the feel of his cock.

Again, you were so far out of your realm to notice. Though Max did as he glanced over his shoulder and the high he got from the danger was addictive.

Wrapping an arm around you tightly, Max discreetly reached into his jean pocket with his free hand while keeping up his momentum. He was so close to the edge, balancing on the precipice of cumming, but he strived to hold on just a little longer.

Grabbing the loose change, he discreetly dispensed it into the money slot of the machine. “You think you’re gonna cum for me, baby?” he asked, short-windedly while his thighs trembled.

You whined desperately around your panties, your eyes glossy from the overwhelming thread that was beginning to unravel.

“Alright. I’m gonna count down from three and you’re gonna give it to me, yeah? Can you do that for me?”

Thumping your head back against the wall, you closed your eyes and nodded hastily.

“Good. Ready, Liefde?” he asked.

Your nails scratched the back of his neck in approval and he began.

“Three.” He pistoned his hips, fucking you with all the energy he had left in him.

“Two.” The deep dirty grind of cock into your cunt was torturing and your thighs shook as you fought to hold out.

“One.” On his final count, Max pinched your clit, hard. Your eyes shot wide open at the same time multiple bright flashes blanketed the photo booth and your mouth dropped on a muted scream.

“Holy— F—Fuck!” Your boyfriend’s shout echoed across the white walls while his fist slammed next to your head. A huge load of his cum shot up into your cunt, overflowing the already full hole.

Your mind swam in ecstasy from the adrenaline-filled haze of your orgasm. The pure rush of your sparking nerves was a familiar thing with Max and yet the sensation was so deeply gratifying every single time.

You sucked in lungfuls of air on your comedown, letting your mouth hang open while your ruined panties dropped with a wet slap onto the floor. Shivers wracked through your body and before you could even notice the coldness, Max enveloped his warm body around you while he stroked your cheek.

“That’s it,” he cooed soothingly while he recovered from his own intense orgasm. “Take it easy, baby.”

You wrapped your arms around his neck and brought him closer to you until there was no space between you. “That was fun,” you slurred lazily.

Max’s tired laugh rumbled through you. “Damn fuckin’ right it was.” Lifting his head out of your neck, he kissed you delicately. “You alright?”

“I’m great,” you told him truthfully. “Though you may have to help me walk because I can’t feel my legs anymore.”

He grinned, satisfied. “I’m that good, huh?”

You lightly smacked his chest, even if you couldn’t contain your own cheesy smile. “Nope. I’m not inflating your ego more than it already is.” Turning your head to the screen of the booth, your eyes widened at what you saw. “No, you did not.”

“Oh, but I did,” Max said proudly. “A little souvenir of our sexual awakening.”

“Oh my god.” The shock of it rendered you speechless.

“I know, right? Now you have the photos you wanted.”

You couldn’t help the giggle that escaped. Looking back at your boyfriend, you shook your head. “I wish I could tell you off.”

“You can tell me I’m a bad boy later,” he suggested with a wink. “For now let's get outta here.”

Once he gently placed you down, making sure you were steady on your feet, the two of you sorted yourselves; tidying the mess of your sex hair and straightening the wrinkles out of your clothes. Max made sure to pocket your panties from the floor, leaving no evidence of your fun.

“Come on, you.” He lightly slapped your ass before ripping the curtain open. “We’ve still got some shopping to do.” He stepped out, whistling to himself like he hadn’t just fucked you senseless and held his hand out for you to take.

“You want to go shopping while your cum is literally leaking down my legs as we speak?” you hissed as heat crept up your neck from the thought.

Max leaned his shoulder against the booth and smirked. “Well, we do have to buy you some new underwear. Remember, doll?”

You so desperately wanted to smack the self-satisfied grin off his face.

With a huff, you exited the photo booth, begrudgingly sliding your hand into Max’s. Before you left to continue your shopping, however, he plucked the Polaroids from the outside dispenser.

Your boyfriend admired the photos, each one a debauched image of you with heavy, hooded eyes with your mouth hung open on a scream.

“You look good on camera, baby.” He wrapped his arm around your shoulder and leaned down to whisper in your ear. “We should make a film next.”

Trying to clench your thighs together to keep his cum from dripping down your leg, you swatted his arm. “Pfft—you wish.”

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bywons · 4 months

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愛 𓈒 A LITTLE LESS SCANDALOUS ENHYPEN—

╰—— “ 𝗀𝗈𝗍 𝖾𝗏𝖾𝗋𝗒𝗈𝗇𝖾 𝗐𝖺𝗍𝖼𝗁𝗂𝗇' 𝗎𝗌, 𝗌𝗈 𝖻𝖺𝖻𝗒, 𝗅𝖾𝗍'𝗌 𝗄𝖾𝖾𝗉 𝗂𝗍 𝗌𝖾𝖼𝗋𝖾𝗍 ” — 𝗐𝗁𝖾𝗋𝖾 𝗂𝗍𝗌 𝗋𝗂𝗌𝗄𝗒 𝗐𝗂𝗍𝗁 𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗆

🪽 𝖾𝗇𝗁𝖺 𝗑 𝖿!𝗋𝖾𝖺𝖽𝖾𝗋 𝗀. 𝖿𝗅𝗎𝖿𝖿, 𝗁𝖾𝖺𝖽𝖼𝖺𝗇𝗇𝗈𝗇𝗌 2074 𝒘𝗈𝗋𝖽𝗌 𝖼𝗈𝗇𝗍𝖺𝗂𝗇𝗌 ! 𝗌𝗎𝗀𝗀𝖾𝗌𝗍𝗂𝗏𝖾(?), 𝗌𝗄𝗂𝗇𝗌𝗁𝗂𝗉, 𝗌𝗉𝖾𝖾𝖽𝗂𝗇𝗀, 𝗄𝗂𝗌𝗌𝗂��𝗀, 𝖼𝗎𝗋𝗌𝗂𝗇𝗀 ✦ ◞ 𝐶ATALOGUE?!

๑´ ³`) ﾉ pls leave feedbacks if u liked it ♡ REBLOG !!

LEE HEESEUNG — shows you off all around the college campus, an arm wrapping your shoulders and bored eyes to scare off guys who thought they had a chance with you. his presence alone is enough to send a clear message: you're off-limits. it's not just his imposing demeanour that keeps others at bay; it's the way he looks at you, with a mix of pride and adoration that makes it clear you're the centre of his world. everyone knows not to mess with heeseung's girl, if they don't want a black eye.

and even when he's not around you like a guard dog, you're wearing his leather jacket everywhere, like a souvenir. between classes, he sneaks moments to steal kisses, his touch gentle yet possessive. you find comfort in the routine, in the way he makes you feel safe and cherished.

"you don't have to do that, you know," you say, looking up at him with a reassuring smile.

“do what?”, heeseung's voice morphs into a mellow, loving tone, as he looks down at you.

“scare them like that”, you sigh. heeseung chuckles, pulling you closer, "i can't help it. i just want to make sure everyone knows you're mine.”

“i think they got the message”, you giggle, kissing your lovely boyfriend.

PARK JONGSEONG — has his utmost faith in the fact that there is no line in this world he wouldn't cross for you. from sneaking into your room late at night to celebrate your anniversary, to beating up your psycho ex, jongseong's actions speak louder than his words. to him, protecting you isn't just a duty, it's a sacred vow. that's why he drags your ex to his underground boxing match, to claim his victory— both over this fight and you. most ardently, you.

and it's all worth the cuts and bruises and hushed conversations around the town when they are being treated by you.

"you're crazy, you know that?" you murmur, but there's no hiding the affection in your voice. you dab the cotton swab over his wounds, faces too close to each other.

jay raises his head from your lap, hovering over you within seconds. there's this glint in his eyes that speaks volumes for him, and he does the rest with his lips.

“only for you”, jay replies, catching your lips in a breathtaking kiss, hands wandering under your shirt in a split second, “forever for you, crazy or not”, he nibbles on your lower lip, before kissing you again.

his hands slip under your shirt, that's actually his, and wonder about your waist, tracing random shapes.

your heart flutters at his words, and you lean in, pressing a soft kiss to his bruised knuckles. "just promise me you'll be careful," you say, your eyes reflecting the depth of your feelings for him.

“sorry angel”, jay sighs, ruffling your hair playfully, “i need to make sure there are no bad guys.”

SIM JAEYUN — ‘s second most favourite thing in this entire universe is his bike. the first being the girl who sits behind him on his bike, you. reality blurs with his fantasies when you wrap your hands around his torso, pulling yourself closer to lean on his shoulders. the ambient air hits your face and makes your hair dance along with it, as jake’s bike speeds up. he feels euphoric at this moment, it's just you and him.

it's the way his biker jacket dangles off from his shoulder, the silver chain decorating his neck— which is obviously gifted by you. and everytime you're nervous while looking down at you, he bites his lips, which is not helpful at all.

“oh my god, jake slow down!”, you hold on even tighter to him as he roars his bike, and that's just what he wants. he chuckles softly, the sound barely audible over the roar of the engine. "hold on tight, love," he shouts back, his voice tinged with a hint of mischief. the cityscape blurs into streaks of light and colour as you weave through the streets together, the night air cool against your skin.

he takes a sudden turn, and the bustling city gives way to quieter streets lined with trees. you dismount, legs slightly wobbly, but jake is there to steady you.

"how was that?" he asks, a grin spreading across his face.

you laugh, the sound full of joy and relief. "absolutely crazy," you reply, gazing up at him. “you scared me good."

"scare you? never," he teases, pulling you into a hug. "i just wanted to feel you hold onto me tighter."

you shake your head, playfully swatting his arm. "you're impossible, you know that?"

"it's alright if it's you," he murmurs, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead

PARK SUNGHOON — climbs up your balcony at 3 am, the perfect time when he knows your parents are either having a soundless sleep or out of town. he feels like a knight in shining armour, climbing up to save his dear princess from all the melancholy and shush her to ease, hands softly gliding through her raven hair. he lands with a soft thud, his eyes scanning the darkened room through the sheer curtains.

as he approaches your window, his heart beats faster, not from the exertion but from the anticipation of seeing you again. he knows this is dangerous, knows that if your parents found out it could mean the end for him. but none of that matters now

he taps lightly on the glass, and watches your silhouette get up and open the window for him with a worried face. “sunghoon what the—”, you manage to shush yourself before pulling him in and shutting the window close, “you just came here yesterday!”, you whisper.

“can't even see my pretty girl in peace now?”, sunghoon sighs, pulls you closer and lets your lips meet. they travel all over your face, to your neck, trailing up to nibble on your earlobes and back to your lips again. he takes a moment to breathe and adore your pretty face. "i couldn't stay away," he murmurs, his eyes locks onto yours. "i needed to see you.”

“i get it hoon, but at least tell me before you drop by”, there is adoration hidden by worry in your voice as you press a soft kiss on his mole near his nose. “i wanted it to be a surprise, princess”, he chuckles.

“what if my parents—”

before you could say another word, sunghoon tackles you down on the bed. “i don't care if your parents find out”, he shushes you, his index finger ghosting over your lips, tracing it down to the middle of your collar bones, “it's about us, and you're mine.”

KIM SUNOO — hates to see you hanging around with boys who just aren't good for you. he knows their type—smooth talkers with no substance, guys who don't see you for the incredible person you are. in his mind, he's the one for you. maybe because he's crazy in love with you but also because he knows how to treat you better. sunoo knows your favourite colour, how you like your coffee, your favourite spots around town and what not.

it's always him, even in this cold of night when your date stood you up, and you circled back to kim sunoo. teeth chattering and a soft yet piercing breeze, another minutes’ wait before you hear the long awaited familiar voice.

“sorry uh— i'm late”, sunoo clears his throat, hesitant to look at your eyes, “let's go home.”

you're about to run to him and be ready to go home when you notice the bruises on his knuckles, “what the fuck have you been doing?”, you furrow your eyebrows together. sunoo tries to hide his hands behind his back, but it's too late. you grab his wrist, pulling it closer to inspect the damage. the bruises are fresh, the skin raw and tender. “what is this, sunoo?”

“since you don't know how to deal with trash dudes”, he rolls his eyes, snatching his wrists back, “and i called jay so we were good. now let's go home.”

“you can’t keep doing this, sunoo,” you say softly, your voice barely audible over the wind. “you’re going to get hurt.”

“if you care about me so much then maybe you should just be with me”, sunoo spits those words, coming out of him in an instant, “i'm i-”

“i love you,” you reply back, a hint of nervousness and hurry, almost as instant as him, “sorry, i was not brave enough.” sunoo immediately takes your face in between his hands, pressing a chaste kiss on your lips, “don't ever say sorry to me ever again. it's okay…i love you too.”

YANG JUNGWON — ‘s secret behind his back to back victories is you. overly eager to impress the pretty girl in denim skirts and hoop earrings. your presence at the illegal racing scene fuels his desire to impress you, to see your smile widen with every race he wins.

as he revs up his engine, the adrenaline coursing through his veins isn't just for the thrill of the race, it's to capture your attention, to make your heartbeat a little faster. each victory isn't just about the prize money or the bragging rights, it's about earning your admiration, maybe even your affection.

jungwon dismounts his bike, helmet in hand, and strides towards you, a triumphant grin on his face. "told you i’d win," he says, voice low and confident. he pulls you closer by your waist, his hand snaking tighter around it.

“you never fail to amaze me," you say, looking up at him with a mixture of awe and affection.

he chuckles, a hint of pride in his voice. "just doing what i do best.”

he shrugs, but you can see the sparkle of excitement in his eyes. "it's easy when i have the best motivation in the world.” jungwon's eyes light up at the sight of your smile, how happily you look at him and giggle over his win.

“we're missing something out”, jungwon clears his throat, pulling you just a bit closer, doing all his best not to kiss you.

“really? what's that?”, you smirk.

“you promised to let me take you out on a date if i win”, a smirk plays at the corners of his lips, a smug confidence coloured over his face, “‘ya still remember that?”

“and what if i say i forgot?”, hard to get, he likes that.

jugwon's smirk widens, "then i guess i'll have to remind you," he murmurs, his voice a tantalising blend of challenge and flirtation.

NISHIMURA RIKI — has endless foolproof excuses up his sleeves, whether it's bunking his class or ways to meet up with you despite your strict household. just last week he had to take you out on café and amusement park dates to convince you to tutor him, that too, in your house! something about the fact that your parents can catch you both thrills riki.

he leans casually against the school gate, his usual smirk playing on his lips as he watches you approach. "hey," he greets, sliding his hands into his pockets. "ready for our 'study session'?"

you roll your eyes, trying to ignore the flutter in your chest at the sight of him. “you know, if you actually paid attention in class, you wouldn't need tutoring." he laughs, a mischievous glint in his eyes. "where's the fun in that? besides, i prefer learning from you.”

you had a hard time convincing your dad to even let riki in your house, he's always greeted with an awkward stareq, which he returns back to your mom. "you really shouldn't be here," you whisper, glancing nervously around.

he chuckles softly, his voice low and comforting. "relax. i promise i won't get you in trouble."

"alright, algebra it is. but you know," he says, his voice dropping to a whisper, "i think i'd learn better if you rewarded me for every right answer." you look at him, your resolve weakening. "what kind of reward are we talking about?"

he grins, his gaze intense. "how about a kiss for every correct answer?"

“only if you wanna die—”

but it's only a fraction of a second before he pulls you into a sweet kiss, pushing you away as he hears the door of your room creaking open. he's once again greeted by your father's angry face.

“oh, good evening sir!”

a/n — i don't think the sypnosis is it TT i think this could've been more bad boy coded on my part, but honestly my brain was fried TT lmk if u liked it tho!

📌:: TAGLIST IS OPEN! nets. @/k-labels tags! @leaderwon @dimplewonie @wonfilms @heartswonn @jwonistic @aaa-sia @ashtxrie @kgneptun @flwrstqr @haechansbbg @river-demon-slayer @in-somnias-world @teddywonss @variety-is-the-joy-of-life @mylstserenade @branchrkive @aishigrey @nctislifue @greyminyoon1 @ro-diaries @rikibun @sleepyxxhead @belowbun @belovedsthings @moond1or @oddracha @shinrjj

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neopuppy · 1 year

Text

Shameless (M)

pairing. step-son Jeno x step-mom reader

genre. stepcest, infidelity, Jeno hates his dad, young trophy wife step-mom

wc. 10k

warnings. dubcon, profanity, exercise/body talk, Jeno has a thing for sweat, smut warnings under cut. minors DNI.

now playing. Shameless//Camila Cabello

smut warnings. masturbation, mommy kink, coercion, a lot of breast focus, reader has large breasts, oral, improper use of a cucumber.., raw fucking, noncon filming, wet messy etc..

“She’s a little too young, even for you.”

Jeno’s tongue drags along the backs of his teeth peering over his father’s shoulder for the last 10 minutes as he idly scrolled through various photos and short video clips. Most innocent enough, cute selfies showing off your pretty fanned out eyelashes, a new lip gloss shade, or just an adorable smile.

The videos his dad took time to watch made Jeno’s breath hitch, looping the few seconds of you showing off a new bikini for summer, filming yourself in the mirror and turning to show off a scandalous yet feminine pattern right above the indentation of bikini bottom scrunched between your pert buttcheeks.

“I work very hard, son, believe I deserve a pretty young thing.” He snickers, having noticed the youngers reflection on his phone screen a few minutes ago. “Something about this one..”

“Where’d you find her? Another sugar baby app you had to pay to join?” Jeno crosses his arms, glaring daggers into the back of his father’s head. Pathetic, working hard for what? To blow your funds on women who probably gag over your shoulder while you fuck them and lose your stamina after two minutes?

His father chuckles, swiping the social media app shut to open his messages. “You’re going to hate this but she approached me first.” With a proud smile he turns to face his son, showing off back and forth messaging between the two of you. Majority of the context is similar to how two cute shy teens would chat, nothing racy despite knowing his father’s likely buying time to pounce and unleash an arsenal of embarrassing boomer dick pics.

“You’re lying.”

Standing up, his father sneers, a smile hidden somewhere behind his resentful expression. “Believe it or not, your old man’s still got it. Now, if you don’t mind— I have a date with your soon-to-be step-mom.” He winks, purposefully bumping roughly into his son’s shoulder on his way out of the living room; leaving Jeno standing there rubbing at the spot mindlessly, jaw tight as he recounts your username to conduct his own investigation.

His first summer home in years and this is what his asshole father wants to pull? Jeno grimaces, plopping down on the couch to commence his search and find your other social media platforms.

“Twenty-fucking-two? He’s out of his mind.” Muttering to himself, he quickly taps in and out of various videos. The fact that you follow dance trends is enough to make his eyes roll, concentrating harder than he should have to on your face and the quirky silly wide eyes you make at the camera instead of the obscene way your breasts bounce freely beneath a much too tight and thin crop top, braless. Of course.

Jeno bets you did approach his dad first, he can picture it now. A sweet little helpless thing miraculously bumping into him at Whole Foods or some other ridiculously overpriced grocery store, batting your big doe eyes irresistibly after calculating the worth of the ludicrous gold Rolex adorning his wrist. No doubt adding the sum of his Gucci loafers and Dior sunnies; undoubtedly pushed up into his salt and pepper hair as he read over the nutritional information of a new all-natural all-organic sugar free gluten free energy drink.

You probably struck up conversation from there, perched yourself on his dad’s arm striking up flirtatious charm about the product in his hands, just to lean in closer and smash your ample chest against his arm.

Jeno clicks his phone shut frustrated, balling his fist open and shut to watch the blood flow down and redden his skin.

It infuriates him how easily his father continues to win, after the divorce his view of the man he once admired could never be repaired. What he once respected and admired all came crumbling down as his mother broke down crying in his arms after years of pretending to act dumb and not notice late evenings at the office, extended company trips, or the stains of lipstick shades she’d never wear and remnants of musky oud that simply never complimented her skin.

Jeno rests his eyes, ignoring the itching ache in his chest. What could he do anyway? What did his dad have to lose that money couldn’t buy him a new and better version of.

A house? A car? More designer brands and jewelry to mark his status in the upper class?

It only took a month, one fucking month, and the answer became clear as his dad lifted you up by your trim waist hidden under ugly burly veiny paws. The smile across his face so arrogant and cocky, hoisting his young little play thing up in the pool just to watch your beautiful round chest bounce in his face beneath triangles of material hardly containing you.

Jeno can’t deny he gets something out of it too, something he stores away for later along with the cheerful sweet moaned giggles you let out after splashing his father’s face with water and demanding in the most helpless submissive tone to be put down. Bet his dad loves that, in fact, he knows he does. It didn’t even take a full two weeks before you moved in with a fat diamond rock on your ring finger. The sight of it nearly blinded him when it caught the glare of light.

Jeno knows he can’t keep up with his father’s wealth, not yet. Material things aren’t his strength either, but as he jerks off into his palm by his bedroom window facing the backyard where you’ve taken to performing your morning pilates, his eyes concentrate on your insane flexibility. The tip of your head near your feet keeping your taut ass up for him to salivate over, and now he knows one thing for sure.

He needs to fuck his step-mom.

Jeno’s usually a morning person, but leave it to his father to ruin that for him.

“Kiss kiss.”

Disgusting.

Heavily wrinkled lips pout in your face, his dad slithered around your waist from behind as you finished packing your new husband's lunch. Really, it’s repulsive to watch unfold every morning. The only perk being the smile you beam Jeno’s way with your much too chipper and excited ‘Good Morning!’ As you skip to the fridge to pour some of your lemon water into a glass, breasts all round and taunting from where he sits; nipples always hard, piercing through your collection of various nighties and tank tops.

“Anything for breakfast? I can whip up some pancakes real quick if you want.”

Jeno tries to hide his grin, as much as he wishes to act like a brat— he can’t. The thing is, you’re lovely in every sense of the word. Too lovely, doting, and appealing, never once causing him annoyance.

He wants to scoff, demand you whip up the most delicious fluffiest pancakes, take your top off and throw the batter down your bare chest before laughing in your face to clean it up; lifting up one breasts at a time with fat wads of tears in your eyes as you plead for him to stop— stop being mean, stop smearing more of the mess he’s caused you to make across your lips.

“Nothing for me.” Jeno motions to the protein shake resting in his grip. “I’m trying to lean out.”

“Lean out?” Your smiles too soft, lifting to one side with surprise. “I can’t imagine you have anything but muscle left, when's the last time you had your body fat measured?”

“Ah, you don’t know because you haven’t seen me shirtless, yet.” Jeno says, more as an invitation to get a rise out of you, having to swallow back a sigh at your lack of response; not even a hint of interest. “Need to slim down my waist a bit to really achieve the shape I want.”

“Well if you ask me..” Jeno waits, appreciating how lightly you float around the kitchen to gather your fruits and toppings to decorate your yogurt bowl with. “You look really fit, your waist is practically non-existent.”

“How much do you weigh?” He asks abruptly, evidently throwing you off by the way your gaze widens in shock and a stutter passes between your lips, quickly averting your attention back to the half chopped strawberry in front of you.

“Wha— uhm..”

“Sorry, that was rude.” Jeno smiles, awkwardly scratching his nape. “I was wondering if it’s less than what I can press.”

A dazed gleam coats your iris, staring back dumbfounded by the image of your step-son working his hips up with crossed eyebrows, using all the force and strength of his muscle mass to lift.

“How much can you do?” You ask, clearing your throat and refocusing on your breakfast. The question more to keep up with the conversation before you run off to hide in your bedroom.

Jeno lets out a breathy laugh. “I shouldn’t have asked, don’t know what I was thinking.” Pushing up from the kitchen island to stand, he pauses before making his way to exit; having taken to a grueling AM workout after downing his shakes. “I can definitely press double, if not more than what you weigh.”

He doesn’t miss the way your hands come to a halt, gripping around the knife in your hold, eyes silently falling shut with a deep breath.

“You should come join me some time, bet I can lift you easily.”

Jeno’s grateful at least that his father has no choice but to work morning to evening five days a week to earn the lavish lifestyle he’s achieved. He’s thankful because you love to perform your afternoon stretches in the backyard, the landscape his bedroom window coincidentally faces.

“So flexible.” He mumbles to himself, forehead resting against the window frame where he stands with his hand buried inside of his boxers, mindlessly thumbing at the slit of his cock for a hint of relief. Your mid-day sessions only last about over an hour, depending on how far you want to push yourself.

Sure, the splits always made his balls tighten up, having to slow down the pace and pull at his length, circling the base to quell the sudden urge to throw you up and down on his cock fully spread out.

But really, the extended puppy pose takes him over the edge every time.

Jerking off from his bedroom window has become unsatisfactory, the best part is really after when you walk in with your smile high off endorphins, gently patting the sweat that’s accumulated on your gorgeous décolleté.

“Oh Jeno, I thought you’d gone out.”

He hums, following your movements around the kitchen to replenish your hydration, noting the beads of sweat continuously rolling down between the dip in your back. His teeth bite down on the tip of his tongue, tempted to shove you up against the fridge and lick them all clean before falling to his knees to suck the dark patch between your thighs.

“Good workout?” Jeno never tries to hide that he’s checking you out, he makes it obvious everyday. “Looks like you really worked up a sweat.”

“Oh yeah, it’s so hot outside.” The lack of eye contact you’re able to maintain indicates discomfort, judging by the way you try to clean off your stomach and arms.

“My dad has a thing about sweat, right?” Jeno offhandedly mentions, not missing the awkward twitch in your cheek to hide a grimace. “That’s why you’re always so clean by the time he gets home? The water bill has to be through the roof with how often he has you doing laundry.. not that he cares.”

“I suppose his nose is a bit sensitive.”

“He always complained about how my mom smelled, her hair after a day of not washing, the smell of the dinner she cooked him on her hands still.” He continues, enjoying your lack of reply. “He’s picky about a lot of things, I’m sure you know what I mean.”

A fake smile shuts down the conversation, nodding toward the staircase. “It’s time for my shower.”

Jeno nods, shamelessly eyeing the stains of wetness under your large breasts, pushed together even tighter by the binding sports bra meant to keep you held in place through vigorous activity. “Wouldn’t want daddy to get mad now, would we?”

A wash of embarrassment has you scurrying away from your step-son quickly, leaving behind the small towel drenched in your sweat that immediately catches his attention.

Jeno definitely inherited the same sensitive sense of smell from his father, but unlike the old man he’d become more addicted to the different places his nose had led him to. A smirk lifts his lips, tucking the towel up above his mouth to deeply inhale. It’s mind-numbing how delectable you smell, he even sucks on the remnants of damp that hasn’t fully evaporated, quietly mewling within his chest.

The telltale sound of the upstairs shower from his father’s bedroom tears him from slipping into euphoric madness, cock already half-erect as he trudges up the stairs and finds himself tip-toeing into your bedroom, the bathroom door only softly creaking as he makes space to peer through. The daily routine of watching you scrub down every inch of skin, so smooth, hairless, meticulously shaving clean each short hint of stuble. His father must be real demanding of how his little stay at home house-wife should present herself, of course.

Bunching the nearly dried towel inside of his briefs, Jeno groans between clenched lips, rubbing the cotton fabric up and down his length, his heart rate pumping up to a high-speed when you lift a leg to reach deep between your thighs and leave the fleshy area hidden there completely bald.

That will change once he manages to infiltrate, he’ll make you change for him.

“You should go out son, I don’t want you hanging around the house.” Jeno’s dad doesn’t even bother to mask his disdain, shoving a wad of cash at his chest. “Scram.”

That would be too easy, it’s not as if his friends haven’t been blowing up his phone about some party tonight. He’ll plan to leave later and miss the sound of his father’s pig-like moaning squeals when he takes five minutes to fuck you. For now, his ass isn’t moving from one of the pool chairs, opting for the more shaded area under a large canopy to watch from.

Why would he want to miss out on the display you put on for his old man, stepping out in a tight little two piece bikini that does nothing to cover any of your curves. Jeno’s cock twitches as you slowly step out of your robe and his dad whistles making grabby hands at you to enter the pool. “Jump in, baby doll.”

Sick. God he hates hearing that old worn voice order your around. He hates how you giggle and enter from the steps, giving him a half-assed jump only for your breasts to lift up under your chin before the water immerses your perfect body, lifting back out pouring cascades of wet down your shoulders and arms before his dad snatches you up by the waist. “That’s my girl.”

Ten. Nine. Eight. Seven. Six. Five—

Jeno takes a deep breath through his nose, an irritating pinch forming between his eyebrows the more you indulge his father, dawning the smile only reserved for your husband: hugging him close between your mounds of breasts as he releases a deep moan and licks up your neck.

His stomach churns the longer he watches, shoving himself to stand and move to the jacuzzi where he can’t help but to still watch from, ignoring the daggers his father’s eyes shoot at him on his way in. He won’t dare enter the pool while the two of you canoodle in there, preferring to stay clueless as to what your lower halves could be up to, the sight of his dad’s thick ugly hands cupping your breasts from is behind already enough to make him gag.. maybe if not for the shocked moan you let out, wrapping around his wrists shyly. “Babe.. we’re not alone.”

You whisper, but Jeno traces the words from your lips, ducking lower into the jacuzzi until one of the jets rumbles against his stomach, chin grazing under the hot water.

“Ignore him.” His dad could give two fucks, squeezing under your chest with more firmness, pushing them together creating a long dip of cleavage.

Jeno can see the lack of comfort in your hidden gaze, keeping your eyelids lowered with a demure embarrassed smile, saving face only for your husband's pleasure. He knows if you couldn’t sense another pair of eyes on you, you’d be your usual bubbly coquettish self, flouncing around burying his dad’s face in your chest, giggling all loud and cute.

The thrill of watching your discomfort escalate makes his cock kick up, lowering down onto his knees for only his eyes to peer over the jacuzzi’s ledge, noticing the way your gaze skirts by quickly to not give him enough acknowledgment to feel seen, but to stay aware of just how much your step-son can see. It’s easy from the angle to remove his father’s existence behind you, especially when he shifts closer to the ledge and one of the jets blasts right against his groin.

A shiver runs up his chest, biting down on his bottom lip as he stays transfixed on your flimsily covered breasts abused and bounced around. He has to hold back a curse when he finally unties his swim trunks, tugging free his length right in front of the burst of bubbled water. The pressure pushing out of the jet breaks against his slit, choking down a groan when your gaze finally meets his, mouth tense and ashamed.

He can’t keep a smile off his face, tugging harder at himself as your forehead wrinkles together, breathily arched up by the force pushing your breasts up and down against the splash of blue chlorine water.

The water around him boils against his skin even hotter, short of breath under the heat, short of breath from the image of your lips parting open. Jeno imagines you can bend your neck forward and wrap around his girth passing between your tits, it wouldn't be hard to reach anyway. Jerking up, he pushes against the jet hole, cock instantly engulfed by an intense amount of pressure blowing out against him. The push and pull only causes his stomach to clench, sink in and hollow out his middle-section.

You were doing a better job at ignoring him before, unable to stop for seconds now to watch your step-son’s facial features contort together… he can’t, he wouldn’t..

Nostrils flare, shoulders hidden under the bubbly foam around him, jerking mindlessly into the jet. It’s like breaking a dam over and over again, the pressure of release spilling out against his thick size, the only thing missing being your convulsing slick warmth squeezing and fighting to push him free as he thrusts in harder, fucking you full beyond capacity you can handle.

Jeno could care less about the predicament he’s landed in here, stroking his cock without control like some wild animal, succumbing to his desires and needs to bend you into all kinds of positions. He knows he can too after weeks of watching you move your body bonelessly, get you twisted up like a pretzel, face down ass up, legs behind your head full-nelson you flat on your back with his dick full slotted inside, grinding down just to watch you fail to squirm away. He’d leave you with no room to move, let alone breathe, fat tits pushed up under your chin, jiggling up and down and up and down with each thrust.

“Fuck.” He’s close now, tongue lolling out at the gasp that hitches in your throat. Siren-like eyes glazed over from the constant manipulation your breasts have been put through. What a fucking pervert, watching you struggle to collect yourself and maintain your etiquette.

Does his dad even savor the way every inch of your body tastes? Does he suck on your tits until your nipples pebble up rock hard and dig into the roof of his mouth? Jeno never see’s a mark on you, no… daddy doesn’t play rough with his toys, does he.

Jeno would though, fuck he’d have you screaming to the high heavens. He can’t hide the bob of his head the closer he reaches, catching your fully widened eyes stuck on him, and your bikini top finally coming undone after minutes of tugging and kneading.

Hands too large to be yours come up just a second too late to cover over your exposed nipples allowing Jeno the chance to see how swollen and pert and big they’ve gotten, probably prodding at his dad’s hideous rough palms.

The wet bounce of fat under his control has him emptying out into the jet, most of his release blown away from the powerful stream mixing in with the rest of the ramped jacuzzi water.

He has to calm himself, overheated from the drop back down to reality, overheated from the sun burning down onto the already steamy hot tub of water. Taking his time, he’s lazy to exit, patting off his reddened chest and stinging skin to a somewhat dry finish. The heat hardly subsides with eyes on him, specifically yours..

“I said scram you damn brat.”

His father’s shrill tone gives him an excuse to glance over, most of your frame hidden by his wide back stretched around you to hug you against the pool wall for discretion to tie your top back up.

“Yeah yeah, don’t wait up for me.” Not that he would, Jeno didn’t really mean that for his father anyway. The lingering gaze grazing down his body taking in every crevice and dip of bare naked muscle though, part of him hopes that you will wait up. He means it though, even with one more glance your direction before heading inside, finding your eyes for only a millisecond.

Don’t wait up mommy, I’ll be too busy fucking any hole presented to me, maybe even multiple. Anything to curb the incessant growing need to get you alone, slam you down and fuck you until you’re ripping that ring off your finger.

Jeno has to admit, he’s impressed by how long you’ve held it together, managed to keep up your composure around him despite his best efforts to make you start to crack.

Soon. Real soon.

“You’re around the house way too much, either get a job or get out.” Jeno’s father barged into his bedroom after that little pool escapade. Throwing pamphlets for schools across the country at his face. “I put enough money in your bank account, it’s time for you to quit fucking around and make something of yourself.

Jeno knows deep down inside his father’s ulterior motivation came from an all too pretty adorable wife, evidently unhappy with the way his son has decided to forgo his gym membership in favor of walking around shirtless dripping in sweat after using the home equipment.

He couldn’t put up much of an argument with the old man. It’s not entirely your fault he found his ass on a train 7 hours away the next week, just in time for a new semester.

Sure, it’s not entirely your fault, he can’t put all of that insecure assholes blame on you.

But it is your fault, and that long silent train ride gave him all the time to ponder, reflect, plot, devise the next step. Work harder, fuck more, leave you with no choice but to wipe the drool from your chin at the mere sight of your step-son.

If only it could be that easy. He really can’t stand how reluctant you are to trip and fall, landing right into the palm of his hands breasts first. Can’t stand the way you still parade around town proudly introducing yourself as the Mrs. Lee. The side-eyes and whispers never affect you, too happy to give a damn with each guiltless swipe of your husband’s black American Express.

God, he can’t stand it. He can’t stand you.

Jeno really can’t stand his step-mom.

Not because you’re awful or even a bitch, no.. in fact, you’re perfect. Too perfect for his nasty cheater asshole father who could care less for his mother, now ex-wife.

“Ah Jeno, it’s so nice to have you home again.” Your sweet cheerful voice interrupts his fuming thoughts, the back of his head instantly relaxing in the mound of your breasts as you circle his neck and lean down to hug him. “You hungry? I stocked up on all of your favorites.”

Nuzzling back into your warm embrace, he sighs, eyes drifting shut to inhale the notes of peach and cucumber wafting from your freshly cleansed skin. Supple soft radiant skin he knows you spend meticulous hours of the day exfoliating, lotioning, massaging with oil only for your useless husband to rub his old disgusting rough hands upon.

“Missed cooking for me?” He mumbles, shifting to bury his nose in the column of your throat to fully immerse himself in your savory scent.

“Look how skinny you’ve come back, that school not feeding you properly or something?” You reprimand, patting over his flat stomach lightly. “I have to make sure to keep you full for the next couple of weeks before your break ends.”

Nudging the top of his head with your chin, you continue into the kitchen, still in your silky pajama set. Something short, hardly covering your abundant chest, dad wouldn’t have his young little trophy wife any other way, always ready for the taking.

Jeno can only imagine how many mornings his father has snuck up on you making breakfast, bending you over to fill you up before heading to work. Fucking bastard doesn’t deserve to even touch you, let alone any of those fake moans you must practice to please him.

“Are you worried about me?” Jeno’s chair scratches across the kitchen tile, slowly lifting up to get a better look at your buttcheeks squeezed by your panties, innocently bent over in search of a pan. “Maybe the school cafeteria doesn’t serve anything that satisfies my hunger.”

“I’ll fix that,” too distracted on your hunt for the right spices and oils, you fail to notice how close Jeno’s gotten, hovering behind you with a smirk as your robe slips from your shoulder. “You’re the one who wanted to go to school so far away. You could be eating my home cooking everyday if you’d just stayed local.”

“…is that so?” A grin teases at his lips, halting your hand from adjusting your robe to push it down left to fall at your feet.

A shiver runs up your spine sensing his breath fanning across your shoulder, palms smoothing down your waist to your hips. “Jeno?”

“I’m hungry, mommy.”

“Jeno? Wha—“ your hips stay locked in place, shoved against the kitchen counter by the stronger ones behind you knocking forward to trap you.

“I missed you too, mommy.” Shoving his hips forward, Jeno’s girth slots between your flimsily covered ass, rutting quickly to lodge between and create delicious friction against his cock. “You know what I really missed?”

“Je-Jeno.. what are you..”

“Last summer when you moved in, every different ridiculously tiny bikini you wore around the pool. Your fat tits barely contained, just how dad likes it huh? I guess we have that in common.” Keeping you held against the counter with his hips grinding in circles against your ass, hands find a way to your shoulders, swiftly dropping down the straps of your nightgown leaving your breast to bounce out freely. The morning crisp air circulating around the house breezes past your nipples, hardening the buds instantaneously.

“Sweetie, this.. this isn’t right, your dad—“

“Is an asshole.” Jeno bites, cupping your breasts that overflow in his hold, the fat squeezing between his digits pushing out a low groan from deep within his chest. “Fucking decrepit dickhead, bet he can’t even get hard from this alone? I’ve seen that erectile dysfunction prescription.. can’t even take care of you and fuck you right can he, mommy?”

To emphasize his point, Jeno’s hips swerve, fucking forward vigorously for the thick shape of his rod to slam between your panty covered behind, night gown bunched up over your hips from his incessant humping. “Can’t tell me a pretty young thing like you doesn’t miss it, hours and hours of getting the life fucked out of you.”

The kneading and massaging at your chest accompanied with your step-sons evidently large size has you panting, hands gripping the kitchen counter for some relief. Shaking your head, you try to ignore the way your hips rut back to find his, biting back a moan from escaping. “Jeno, please.. sweetie, d-don’t—your dad..”

A rough slap under your breast silences you, the fat rippling under Jeno’s strength as he delivers another slap, working in succession to bounce and smack each with his chin perched over your shoulder rambling on and on about how good you look like this. Perfectly pliant, needy, face full of ecstasy all thanks to your step-son.

“Dad has great taste, I’ll give the old fuck that.” Jeno snickers, teeth digging into the vein lining the side of your throat. “Had me hard as a rock fucking into my fist all summer, tried to get over you by filling up any hole.. couldn’t get your pretty body off my mind.”

“Jeno, baby.. w-we can’t. Your dad, he’ll.. he’ll kill you.”

Breath staggers against your neck at the term of endearment, hips fucking against you in earnest. “You think I fucking care about him? What about you? What about this mess you’ve made mommy? How can you do this to me? Tempt me all the time with these perfect fucking tits and expect me to leave you alone now?”

“I’m sorry, I’m s-sorry Jeno.. I didn’t—“

“Baby, I’m your baby.” Jeno pinches your nipples roughly, pulling and slapping forcing a loud echo of skin on skin to barrel across the kitchen. Jackhammering his hips faster against your ass. “Tell me to stop, don’t fucking tell me what dad wants. You tell me to stop.”

“B-baby… I-I…” a sad pathetic cry sounds, dropping forward loosely as your thighs tremble erratically, held up only the rough grip on your chest undoubtedly leaving behind marks of nails and bruising.

“Must be true.” Jeno grunts, shoving your underwear down. “Like father, like son.”

“Jeno, please, you can’t do this!” It’s harder now to fight him off, roughly taken by your chest, fondled like some little doll only there to pleasure him. “If—if he finds out—“

“Don’t worry about that senial bastard, he wouldn’t be able to read a sign even if it was spelled out for him.” Your step-son doesn’t relent, fucking against your panties roughly until the his stiffed up cock shoves the material between your ass. “You’re so wet for me, you feel that? Feel me?”

Jeno thrusts forward angling his size right between your poorly clenched thighs, ass bouncing back against his pelvic bone. “Think you can handle that? Too big for you mommy?” He reaches down to whip out his cock, expertly dragging his fully hard length out to slot against your soaked covered core. The contact makes his eyes roll up, long eyelashes fluttering rapidly impairing his vision for a minute as his size drags against the wet shape of your cunt.

“Oh fuck fuck.” Jeno refuses to cum like this, even if his stomach muscles contort and suck in viciously. He swallows down a hissed breath, jerking back to fuck against your drenched panties in earnest.

“J-Jeno.. please!”

“You want it, huh? Wanna get fucked by a big fat cock finally?” Jeno bites back a laugh, mostly a groan as the tip of his cock ruts against your clit. “Daddy can’t fuck you the way you need, can’t get you off. When’s the last time you had a real orgasm? Not that whiny shit you fake for him.”

Inner-turmoil loses to your arousal, forced to slide up and down what feels like a forearm between your thighs. Your good sense dissipates the more your cunt spreads around the girth pushing between your folds, aching to feel each pulsating vein lining your step-son’s length drag against your wet slick pussy.

“I’m… fuck Jeno..” between gasps and choked back moans, you weakly give him a thrusts back, faintly meeting his motion to rut against your clit and create a mind-numbing friction.

One of his palms lands against your ass like a crack of a whip, sending your chest to collide forward and press against the cool marble of the kitchen counter. “What did you call me?”

Gathering your underwear, Jeno pulls the material aside, sucking spit away that's gathered around his thirsty tongue upon seeing your cunt so ready to be wrecked and fucked. “Look at that tight hole, like a virgin. No way daddy’s fucking you right.”

You’re grateful that your brain hasn’t fully failed you yet, even with your step-son’s thick palms spreading your ass open continuing to spew nonsense out about the appearance of your perfect pussy. God knows you’d beg and confess how badly you need to cum— cum around your husband's son’s monster sized cock. “How am I going to fit in there mommy? I’m way too big for you.”

Jeno sounds sadistic, hawking out spit that lands and drips down to your entrance. “Should I be nice and prep you?” He laughs, a fake laugh, a mocking teasing laugh. “That would be too nice of me, wouldn’t it?”

He leans over your back, reaching for the basket of fruits and vegetables just past your head. “Should I be nice?”

Long fingers wrap around one of the cucumbers half hanging out of the basket, dragging the vegetable down to smack against your cheek. The solid food slaps your skin heavy and rough, making your step-son smile wide, highly pleased by the shame wrinkling your forehead together. “Mommy’s always so nice to me, always takes care of me so well.” Jeno taunts, leaning back and tapping the vegetable down your spine to run between your buttcheeks.

“I shouldn’t be too mean..” the thick tip of the cucumber meets your entrance, cold against your heated core making your hips shiver forward to get away.

“Baby..”

“Yeah, that’s right.” He presses in, cursing between gritted teeth as he watches you stretch open around the vegetable. It’s big, even then no competition for how wide the tip of his dick is alone. “Opening up so so pretty for me, mommy.”

He fucks the cucumber inside of you just half-way, sending your toes to arch up from the floor and scramble to grab at the kitchen counter; threatening to cut open your bottom lip with how hard you bite down to keep in a moan. The whole situation makes you feel dirty, disgusting, ashamed that you couldn’t stop him. That deep down inside you know you’d never stop him, you want it too much. Form the day you noticed your step-son watching you stretch from his bedroom window, to the time you caught a glimpse of him by the bathroom door as you scrubbed down and rinsed your naked body clean. You’ve always wanted him to make a move.

Maybe you’d been dreaming of this moment all along, adding your ingredients to the pot everyday until everything boiled over and spilled past the rim.

“So fucking nasty mommy.” Jeno keeps mumbling, thrusting the vegetable in and out of you, enthralled by the way it comes out stickier, coated with a thick layer of sheen. The wet dripping out past your cunt with each fill, spilling down your inner thighs to the kitchen floor like some whore that needs to be fucked and bred everyday. “Taking it so good, you’ll take me even better.”

His throbbing length slaps against your hip with each push and pull against your insides, hissing and groaning behind you the closer he reaches to stumbling over the edge. “You want that mommy? Want me to fuck you so good, make you forget about that huge rock weighing down your finger.”

Jeno doesn’t let you answer, not noticing the way you curl your hand into a fist to tuck away your wedding ring before discarding the cucumber as he rips you off the counter to shove you down to your knees.

“Fuck.” Gripping around his length he strokes quickly, reaching down to pull on one of your nipples and watch the fat perky mound jiggle under his ministrations.

“Gonna cum all over your perfect tits, push them together for me mommy.” Jeno slaps your breast impatiently, balls tight and tensed up between his thighs doing his best to stave off his orgasm from barreling out.

Eyes filled with big watery tears gaze up in a daze, cupping your substantial fat tits together making the perfect little pocket pussy for his cock to slide between. “Oh fuckkk.”

Jeno’s neck drops forward, slamming up between your squished breasts. Teeth grinding together to stop himself from screaming at the visual of your heavy perfect tits bouncing around his size, the tip of his length nearly hitting under your chin with each thrusts up against your chest. “So good mommy, so fucking good!”

Jeno reaches for your jaw, squeezing in roughly and smacking your cheek to pop open your lips. “Just like that, so fucking hot.” It’s everything he’s dreamt about. Nights stuck inside of his dorm room looking up milf porn, step-son breeding step-mom, juicy breasts bouncing on his computer screen that could never compare to how good this feels.

“Fuck, I’m gonna cum.” He cries out, thrusting against your chest harder, forcing the weight of your breasts up and back down into your palms, bouncing deliciously. Slapping your cheek again, digits dig into your cheeks and drop a wad of spit in. Pleased from his high up angle as you stay open and let him watch it glide down to the back of your throat. “Fuck fuck fuck!”

Jeno tugs away, cock slapping down on your parted lips before reaching for the tip to squeeze around and release into your mouth. “Swallow all of it.” He moans out, circling your throat with his other hand to feel himself slide down. “That’s it, so good for me mommy.”

The smug smile he gives you before hoisting you up to sit on the table you share meals with your husband at lets you know this is far from over. “Don’t be rude mommy.” Jeno pouts, pushing space for himself between your thighs. Soft palms stroke up and down almost like a warning. “Say thank you.”

He smirks, sinking down to bury between your thighs and proceed to use his tongue in ways your husband never has.

“Dinner looks great!” Your poor unsuspecting husband sits down right where his son had his meal with you mere hours ago(one that had your back split up in an arch and your eyes meeting the back of your skull), hands clasped together before the plate you serve him.

“Now now,” Jeno chimes in, moving to stand from the dinner table to grab a bowl from the fridge. “I see no greens on that plate, didn’t your doctor warn you about that high cholesterol?”

Your husband eyes his son suspiciously, too focused on the little brat to see the sheer panic running over your face behind his side. “I found this new cucumber salad recipe, I think you’ll really like it dad.”

He smiles, an endearing sweet genuine smile, a smile that could easily make you forget what type of evil menace you’re really dealing with here. “Here, try it out.”

To your absolute horror, Jeno sets down a bowl of seasoned, finely chopped, and wet cucumber before his father, nodding eagerly.

“You put poison in this or something?” He grumbles, stabbing at the slices before shoving a batch into his mouth and chomping with a pleased hum. “Not bad, not bad at all. What’s that flavor?”

His son grins wide, eyes large and full of mirth.

“I knew you’d like it, got a kick to it right?” He blinks up to meet your mortified gaze, biting down on your fingernails as your mind shouts frantically- he wouldn’t!.. he would!.. no, no, HE WOULDN’T.

As if he can read your thoughts, Jeno winks at you, clapping his father on the shoulder. “I guess we have the same taste, daddy.”

“Don’t dare bother to throw any parties while I’m gone.” Jeno’s father glares at him, pointer finger digging between his chest. “No funny business you hear me? You need to show your step-mom some respect.”

Jeno has a hard time hiding a smug smirk, having to bite down on the insides of his cheeks to contain himself. “Oh dad, trust me, I will show her nothing but the utmost respect. You have nothing to worry about.”

His father squints, skepticism crossing his wrinkled features as he takes in his son’s face once more before heading out to bid you a long goodbye filled with lingering wet kisses.

“Right. You know what? These vacation breaks from school really seem unnecessary. Why can’t you be normal and go on trips to different party cities like the rest of the guys your age?” He scoffs, waving him off flippantly, not even a hug? Jeno clutches his chest dramatically, following after to watch the two of you say your goodbyes from the top of the staircase.

“If he bothers you..” Thick calloused fingers hold your chin delicately, nothing like the nimble boney ones that dug into your face just a few days ago and forced your mouth open to spit past your tongue. Jeno doesn’t really care to tune in, more amused than anything by the little act you keep up. Such a cute young sweet house-wife, more dolled up than your usual for a morning session of pilates. The extra effort put into your appearance no doubt for his father’s benefit, a pretty vision for him to leave behind. It’s not as if the 2 minutes it took for him to fuck you this morning wasn’t enough for the old man.

Jeno hums to himself, catching your line of sight before you follow after his dad to say bye from the driveway as he enters his ride to the airport. Maybe that’s fear in your eye, but excitement builds up his chest nonetheless; you’ll have no arms to run to now. Nowhere to hide that he won’t be able to find you, no asshole of a father to whisk you away from him. At least not for the next foreseeable 24 hours.

That’s why he goes back to bed, his father rudely awoke him this morning with a loud cursed groan after climaxing out of breath and falling onto your bed with a loud thud. He’s surprised the old man hasn’t keeled over and died yet trying to get his rocks off with you. Jeno sighs thinking about the past few days as he lays back down and buries his face into his pillow, you really have been doing a great job of avoiding him.

That doesn’t mean he misses the silent glances and hesitant looks, or the stiffness in your spine whenever he so much as passes by. No, he notices everything you do, even how you’ve been locking your bedroom door when taking showers now. It’s cute really, a game more than anything now as he rests his eyes and hums, imagining you’ve come back inside and surveillanced the downstairs area for your big scary step-son, probably sighing in relief that he’s left you alone. For now.

He’ll let you get your lovely perfect morning routine on, build up a nice sweat that gets your heart racing, high off endorphins from stretching and straining your muscles with various exercises. He’d prefer it that way really, and judging from the time— soon, soon you’ll be on your way to the kitchen to refresh with a nice chill glass of electrolytes. What a pleasant easy life his father has granted you, all you have to grant him in return is your body. It’s no wonder you work daily to keep up appearances for the old man.

Jeno’s mother had never cared much to fulfill his father’s porngraphic ideals of how women should look and act, but you, ah he really struck gold with you. He can’t deny that if he had found you first, he would have ate you alive.

“Oh.”

Your step-son’s not surprised to see you exit the newly renovated makeshift room filled with gym equipment(that used to be for his gaming consoles), gently patting your sweat glistened skin off as the door opens and unveils him standing there across from you expectantly.

“Figured you wouldn’t want me to share such a small space with you.” Jeno says, making no effort to disguise his gaze, dragging down from your chest to your hips and stopping between your thighs to moisten his lips. “All sweaty, out of breath, making sounds that could read as inappropriate..”

Tight-lipped, you nod and ignore him before stepping out and motioning inside the gym room. “All yours.”

“Everything?”

Jeno’s arm launches forward before you can take another step, pausing you dead in your tracks against the hallway wall, a less than innocent grin stares back at you. He cocks an eyebrow, following the beads of sweat raining down your forehead at faster speed the closer he inches forward until you’re pressed up against the wall with little room to free yourself.

“You thought I’d make this easy, didn’t you?” He huffs through his nose, bending at his neck to perch his nostrils right above your throat and swallow down the fresh scent of your hard work. “Burned up a real good sweat for daddy?”

“Jeno, can we talk first at least?” You squirm, leaning back as much as you can with feet flat to the ground in an attempt to slither down the wall inconspicuously. “I don’t want your dad to suspect anything, what happened the other day..”

“When you came around my tongue and begged me to fuck you?” He interrupts, pressing his forehead forward to hold yours in place, voice gruff and deep. “Or when daddy enjoyed his meal? Were you scared mommy? Don’t worry, I won’t let him do anything to you.”

“That’s not it, I’m married to your father!” You smack his chest to push yourself free, digging your palms into his muscular pecs without much budge. The contact only riles him up more, releasing a growl and bumping his nose closer to yours. “Please! Jeno, I’m all sweaty and disgusting. Let me take a shower first at least.”

“Why would I let you do that? And ruin all of this for me?” This being the sweat Jeno proceeds to lick from the divet between your collarbone, slurping his way down to your ample breasts squeezed snuggly inside of a tight sports bra. “Fuck, you taste so fucking good.”

Hearing his praise only makes you squeamish, struggling more to shove him away and break free from his biceps bracketed around you. “Please, I smell! Don’t be gross!”

It’s laughable to even ask this of your step-son, especially after having to sit and watch your husband munch away on a phallic shaped vegetable that his son had just used to get you off with.

“I’m gonna need you to shut up mommy,” Jeno scoops the soaked fabric of your bra under your breasts, pushed up higher forming two round mounds perfect for sucking on. “Nothing gross about you, or this.” Teeth bury into the perky fat of your chests, sucking roughly, rough enough to hurt but not leave marks behind.

Jeno can’t stop his hips from rutting forward, grinding his aching thickening cock against your stomach. His basketball shorts don’t do much to conceal how hard he is already, having chubbed up in his room from the thought alone of what he planned to do to you today. He has enough respect for you to leave no signs of bruising behind on your chest, but that doesn’t mean he cares when you cry out to stop again and pull away with your weak nails scratching at the wall.

“You really want me to stop?” He asks, cock dragging up and down from between your pelvis to just above your navel. “Tell me the truth mommy, I know he can’t fuck you the way I can. Know you’re desperate for it, want your sweet little step-son to hang you off his fat 9 inch cock? Come on mommy.” Jeno’s drooling between each word, slathering your chest in spit between his muffled speech and consistently sucking. “Admit it, wanna get fucked so bad.”

“N-no.. please, baby, don’t—“

Jeno’s chest rumbles, groaning loudly as he reaches to pull your bra off, rolling the wet material up for your breasts to bounce out lewdly. The smack of your chest meeting the top of your ribcage and breasts clapping together makes you squeal, quickly shutting your eyes in shame.

“Fuck, so sexy mommy. Don’t hide from me, don’t hide any of this from me.” He squeezes your chest roughly, jutting your nipples out to form perfect taut pacifiers to suck on. Jeno’s tongue works feverishly, sucking and licking at your pert buds until they fully harden to a painful point under the vacuuming pull from his mouth.

Jeno leaves your chest swollen, blood rushed to the skin he’s sucked on viciously. He hums, examining how heavy they weigh down in his palms, gripping and kneading, shoving his face between your cleavage just to hear you squeal and struggle to inch away from him. So damn cute.

“That old assholes really manipulated you well,” he grumbles, licking up the trickles of sweat dripping down from your nape to your shoulders and chest. “Has you thinking this is gross? That you are gross? What the fuck is wrong with him, huh? I should kick his fucking ass.”

“Don’t talk about your dad like that..” you whimper, biting back a moan when he bites and tugs at one of your hard nipples, jiggling your other breast against his face. Even with your mind battling between lust and guilt, you can’t help but to feel bad.

“He doesn’t deserve you.” Jeno whispers, leaning in to plant a firm kiss on your lips to shut you up. “He doesn’t even appreciate you.”

His hand cups between your legs, making your thighs lock around his wrist as he cups your sweat soaked mound. Shorts still wet after your vigorous workout. “Baby, not there, please please.”

“Mommy, I’m not going to tell you to be fucking quiet again.” He grins, licking your lips before sliding down your body to his knees. Jeno peers up, eyes sparkling in a dreamy almost innocent way, like a kid in a candy store. “I’m nothing like him.”

To prove his point, his face drops forward between your legs. The fight you put up to keep him out is useless, overpowered by his much larger stronger size as his arms come to wrap around your thighs and pull you apart allowing for his nose to drag up and down your sweaty slick soaked workout shorts.

“Jeno!” Your neck drops back weakly, eyes rolling shut at the sensation of your step-son pulling the material of your shorts with the suction of his mouth alone. Tonguing and sucking on the fabric to absorb the remnants of sweat that poured down and collected between your thighs. Pulling on his hair serves you no advantage, completely under his control as he grinds your cunt against his face roughly.

The only resolution you find comes from covering your face to hide your moans of pleasure, whimpering into your hands the more he licks between your folds shaped by your thin shorts clinging to your center.

Jeno sounds like a rabid animal down there, devouring his way through the best meal he’s ever had. The first sound of a rip sends your spine to straighten out, reaching back down to pull on his hair. “What are you doing!”

He groans, more turned on by your hands digging into his scalp and pulling roughly. Scooping around your thighs for more leverage, Jeno pulls at your shorts and bites down the seam until they give, ripping enough of a hole for his digits to push through and expand. A growl vibrates against your center as he dives in, teething your thin underwear away to roll his tongue against your clit.

“Oh my Go—“ out of breath you arch against his mouth, head shaking side to side and banging into the wall behind you. “Jeno!”

His tongue hardens and swirls against your clit, stimulating each nerve until your feet kick against his back and your hips jerk forward enough to ride his face. He can hardly breathe between your thighs, unbothered by the lack of air reaching his brain as he strokes your clit in expert motion until your cunt spasms against his mouth. Shouting out with your palm hitting flat against the wall as you release down his chin, entrance rocking along the lower half of his face despite the sensitivity throbbing around your middle.

Jeno laps at his mouth like a thirsty dog, slapping your exposed core before moving to stand and wrap around your waist to ensure you can’t run. Not that you will.

“You ready for it.” Resting your hand on his groin, your step-son rushes you up the stairs, scooping under your thighs to reach your bedroom faster.

“In here?!?” You grimace, head shaking to begin pleading. “Not where we slee—“

“Hush.” Jeno doesn’t give you more of an opportunity to argue, immediately hooking into your shorts and underwear to pull them off, only throwing them aside after stuffing the wet fabric under his nose to get a deep inhale. “God damn.”

As much as he wants to let this moment wash over him, the reality of having his wildest fantasy come true, laid out flat in his prick of a father’s bed, legs spread open showing off the prettiest pussy he’s ever seen; Jeno can’t deny how badly he needs to fuck you before he cums in his pants. He’s never been this turned on before, slapping your thigh as he reaches to turn you over onto your stomach, cunt all shiny and raw from the back, squished between your legs making his head spin even more somehow. There’s no way in fucking hell his dad deserves you, not one bit.

Reaching to shove down his shorts, Jeno pats his pocket for his phone, swiping it out discreetly to hit record and perch the device against one of your pillows; making sure to keep it out of your sight before he adjusts between the backs of your thighs. “I’ll fuck your ass too.” He says with a stroke of his thumb between your buttcheeks. “Gonna need more cucumbers for that though.” He snickers, finding a photo from your honeymoon framed on your bedside table, the side you sleep on of course.

Flipping off his father’s cheesy grin, he reaches over to slam the photo down. This is his moment after all, no one else's.

He’d never let you know how raging hard his dick feels right now, lining up the tip to your waiting hole. Having to roll his tongue back to stop himself from blurting out the amount of times he’s busted a nut into his hand, on his stomach, fuck even the pool jacuzzi jets more than a few times by now. All thanks to his precious step-mom, so carelessly displaying every inch of skin, fueling his perverse brain more than you even realize

“Knew you’d take it so good for me,” it’s better than getting a taste of you, which he didn’t think was possible. The stretch of your cunt expanding around his wide girth, skin pulled over the head of his cock struggling to keep him out and somehow pull him in at the same time.

“Gonna fuck you like you’ve never been fucked before.” Jeno says in a more cocky tone, feeling more confident than ever now with half of his length inching inside of you. Pussy walls trembling around his size, sucking around the fat meat pulsing its way inside. No college slut, no amount of lotion to aid his palm, no graphic image available on a free adult website would ever come close to this.

Fully sheathed inside, he sounds out of breath, listening to your whimpers and moans you try to hide with your bedding tugged between your teeth. He glances at his phone quickly, positioning himself to pull out slowly and fall into a rapid pace, dropping his lower half to yours faster and faster until you’re screaming out. The way you scramble to grab onto something—arms flailing out to grab your bed for purchase only encourages him to fuck you faster. Slapping your ass with each powerful thrust.

“Best dick you’ve ever taken, don’t fucking lie to me.” Jeno demands, delivering another harsh slap to your ass before ramming forward balls deep. The collision of his palm cracks around your bedroom, knocking a loud cry from your chest. You nod rabidly in response, gasping deliriously with each pointed thrust. “Say it! Who fucks you this good!”

“You! You baby! Only you!” His phone’s camera stays angled filming your sides, albeit shaky and hard to capture the complete fucked out devestation that’s taken over your pretty face, it’s enough. Enough for him to get off to later, enough to get his way every single time if he needs to.

“That’s right,” Jeno angles his hips to fuck you full with each heavy land of his lower half, pushing your ass up with every clapping shout of skin on skin sounding out between your bodies. “Only me, only your baby.”

The camera tips over, screen gone black directed at the ceiling only recording the sounds of your moans and broken words between each other, Jeno’s gruff heavy panting breaths. The crash of your bodies rocking your headboard against your bedroom wall in a way he’s never once heard his father achieve.

“I’ll never stop fucking you now.” His bicep locks under your chin, forcing your waist to arch forward almost painfully; just enough to strain your lower back. “You’re mine.”

He follows with a growl, lips pressed up to your cheek, laving at whatever skin he’s able to reach. With another roll of his hips, he comes to a still, the thick muscle of his arm around your neck popping out in flex as his body tightens up and locks around your throat. Biting back a moan, Jeno’s release pours inside of you, hot and thick ropes of cum aimed deep inside of you before pulling out the rest of the way to spill between your ass and thighs. “Fuck!”

He sighs, kissing the top of your head to make sure your eyes have shut before reaching for his phone to record the beautiful mess left on your body. He wants to keep going on about how his dad will never fuck you to the point of nearly passing out, dragging his fingers through the mix of your releases before bringing them to his mouth to suck on.

One taste and Jeno knows he won’t stop fucking you until that ring slips off your finger for good.

“Hope he wasn’t too much to put up with while I was gone.” Your husband wraps around you from behind, chin resting on your shoulder. “Next break I’ll have him go stay with his mother.”

“It’s okay my love, he really doesn’t bother me..”

“Hmm, well he sure bothers me.” He sighs, burying his nose into your hair. “Trying a new shampoo?”

“No…” you hold back from making a face, not having had time to thoroughly clean yourself all squeaky clean thanks to your step-son fucking you through the night.

“Oh..” his nose scrunches, pulling away at the sensation of his phone vibrating against your hip. “God, what the hell can this kid want now?”

It has to be Jeno. As unsuspecting as you can, you shift to peer over your shoulder where your husband stands with his eyebrows twisted together. “Why did he send me a video.”

He presses play, immediately setting off your fight or flight response and mentally mumbling off a thank you for the kitchen counter keeping you steady on your feet. The sound of your moans blast from your husband’s phone accompanied by heavy deep grunts, skin clapping against skin and his phone screen covered by the image of your lower half rippling under the weight of your step-sons brutal unrelenting thrusts.

“What in the—“

“Oh my god!” You shriek, slapping a hand over your mouth to quiet your shock. Another text pops up at the top of the screen not even a minute later.

Jeno- ‘Sorry about that dad, meant to text that to my group chat. My mistake.’

“This fucking kid.” Your husband mutters, continuing to watch the video with squinted eyes. “The time stamp on this is from the other night?”

To your horror, he looks at you with an even more confused expression, swiping the video away before it comes to an end. “Did that little shit have someone over? After I made myself clear—“

“He went out!” You blurt out, nodding and catching yourself with a grip on the counter behind your back. “I didn’t think to mention it, but he went out that night. Don’t know when he came back.”

Your husband nods, glaring back at his phone. “I guess he got that insatiable sex drive from me.” He grins at that, humored by his own intrigue watching the girl his son was hooking up with. “Got my type too.” Leaving out the part about a tight little ass, he leans over to grab yours with a squeeze and plants a kiss on your cheek.

You offer a laugh, forcing it to sound less uncomfortable than you feel. “You should delete that text babe, I don’t like that you could be looking at other girls when I’m right here.”

“Is my sweet angel jealous?” He chuckles, slapping your butt and opening his phone to show you as he deletes the message. “My son could never land himself a woman that comes close to you, believe me. You have nothing to be worried about.” With a kiss to your lips he makes to exit and head to your bedroom to shower, leaving you alone to collapse against the counter and quell down the urge of panic trapped in your chest.

The buzz from your phone halts your breakdown, grasping over the kitchen island for it to see new messages from your step-son.

Jeno- ‘You think daddy may prefer these?’

Attached are different angles, showing off more of the bed you sleep in with your husband every night, catching peeks of your pleasured face. Jeno’s behind you in the thumbnails sharing an equal image of rolled up eyes and lips parted open. You don’t need to hit play to know how obscene each video must be.

Jeno- ‘You’ll be sure to keep your pretty mouth shut if you know what’s good for you, right? I know you’re a smart girl.’

An image of your legs parted open from behind sends next, backside covered in a mess of your step-son’s cum and wet arousal smeared around your thighs.

Jeno- ‘Be good for me mommy.’

#nct dream smut #nct smut #jeno smut #neopuppy fics #lee jeno fanfic #nct dream fanfic #nct fanfic

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moonstruckme · 7 months

Note

hello love! i know you probably a dumpster load of requests so i apologize for taking your time. but i just had a thought.; james potter is totally the kind of guy to tell his girlfriend he's taken when drunk. like that man is to loyal for his own good. even when his own gf is trying to bring to home, he's just like "no. i've got a girlfriend that I love DEARLY. leave me alone" and when she keeps trying he'd call for sirius for backup😭. don't feel guilty if you don't do this!! i just wanted to share my thought, with or without you writing it! have an AMAZING day or night, and keep being YOU!! you inspire many people whether you believe that or not, it stays true!!!

Thanks sweetheart, love you!

cw: alcohol

modern au

James Potter x fem!reader ♡ 844 words

You find your boyfriend in a corner booth, hanging onto Sirius’ arm and waxing poetic about their school days.

“They never figured out how we always avoided Minnie whenever she wanted to find us,” he snickers, eyes glimmering. “We were soooo slippery.”

“I think she knew everything,” says Remus, taking a sip of his drink. You notice there’s not one in front of James; it must have been confiscated. “She just liked us—some of us, that is—” He hides a smirk behind his glass. “—well enough to let us get away with it all.” He spots you and, with a nod, turns his attention to Sirius to give you and James space.

James humphs noncommittally, confused as to why Remus no longer seems to be entertaining him.

You come up on his other side, touching his muscled shoulder lightly. “Hey.”

James turns swiftly, clearing not having noticed you walking over. You’re expecting a smile and a hug and expectant, puckered lips—his usual greeting for you—but instead his eyes narrow behind his glasses, brows twitching together almost imperceptibly.

“Hello,” he says, somewhat stiffly.

You feel your lips curve into a bemused sort of smile. “Hi, handsome. Ready to go home?”

He guffaws. Actually guffaws, like you’ve just suggested he go jump in the Thames. “I think not,” he says. “I have a girlfriend.”

A tiny laugh startles out of you. “Yeah, I’m aware. You alright?”

Now he gives you a smile. Or his best attempt at one, but James has always been a terrible actor, and the false grin manifests as a grimace. “M’good, thanks.”

He starts to turn back towards his friends, but you pull on his sleeve.

“C’mon, Jamie,” you urge. “It’s time to go, yeah?” James turns around, looking truly scandalized now. You give his arm a tug. “Let’s go home.”

“No,” he insists, firmer than you knew could be managed with a slur. “I told you, I have a girlfriend. She’s waiting at my home, ‘nd I love her very much. Leave me alone.”

“James,” you laugh. “Honey, it’s me.”

“Pads.” He turns around, wrapping his arm around Sirius’ shoulders like he needs to hold onto something lest you try and haul him away. “Pads, this woman is trying to take me home. Tell ‘er I have a girlfriend.”

Your mouth drops open. “James!”

Sirius turns slowly, raking his gaze over you. He raises an eyebrow, unimpressed. “Get lost, babe. This one’s taken.”

Then he jolts and cuts a glare towards Remus, who sips from his drink innocently. “Be nice,” he reminds his boyfriend, foot moving back under his own chair.

Sirius sighs, rolling his eyes. “Prongs,” he says with great reluctance, “this is your girlfriend.”

Even drunk, James knows enough to be suspicious of his friend when he’s in a mischief-making mood. He squints at Sirius. “My girlfriend s’at home,” he reasons.

“Your girlfriend is here,” Sirius says evenly, and you can’t blame James for his skepticism; if you weren’t fully aware that you are here, you wouldn’t trust Sirius’ deadpan stare either.

“I texted her, James,” Remus says helpfully. “She’s here because I told her where we were.”

Your boyfriend’s lips part, and he turns to you with something between joy and heartache—but the shock of both—written all over his face. “Sweetheart,” he cries, “it’s you!”

“Yeah,” you laugh, letting him tug you forward by the hips into an awkward hug. You set a consoling hand on top of his head. “That’s what I was trying to tell you.”

“My sweetheart,” he mumbles into your stomach. “I didn’t know it was you, angel. Of course I’ll go home with you.”

“Glad to hear it.” You pat his back, heat rising to your cheeks at the display.

James turns his head, still gripping you tightly so the side of his face is pressed to your front. “You texted her for me?” he asks Remus, maudlin.

“Well, I texted her because I didn’t feel like walking in the opposite direction of our flat to carry you home,” Remus says, then shrugs. “But for you too, sure.”

“Thank you, Moony,” James croons.

Remus turns to hide a smile, and you take James’ head in your hands, angling his face back up towards you. “Hi, handsome,” you try again. “Ready to go home?”

He bobs his head happily, clambering out of his seat and whistling rowdily when you slip an arm around his waist to help support him. You wonder if the heat from your face could be harvested to power a hospital or something. You wave goodbye to his friends as James calls over your shoulder how much he’ll miss them until he sees them tomorrow.

“M’so excited to go home, baby.” He leans into your side as you maneuver the both of you out the door of the pub. “I’ve been dying to get home to you. You should’a heard, earlier, I was talking to this other girl ‘nd I told her, ‘I’m just dying to get home to my girlfriend’.”

“Yeah, I remember,” you say. “That was me.”

“Oh, right!”

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not-neverland06 · 27 days

Note

hi!! Given my obsession for Hugh jackman I am CRAVING for some Leopold X reader (from Kate & Leopold)! Maybe with some little angst but happy ending??

I love your blog!! Have a wonderful day 😽💐💓

Leopold Mountbatten x fem!reader a/n: I don’t know how controversial this is going to be and I don’t care. I could never finish the movie because I hated Meg Ryan in it so much. It’s so odd, I’ve loved her in everything else she’s been in but she made it such a hard watch. Maybe it’s because she reminds me of my grandma in the worst way lol, but I finished it for you anon sorry this was a little rushed Anyways, hope you enjoy lovelies Summary: Your neighbor went back in time and dragged someone back with him. He's irritatingly polite and far too interested in your way of life. What are you meant to do when you fall for a man who was never even supposed to meet you?

“Hello, madam, please I need your help!”

You’re used to crazies, it is New York after all. But they’re not usually shouting at you through your window. Especially not when you’re on the sixth floor. You look away from your coffee and glance towards the fire escape.

There’s an oddly dressed man with red eyes waving at you through the dirty glass. You offer him a tentative wave back and he nods aggressively. “Yes, hello, I need your assistance.”

“Um,” you shake your head, “Sorry, I don’t have any drugs dude.”

“No,” he places his hands pathetically on the glass and shakes his head. “Please, I have been kidnapped.” Finally, you take a step closer to him. You can tell now that his eyes aren’t reddened from any medicinal fun, he probably got pepper sprayed.

Your friend did it to you once when you tried to surprise her on her birthday and you’ll never forget just how awful you looked afterwards. You can see him a bit more clearly now. Whatever odd costume he’s got on, it looks good. Genuine and clean.

Not like most of the street performers you see in Times Square. Besides, he doesn’t have that maddened look in his eye that makes you worry he’s going to come inside and kill you. Tentatively, you open the window.

He’s leaping through in a second and you jump back with a yelp. He turns towards you and his eyes widen before he quickly turns away. “My good lady, where are your pants?”

“Uh,” you glance down at the oversized shirt you’re wearing and the tiny shorts underneath. Admittedly, it’s a little skimpy, but you’re not walking around naked. You’ve heard of committing to the bit, but this is a bit much. “On,” you tell him, walking around him and trying to stand close to the phone.

“Ma’am-” He’s cut off as someone slams their fist on your front door. You keep a weary eye on the man while you unlock your door.

“Hey,” Stuart smiles at you. His eyes drift slightly past your shoulder and he goes barging into your apartment. “Leopold! What did I say?”

You huff and glare at Stuart’s frantic back. “This is yours?” Stuart nods and rushes Leopold out the door. You don’t miss the pleading, while slightly scandalized, look he sends you.

You slam the door closed behind them, shaking your head and going back to your morning paper. You doubt you’ll be seeing him around again.

You know, it’s just your luck that your upstairs neighbor is a scientist, one who happens to dabble in the art of time travel. And it’s just your luck that he had to fall down a damn elevator shaft.

Now, according to him, you have to care for someone from a different century so he can make it back to his time portal in, well, in time. This is fucking ridiculous. “I’m going to kill you, Stuart.”

“Look, they’re going to take my phone but he really cannot-”

It goes silent on the other end. You shout his name a few times but hear nothing in response. You assume the hospital staff has finally gotten sick of his shenanigans and has taken his phone. You slam your handset down with a huff and look towards the living room. Leopold hasn’t sat down since you walked in and it’s unsettling.

“So,” you start and his attention snaps towards you. “1876, huh?”

He nods and you roll your eyes with a scoff. “Oh, this is insane. This is insane,” you mutter to yourself, walking towards Stuart’s door. Leopold gives you a concerned look before quickly following after you. There’s a part of you, and you hate that part, that actually believes some of this.

Stuart is a brilliant, though flawed, scientist. You don’t doubt that he might have actually unlocked the secret to traveling back to the past, but it’s such an insane idea to try and wrap your head around.

“Come on, we’re leaving.” You know that Stuart doesn’t want him out of the house. Tough. You’re not going to just stay inside and wait until he can supposedly go back to the past. You don’t give Leopold any time to process your answer, already out the door and heading towards the stairs.

“You know,” he starts as he catches up to you. “You are quite rude.” Your first instinct is to snap back at him. But you take a breath and stop yourself.

You’re desensitized, ridiculously used to just how awful New Yorkers can be to each other. And whether this man is truly from the past or not is up for debate. But he is polite and earnest, and you have no reason to be a bitch to him.

“I’m,” the words are hard to come by but you force them out anyway, “I’m sorry.” He looks genuinely surprised by the apology and it only makes you feel worse. “This is just an insane idea to try and grasp.”

He chuckles softly, smiling as he glances down at his feet. “Yes, how do you think I feel?”

You’re sure it’s not his intention, but you only feel like more of an ass. If this is hard for you, whatever he's going through is a hundred times worse. You weren’t forcefully ripped out of your own time and shoved into another you don’t understand. He’s still trying to comprehend the television.

Though, you’re sure being a scientist has helped him in marginally understanding how all of this is possible. “How do you like the future?” It sounds awkward and stiff, but you haven’t had to talk to anyone in a really long time.

Your interactions are pretty limited at the book shop considering no one ever comes in. They all order online nowadays and all you really have to worry about is organizing shelves. You’re embarrassingly rusty when it comes to conversing.

And his propensity towards eloquence only makes you feel worse. “I must admit, some of your inventions have been quite fascinating. I’m especially fond of your showers.”

Your face scrunches slightly at the mention of hygiene and you nod, “I bet.” Before either of you can attempt to salvage this horrible attempt at conversation your phone starts ringing. “Hold on one second,” you tell him. You walk a few feet away from him but you can still feel his eyes boring into your back as you move away.

“Hello?”

There’s a frantic shout of your name down the line and then the distinct jingling of keys. “I need you to cover the shop. Marcy just went into labor and I’ve got to go!” Paul doesn’t give you a chance to respond before he hangs up.

Your jaw gapes and you stare down at your phone with shock. You know Paul and his wife had been expecting, but had it really already been nine months? Has your life become so monotonous and dull that nine months doesn’t even register for you?

It’s a depressing thought. One you’d rather not linger on. “What was that?”

You scream, though the people passing by don’t pay you any mind, and jump away from Leopold. “Jesus, where the hell did you come from?”

Leopold flinches away from you and his face is just as aghast as yours. “Good heavens, what is the matter with you? Do you respond to anything as a sensible woman might?”

“I resent that.” You tell him bitterly. Though, he does make a good point. You’ve been on edge constantly. You always seem to be more anxious than you are happy. It’s not a good state to perpetually exist in. “I need to go into work.”

You don’t want to outright say that he needs to go back to the apartment. It feels a little mean, but you’re hoping he’ll catch onto your tone of voice.

His entire demeanor perks up and he smiles at you. “Wonderful, I am dreadfully curious as to what you do.”

You open your mouth to correct him, let him know he’s not coming. But he’s staring at you with such hopeful eyes that you cannot find it in yourself to turn him down. He seems so excited, you’re sure he won’t be when he gets to your cluttered little bookshop. You let out a weary sigh, “Fine. Okay.”

You walk towards the curb, hoping to hail a cab. But Leopold’s hand gently wraps around your elbow and tugs you in the opposite direction. Your eyes widen in response to his boldness. You thought touching a woman he wasn’t courting would cause someone like him to combust. Seems he didn’t mind breaking the rules sometimes.

You make a mental note of that for later. You don’t know what you’re going to do with the information, but you find it intriguing. Maybe the modern world was rubbing off on him more than he’d like to admit.

“We should take this,” he stops you in front of a horse-drawn carriage and you immediately begin to shake your head.

“No, Leopold, these are just tourist traps-”

He doesn’t let you finish, opening the carriage’s door and gently nudging you inside. “Nonsense! This is far more enjoyable than those yellow monstrosities.”

“Taxi,” you correct. You turn towards the carriage driver and give him directions to your bookshop. “Ink and Tea on Fifth.” He nods and the carriage rolls forward with a lurch. You grip the cushioned seats and pray you don’t get motion sickness.

“Ink and Tea?” Leopold inquires. “Are you a journalist?”

You smile and shake your head. “No, nothing so fancy. I just help take care of an old bookshop. They were supposed to extend the shop when it first opened. They were going to build a space for people to get pastries or drink tea, but it never happened and the owner was too lazy to change the name.”

It feels a little humiliating to be talking about your minimum-wage job to a renowned scientist. He’s invented or is going to, elevators. He doesn’t care about your stupid shop. But he doesn’t look particularly judgy of you. If anything he seems to be endeared to you the more you talk.

Normally, you’re oblivious to these sorts of things. But it’s nearly impossible for him to hide. He’s not shy with his attraction, never taking his eyes off of you and hanging onto your every word. You’re not used to such outward attention.

You look out of the carriage, pretending to take in views you’ve already seen a thousand times. “This city is incredible,” he wonders aloud. His awe is palpable.

Your nose wrinkles and you shrug. “It’s dirty and the people are intolerable.”

“Must you always be so pessimistic?” You snap your mouth shut and feel embarrassment creeping around you. You’ve never had someone point out when you’re being negative, but he has a point.

You used to view the city through the same rose-colored glasses. Something’s broken inside you in recent years that has just taken the joy out of life. Everything is grey to you now, until Leopold, nothing spectacular has ever really happened to you.

The carriage comes to a stop outside the shop before you can respond to him. You want to deny what he says, but you can’t. Your attitude is almost always unnecessary. You think sometimes you might just be trying to see if everyone feels as miserable as you do or if there’s just something wrong with you.

“Come on,” you tell him, getting out and paying the driver. He wanders towards the shop, eyeing the displays in the window curiously.

“These are wonderful,” he tells you, pointing to the way you’d made the books look like they’re floating above the shelves. It was just some silly little thing you’d tried to get more people in the shop. It’d worked for about a month.

“I did that,” you unlock the door to the shop and open it for him. But he doesn’t walk in immediately, instead, he lingers in the doorway. He offers you a soft smile and you can’t help but return it.

“You’re more creative than you give yourself credit for.”

Your eyes widen as you watch him walk inside. He keeps making these oddly astute observations about you and it’s throwing you off your game. You barely know this man and you’ve always been good at keeping yourself aloof and vague. Yet, he seems to read you like you’re wearing your heart on your sleeve.

“Feel free to…” he’s already made himself comfortable somewhere in the back and you trail off. “Look around,” you finish lamely. His form is lost somewhere in stacks of books and cluttered shelves.

You know most of the classics and history books are kept towards the back. You wonder if he’s reminiscing or getting a headstart before he gets back to his time. You smile at the thought and walk behind the counter, sitting on the stool and preparing to finish off the rest of the day.

Leopold is still somewhere lost to you an hour later. Occasionally you’ll hear a page flip or the clatter of a book being reshelved, but there are no other signs of life. Not until the bell above the door rings.

“Clark,” you smile, sitting up straighter as your friend walks through the door. “What’re you doing here?”

He gives you a crooked grin and shrugs. Just over his shoulder, you can see Leopold’s head pop over a shelf, he looks between you both, eyes narrowing with disdain. “Paul told me you’d be here, figured you might want some company.”

“Actually-” you start, but another voice cuts you off.

“Leopold Mountbatten,” he comes around the corner, hand outstretched as he comes in between you and Clark. “And who might you be?”

Your brows furrow in confusion at the interaction. Leopold seems oddly hostile and Clark looks strangely caught off guard. “Um, Clark. Nice to meet you, man.” He shakes Leopold’s hand but his grip is weak and it only lasts for one awkward half-second.

It’s uncomfortable to watch them try and interact and it only gets worse when they turn towards you. Clearly, they want you to tell them who the hell the other guy is. But you feel like that might just make the situation worse.

Besides, you were pretty content with it just being you and Leopold, you don’t need Clark coming in here and riling things up. “You know, Clark, I’m set here. You can just go home.” Your tone leaves no room for argument but you know he wants to.

“Alright, I’ll just call you later, I guess.” He throws one last skeptical look at Leopold before finally slinking back out of the shop.

“Neither of you should be alone without a chaperone present.” Leopold bluntly scolds you without even waiting a second before Clark is gone. It catches you off guard and you scoff.

You motion between the two of you, “We don’t have a chaperone.”

Leopold shrugs, “Yes, well, I’m not courting you.” It shouldn’t, because he’s right, but that stings. He is attractive, surprisingly so. You have this odd belief that anyone from his century had to be at least a little ugly. But he’s near perfect.

Hearing him tell you so bluntly that you’re not courting hurts a little. Though, you can’t blame him. You must be dramatically different than the women he’s used to. From your manners to how you dress, you’re practically an alien.

You stand up from behind the counter and walk towards the cart of books that need to be shelved. “Clark is a friend. Nothing more.” You’ve never once been romantically interested in your friend. He’s attractive, but he’s not really your type.

Apparently, British men from the nineteenth century are. Which does not bode well for your romantic prospects once Leopold is back home. “It is plain for anyone to see how he wants you. Don’t let yourself be blinded by naivete.”

“Naivete?” you scoff and turn around to glare at him. “Don’t pretend to know anything about me, alright? I’m not some maiden in a frilly dress who needs a chaperone.” You can see that your words affect him. He looks a little taken aback by your anger and so are you.

It’s misplaced. You’re not mad at him, just mad that you even like him. “Just go read or something, Leopold.” You dismiss him more rudely than necessary and hide yourself behind a few shelves. The rest of your workday is spent in a tense silence that makes your stomach churn.

You’re nearly ready for bed when something slips under your door with a slight whoosh. You turn towards it, frowning when you see a little envelope with a wax seal on the ground. You pick it up and let your finger slip under the paper, opening it to find a letter with your name on it inside.

The handwriting is impeccable, with a gracefulness to it that you’ve never seen before. You don’t have to read for very long to know who it's from. Leopold writes poetry about the color of your eyes and the way your lips curl when you smile. And then he ends it with a vague, nearly ominous, invitation to dinner.

You can’t help but smile to yourself, changing out of your pajamas and slipping into something a little nicer. A few minutes later you’re climbing out your window and taking the stairs up the fire escape to the roof.

You don’t believe your ears at first, thinking the music must be coming from another apartment. But when you make it up to the roof there’s a violin player there waiting for you. He smiles happily at you as you approach.

You spin in a slow circle, taking in the sheer amount of flowers littered around the roof. You don’t know how he managed to afford all of this. He transformed the barren and empty rooftop into your own little paradise. Candles lit and a live musician playing for you.

You’ve never had anyone do something like this for you, ever. It’s a little hard to accept that someone would be willing to put this much effort in for you. “I wasn’t entirely sure you would come.”

You turn around and Leopold is waiting behind you, that familiar smile playing on his lips. You aren’t aware of the grin forming on your face in response. You don’t have much control over that when you’re with him.

“Why wouldn’t I?”

He looks like he wants to respond but at the last moment thinks better of it. He instead pulls your chair out for you, helping you into your seat. “This is nice,” that feels too underwhelming a word for such an incredible gesture.

You sigh and frown as you try and find the right words. You don’t notice him sitting down across from you. You only look up when you feel him placing his hand on your own. “It’s alright,” he assures you.

It’s still so odd how he can know you so well after such little time. “This is incredible,” you tell him, undeterred by his attempts to soothe you. “No one’s ever done something like this for me.”

He looks like he takes personal offense to that and it makes you laugh. “You deserve far more than this. Sadly, it seems Stuart’s pockets do have limits and I’m afraid I would have put him into debt if I’d gone any further.”

You have the perfect mental image of Stuart coming back from the hospital only to find his science project has robbed him. It makes you laugh and you squeeze his hand once before drawing it back into your lap. He lets his touch linger on you for a long moment, seemingly reluctant to pull away.

“No,” you tell him, “this is perfect.”

You fall into a comfortable silence for a little while. Conversation mostly drifting toward what his life was like as a duke. You don’t have much to say about your own life. It’s been incredibly normal and you’re a little sad to find that you don’t have one good thing to share with him.

Nothing comes to the front of your mind.

Inevitably, you drift into the topic you’d both been so adamantly avoiding. “Has Stuart said when you’d need to return?”

Leopold’s grip on the fork tightens and for a moment he refuses to meet your eye. “Monday, I’m afraid.”

“Oh,” your eyes widen and you feel something burning at the back of your throat. Monday, the same Monday that’s two days away.

“Dance with me,” the suddenness of the demand catchers you so off guard that you forget the tears. He stands, holding out his hand to you. You almost say no, you can’t remember the last time you danced and you doubt it’s going to be pretty.

But he whispers your name and something about his tone tells you to take the chance while you have it. You slip your hand into his, letting him pull you to your feet. He doesn’t sweep you off your feet and dance the night away.

Instead, he holds you close and you sway together. Like moving even an inch away from each other would hurt. “You could come with me,” he tells you. And you know immediately what he’s talking about.

You also know it could never happen. Going to the nineteenth century is insane. Even considering it should be enough to have you sent to a psych ward somewhere. Especially not for a man you’ve known for less than a month.

You try and tell him that you can’t, but he stops you. “I know, a preposterous idea. I just wanted to think about it.” You look up at him and find that you can’t take that away from him. There’s nothing wrong with imagining what it could be like with him. Even when you know it can never happen.

You dance like that for a little while longer, swaying against each other while the violin plays in the background. He whispers your name and when you gaze up at him this time, there’s a certain look in his eye that you know is reflected in your own.

He dips down, lips caressing yours gently before he’s pushing more firmly against your own. The world stops. Cliche, you’re aware. For the first time in years, though, you’re alive. You feel something other than the dull monotony of life. You feel excited and terrified all at once. Because you know you can never have this feeling again.

You will never meet another man like Leopold who ignites this spark of life and passion within you. Never has a man been able to make you doubt every decision you’ve ever made with just a kiss, but here he is.

Your arms lift like you might try and draw him in closer. His hands come up, taking yours in his gentle hold and squeezing. He pulls away from you and reality comes crashing back down. You’re not in love, you can’t be. You’ve only just met him a few days ago.

Yet, here you are, wondering if you might actually want to leave everything behind to be with him like the great romances authors write about. He smiles at you and there’s a bittersweetness to it, a final farewell that you know will break whatever is left of your heart.

He lifts your knuckles to his lips, pressing his lips against them like he never wants to part. “Goodnight,” he whispers your name and backs away from you. You watch him go, watch him leave, unable to muster up any words for him.

You can’t think of anything that would ease this gnawing ache inside of you. Nothing to soothe the pain for either of you. You let him go because you know if you asked him to stay he would. And how selfish of you would it be to let history unravel simply because you fell in love?

Monday. It is Monday. You’ve been coming to terms with that all weekend. You don't want to think about the fact that Leopold will be gone tonight. Your time together was so brief but you feel like you’re never going to get over losing him.

Before the night was over on Sunday, a note was slipped under your door. This handwriting was messy, it made you think someone other than Leopold had written it down, but you don’t know who it could have been.

It was a date and time, jump off the Brooklyn Bridge at this time on Monday night. Only an idiot would jump off a bridge because of an ominous note slipped under her door. But you haven’t been able to take your eyes off of it, not since you first picked it up.

Leopold had invited you to go with him. And while you might not have said no, the insinuation was clear. Your eyes dart to your clock. If you left now, you could still make it in time. What an absolutely ridiculous thought.

So, why are you running out the door without locking it? Why do you not care who slips into your home now? There’s this sense of finality within you that lets you know you’re never going to see that place again and that’s okay.

You never truly felt comfortable in your life. You always thought a part of yourself was missing. Or that you were always running late for something. You think you understand what you were feeling now.

The thing you’ve been searching for your whole life wasn’t halfway across the world, a hundred thousand miles from you. He was on the wrong side of time, or you were, at least.

You manage to snag a taxi to get to the bridge but there’s a traffic jam. You’re forced to jump out of the car and run through the different lanes of blocked traffic. People shout at you. Your cab driver screaming after you about your fare. You don’t care, the only thing you can think about is the note crumpled in your hands and the clock counting down how long you have to jump.

You’ll either be on the news tomorrow as an unfortunate suicide. An idiot who accidentally threw herself off the wrong side of the bridge. Or, you’ll see Leopold again.

You reach the ledge and you can’t hesitate. If you do, you won’t jump in time. You close your eyes, holding your breath like you’re jumping into your neighbor’s pool. Air rushes around you, whipping at your hair and skin violently.

It’s not until you hear someone shouting down at you that you realize you’re not dead. You’re lying in the middle of a dirt road, a group of people staring down at you with concern in their eyes.

You only have to take in the clothes they’re wearing to know you’ve made it. Before they can react you’re leaping to your feet and running off. You know you’re near the Brooklyn Bridge, or where it’s supposed to be at least. You know enough about the area to remember where Leopold’s house is supposed to be.

You’re covered in sweat and red mud. The people you pass by in the streets hide behind their hands and whisper about you. You’re not making a good impression on your future neighbors, that’s for sure. But, honestly, all you care about is making it back to him.

You see people congregating outside his uncle’s home. You know there’s a party inside, that he’s supposed to be announcing who his wife will be. You barrel through the people outside, shoving through the crowd and running up the steps of the house.

You can hear Leopold’s voice as you run, “The woman I’m going to take as my wife is-”

There’s a loud gasp as you come panting into the room. You can’t catch your breath long enough to speak but it doesn’t matter. The crowd is parting around you and Leopold is smiling down at you. He says your name and there’s nothing else that matters about the world around you. Not when you finally found each other.

#leopold mountbatten x reader #leopold mountbatten x you #kate and leopold #I just know this is going to flop lol #hugh jackman #hugh jackman x reader #anon

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lucilleslore · 10 months

Text

➸ postpeacekeeper!coryo who comes back to the capitol a bit meaner and colder than when he left. who greets you off the train with a rough kiss to your lips, a possessive hand splayed over your lower back but with eyes empty of emotion.

➸ postpeacekeeper!coryo who starts to zone out when you’re speaking to him, who doesn’t come to bed at night. who drags his eyes hungrily over your skin one minute but completely ignores you the next.

➸ postpeacekeeper!coryo who starts to see you as his property - his pretty little doll. he sees you as a way to boost his image, better his reputation. he’s got a doting, pretty little wife at home, he can’t be that bad?? so he drags you out, picks out your dresses himself, introduces you to all the right people and watches with a smirk as you manage to win them all over with your charm. no doubt they come to like you better than him but he finds he doesn’t care all that much, especially when you’re so under his thumb.

➸ postpeacekeeper!coryo who always rewards you for your efforts when you get home. who lets you grind your messy little cunt down on his cock until you can’t speak. he watches you a while, engrossed in the way you suck him in but when he’s approaching orgasm he leans back, shuts his eyes. he finally, finally lets the quiet take over. shuts his mind off and focuses on you and the pleasure, just for a few minutes at least.

➸ postpeacekeeper!coryo who’s sleep schedule is terrible. who stays up all night plotting and working and you, who wake up intermittently feeling empty and needy. you pad into his office, just his shirt and some socks on and he immediately knows what you want. glances at you for a second then turns his attention back to what he’s doing. then he’s patting his thigh if you’ve been good and you know the drill. soon enough you’re sinking down on him, hiding your face in the crook of his neck to muffle your whines. ‘don’t move, be a good girl for me and just sit still,’ coryo would always warn. ‘can you do that?’

➸ postpeacekeeper!coryo who suddenly has no time for your capitol snobbishness and attitude. who cuts you off when you’re ranting about something unimportant and silly. who tells you to grow up if you don’t like what the cook made for dinner, if you’re complaining about how the lawn was cut, how you don’t like the flowers. but postpeacekeeper!coryo does care about your gossip. he has this unending need to know everyone’s secrets and so when you start telling him the latest scandal or one of your girlfriends latest dirty laundry he gives you his undivided attention. lets you sit on his lap whilst he listens, traces patterns into your bare thigh.

➸ postpeacekeeper!coryo who gives you a messy kiss when you give him something really useful. who grabs your cheeks and tells you how brilliant you are. he’ll push you down on his desk, hike your skirt up and give you your favourite reward. he can’t deny that the eager sounds you make as he kisses at your swollen little clit are music to his ears.

➸ but postpeacekeeper!coryo really can’t stand it when your bratty. he’s not much of a punisher - in his opinion - he just bends you over the nearest surface and uses you. occasionally bites the skin at your shoulders, tells you what a messy slut you really are, just there for him to take his own pleasure and that’s what he does. he fucks you until you can barely stand, until your wetness and his cum are dripping down your thighs and then he leaves you there. doesn’t let you cum, pulls out if you even make a sound and waits until you’ve incoherently rambled out an apology to push back in. it’s barely even punishment in his eyes.

➸ so all in all postpeacekeeper!coryo is hot and cold. all in obsessed with you for a while, disinterested for a few weeks after, then the cycle repeats but he does keep you satisfied. even if you are just his pretty toy, another piece on his chessboard to win the capitol <3

#coriolanus snow #coriolanus snow x reader #coriolanus snow smut #coriolanus x reader #coriolanus x you #- !concepts!

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goddessofvalyria · 14 days

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My sweet sister | Aemond Targaryen x fem!reader

Summary: After the battle at Rook's Rest Aemond came home to his pregnant wife. Aegon is injured, and Aemond is now the prince regent. His sister-wife needs him but he's concentrate about the war. She feels unwanted so one night she decides to seduce him.

TW: 18+, MINORS DNI, SMUT, She/Her pronouns, pregnant sister-wife, face sitting, oral (f), fingering, sex.

English is not my first language, be kind <3

This is my Masterlist

Words: 2,7K

The night is still and quiet in King's Landing, but inside the Red Keep, tensions run as high as they ever have.

The aftermath of the battle at Rook's Rest has left the realm in disarray, the death of Rhaenys Targaryen echoing through the halls of the capital. Aegon lies grievously injured, barely clinging to life, leaving Aemond to take up the mantle of prince regent.

For days now, Aemond has been consumed by matters of war - the constant strategy meetings, messengers flooding in with reports, and the looming threat of more rebellion. His mind is singularly focused on the task of holding the Seven Kingdoms together. Though he returns to his chambers every night, he seems distant, emotionally unavailable, his sharp focus entirely elsewhere.

His sister-wife watches him from across their shared chambers, her delicate hand resting on her swollen belly. She is with child, yet her husband's thoughts remain miles away. She feels neglected, forgotten, as if the man who once cherished her has faded into nothing but a ghost. He barely touches her now, speaks to her only in curt tones about the war or their children, the cold mask of duty draped over him like a shroud.

Aemond sits near the fire, pouring over maps with a furrowed brow, his long silver hair falling into his face.

The firelight flickers, casting shadows across the sharp planes of his features, making him look even more unapproachable.

"Aemond" she begins softly, but he doesn't raise his head. She bites her lip, summoning her courage. Her voice trembles as she speaks again, louder this time.

"Aemond."

He finally looks up, his single violet eye flicking toward her. "What is it, my love? Is something wrong?" His tone is cool, though not unkind. It's simply detached, distant.

She hesitates for a moment, then shakes her head, her silvery blonde curls catching the light. "No, nothing's wrong" she says, though the knot of loneliness inside her tightens. She takes a step closer to him, her bare feet soundless on the cold stone floor.

Aemond sighs, his eye drifting back to his maps.

"Good. There is much to discuss, and I cannot afford any distractions."

The word cuts deeper than he realizes. She clenches her fists at her sides, feeling the sting of rejection. She knows he is under immense pressure, but his indifference toward her is unbearable. She is his wife — his sister, his lover, the mother of his children. Yet, he treats her as though she is no more than another obligation.

The princess makes a decision then, one that feels reckless, even scandalous. But she cannot bear this icy distance any longer. She needs her husband back, needs to remind him of what they once shared. Slowly, she begins to undo the ties of her gown, the pale green fabric slipping from her shoulders. Aemond doesn't notice at first, still focused on the maps, the war, the chaos that surrounds them.

When she lets the gown pool at her feet, leaving her in nothing but the thin shift beneath, she takes a breath, her heart racing. Her hands move to untie the last layer, and she steps closer to him.

"Aemond" she whispers, her voice husky with something unfamiliar to even herself.

He glances up again, his expression unreadable. His eye briefly flickers down to her form, though it seems to take him a moment to register what she's doing.

When it finally does, his brows furrow in confusion.

""My love...?" His voice trails off as she takes another step forward, the shift sliding from her body.

The firelight dances over her skin, casting a golden glow across her soft curves. She stands before him now, completely bare, unashamed, though her heart thunders in her chest. Aemond stares at her, his usual control faltering for the first time in days.

"What are you doing?" His voice is low, but there's a note of tension beneath it, a crack in his stoic demeanor.

She moves closer, her hips swaying with a deliberate slowness, her eyes never leaving his. "I've missed you" she murmurs, her hands reaching out to touch his shoulder, to feel the warmth of him beneath her fingertips. "You've been away, even when you're here. I need you, Aemond. I need my husband."

He inhales sharply as her hands glide over his chest, her touch light yet insistent. For the first time in what feels like an eternity, he truly sees her not as the pregnant sister-wife waiting patiently in the shadows, but as the woman he once desired fiercely, the woman he loved.

His eye darkens with something more primal as she slides onto his lap, straddling him, her hands moving to cradle his face. "I know you've been consumed by war" she whispers, her lips brushing against his ear. "But I'm still here. I need you, and I think you need me too."

He exhales a ragged breath, his hand coming up to grip her waist almost unconsciously. The maps scatter to the floor as she presses closer, her body warm and inviting against his. His restraint, the careful mask he wears so well, begins to crumble as he feels her softness against him.

"My love, my sweet sister..." His voice is strained, thick with the battle between duty and desire. "This isn't... you shouldn't..."

She silences him with a kiss, her lips soft but insistent against his. It's not a timid kiss; it's full of yearning, of need, of everything she's kept bottled up for weeks.

Aemond groans against her mouth, the weight of his responsibilities momentarily forgotten as he pulls her closer, his hands roaming over her back, her hips.

When they finally break apart, both of them are breathless. Aemond's eye searches hers, as though trying to find his bearings.

"You're right" he murmurs, his voice low and rough.

"I've been away for too long." He tightens his grip on her, his fingers digging into her skin. "But not tonight."

She smiles, her eyes shining with triumph and affection. She leans in to kiss him again, and this time, there is no hesitation from him. Aemond surrenders completely, his war forgotten for the night. He's no longer a prince regent or a soldier in the endless battle for the throne. For this moment, he is simply a man, lost in the arms of the woman he loves.

Aemond's eye darkens with raw desire as he pulls her closer, his lips brushing against hers, yet his control, once unshakable, has utterly crumbled in the face of her need and his own long-repressed hunger. He leans back, his hands gripping her hips firmly, guiding her as she straddles him. Their kiss deepens, his fingers moving over her skin with a new urgency, tracing the curve of her spine and thighs.

Aemond’s hand slides down between her thighs, finding her soaked pussy. "You're wet, sweet sister" he whispers, kissing her neck as she wrestles with his clothes and tears his shirt off. "Shh" Aemond whispers calmly, sliding two fingers into her soaking slit.

She begins to ride his fingers, her juices dripping from her pussy, wetting his pants and forming a stain on them. She clings to him, moving her hips eager for his fingers, but Aemond has other plans for her.

When she pulls back to catch her breath, he's already leaning forward again, trailing kisses down her neck, murmuring against her skin, "I've missed this... missed you."

Her breathing quickens as his lips move lower, his hands now exploring her body with purpose. He gently pushes her back onto the bed, his violet eye burning with something untamed, his restraint lost entirely to the desire that has simmered beneath the surface for far too long. His gaze rakes over her, admiring her, but it's more than that. It's worship.

"You've been so patient with me" Aemond murmurs, his voice a low rumble. "But tonight, it's only us. I want to make you feel... everything."

His sister-wife's breath catches as his words sink in, and she feels a shiver of anticipation course through her. She's never seen him like this, so unguarded, so intent on her pleasure. When he presses a kiss just below her navel, she gasps, her fingers threading through his hair, tugging slightly as his lips continue their descendant.

"Aemond..." she whispers, her voice trembling with need.

He looks up at her, his eye locking onto hers with a predatory glint. "I want you to sit on my face" he says quietly, his tone leaving no room for doubt.

She hesitates for only a second, unsure of what he means, but then his hands are guiding her, urging her gently to straddle his face. Her heart races at the unspoken promise in his gaze, and she lets herself give in, positioning herself above him.

Aemond's hands grip her hips, steadying her as he looks up at her, his expression fierce with desire. "Let go, my sweet sister" he whispers, and then his mouth is on her, his tongue moving with practiced precision against her most sensitive spot.

She cries out, her hands clutching the bed sheets as a wave of pleasure crashes over her. Aemond's tongue moves in slow, deliberate strokes, teasing and tasting, drawing out every moan, every gasp, his grip tightening on her hips as he pulls her closer. Helena feels her thighs trembling, her whole body alight with sensation, her head spinning as he lavishes attention on her.

"Oh, gods" she moans, her voice a breathless whimper, barely able to form coherent words. Her hips begin to move of their own accord, grinding against his mouth, and Aemond groans in response, the vibration sending another jolt of pleasure through her.

He doesn't stop, doesn't slow, his tongue moving faster now, more insistent, as one of his hands slides up her thigh. She gasps again when she feels his fingers slide inside her, slow at first, then curling upward, finding the perfect rhythm with his tongue. The combination of his mouth, his nose pressing on her clit and his fingers overwhelms her, driving her closer and closer to the edge.

"Aemond-" Her voice is breathless, trembling, and she can't hold on any longer. She feels the tension in her core snap, her body trembling as she comes undone above him, her cries echoing through the chamber.

Aemond doesn't let up, continuing his ministrations until her body is spent, shaking in the aftermath of her release.

He gently lowers her back onto the bed, his lips glistening, a satisfied smirk on his face as he watches her try to catch her breath.

"Was that good, my love?" he asks, his voice a deep, satisfied rumble.

Sh still reeling from the intensity of what just happened, nods weakly, her body still trembling.

"Gods, Aemond... yes."

But he isn't done yet.

He moves over her again, his hands sliding up her body as he kisses her deeply, and she tastes herself on his lips. There's an urgency in his kiss now, his need for her as strong as ever. His hard length presses against her thigh, and she feels a new wave of heat build within her.

"Aemond, please" she breathes against his lips, her voice heavy with longing. "I need you."

He doesn't need to be told twice. Aemond slips off his trousers and pants, leaving him naked with a throbbing, wet, long, painful erection between his legs.

He positions himself between her legs, his eye locking onto hers as he slowly pushes into her. The feeling of him inside her, stretching her sweet, wet and soaked pussy, filling her, draws a soft moan from her lips. He moves slowly at first, letting her adjust to the feeling, but soon his pace quickens, his need for her overtaking him.

She wraps her legs around his waist, pulling him deeper, her fingers digging into his back as their bodies move together. Each thrust sends a surge of pleasure through her, and she feels herself spiraling toward the edge once again.

"Look at me" Aemond growls, his voice thick with lust.

His gaze burns into hers, intense, unrelenting. "I want to see you when you fall apart."

She holds his gaze, her breath coming in short gasps as she feels the pressure building again, higher and higher, until it finally shatters. She cries out his name as she tumbles over the edge, her body clenching around him, pulling him even deeper.

Aemond groans loudly, his pace faltering as he finds his own release, spilling into her with one final thrust.

He collapses onto her, his forehead resting against hers as they both struggle to catch their breath.

For a long moment, there's only the sound of their breathing, their bodies still entangled. Aemond presses a soft kiss to her lips, his earlier intensity replaced by something gentler, more tender.

"I've missed you" he murmurs, his voice low but filled with affection.

She smiles, her hand sliding into his hair. "I've missed you too." She pauses, then adds softly,

"Promise me you won't leave me again."

Aemond looks down at her, his expression serious. "I swear it," he says, his hand cupping her face. "No more distance. I'll be here. Always."

Aemond lies beside her sister-wife, his body still pressed close to hers, both of them basking in the quiet aftersex of their reunion. Their breathing has slowed, the firelight casting a soft glow over the room, but the air between them now feels different - warmer, intimate in a way it hasn't been for months.

His hand moves tenderly to her belly, gently resting on the curve where their child grows, and for a moment, he is no longer the prince regent, no longer the warrior consumed by war and bloodshed. Here, he is only a husband and a father. He leans down slowly, his lips brushing the soft skin of her belly. The gesture is tender, reverent, as though he's touching something sacred. She watches him with a soft smile, her fingers running through his silver hair, and she feels her heart swell with affection for this man - the man who, despite everything, is hers.

Aemond kisses her belly again, more firmly this time, his eye softening as he presses his lips against the place where their child stirs within her. He lingers there, his breath warm against her skin, before speaking in a low, gentle voice, a voice he uses with no one else but her.

"My little dragon" he murmurs softly, his hand caressing her rounded stomach. "Your father is here, and I will protect you... both of you."

Her violet eyes glisten as she watches him, her heart full. There's a vulnerability in him now, something he doesn't show to anyone else, but with her, he lets the mask fall. He presses another kiss to her belly, his fingers tracing small, soothing circles.

"You will be strong" he continues, his voice filled with quiet determination. "Born into a world of fire and blood, but you will never want for love." He looks up at her sweet sister-wife, his gaze soft but unwavering. "I will make sure of it."

She smiles, her hand still cradling his head, her thumb brushing over his cheek. "Our little dragon is lucky to have you" she whispers, her voice thick with emotion.

Aemond closes his eye for a moment, letting himself feel the warmth of her words. Then, he kisses her belly once more, lingering there as if speaking directly to the life growing within her.

Her heart swells as she watches him, her hand still resting on his head, feeling the weight of his love for both her and their unborn child. For a brief moment, the chaos of the world outside fades away, leaving only the three of them - their small family, bound together in love and shared destiny.

Aemond looks up at her again, his expression softened by the love he can never fully express with words alone.

"'ll protect you both," he vows once more, his voice firm yet tender. "No matter what."

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doomsdaybby · 2 months

Text

to end up with you. steve harrington x fem!reader. (2.6k words) just realising that I don't think I EVER posted this????!!! from wayyyyyyy back in the depths of google docs.

summary: waking up tangled in bed with steve was a new situation you never, ever, thought you’d find yourself in. cw: new relationship/honeymoon phase, inexperienced!reader, a lil bit smutty towards the end

You could safely say that your favourite thing about your newfound relationship with Steve Harrington, was waking up next to him in the morning.

As cliché and vomit-inducing as it sounds, there was no better feeling in the world. Nothing. Even though you had to admit - freshman year you would beat the absolute shit out of present you if they could gaze into the future, curled shamelessly up in bed with Steve ‘The King’ Harrington.

Of course there were the drives; Steve tapping away at the steering wheel and failing to keep his eyes on the road as you sang your heart out to his array of cassettes - from Abba, to Queen, to Duran Duran - he marvelled the way your eyes sparkled and how you would peer at him through thick lashes with unequivocal adoration.

Kisses under the stars on the hood of his BMW, picnic blankets in the blooming spring, and countless movie nights where you would steal his popcorn and he would pretend to be annoyed about it.

All of it seemed so minuscule compared to his soft breath fanning the nape of your neck, plush parted lips nestling at your collar bone, wild strands of hair tickling the tip of your nose.

You fell head over heels for Steve rather quickly, absolutely done for the first time you walked into Scoops Ahoy only to be greeted by him wearing that downright ridiculous sailor uniform. The uniform that hugged every single pretty little place just right.

He had been idly leaning over the counter, head propped lazily in one hand as he stared at the other spinning an ice-cream scoop on its head. “Pretty girl, 12 o’clock” you heard your friend Robin hiss at him from the window behind, and the boy would have surely leapt across the expanse of the counter if he straightened up any quicker.

A clear of the throat and he plastered on that signature smirk you only had the pleasure to be on the receiving end of once before. The sophomore year spring ball to be exact; your mothers sapphire blue dress clinging to your waist in every way you hated, ruched sleeves drooping over your shoulders, neckline cut scandalously low down for a high school dance.

Maybe it was because that dress gave away everything you didn’t want, having eyes that never paid attention to you before superglued to your figure, that Steve Harrington actually noticed you for the first time.

Not a word was said, not once did he try to strike up a conversation or woo you with an overused pick up line that the whole of Hawkins had heard before, but the smirk across the dance floor was enough, and your heart fizzled and sparked like fireworks on the fourth of July.

You despised it then, but the look he shot your way appeared softer this time around. Maybe it was the ridiculous uniform that made him present like a little lost puppy, or how you noticed his eyes swimming with the ‘I definitely know who you are but I'm not going to address it’ look.

“Would you like to set sail on this ocean of flavour with me? I’ll be your captain. I’m Steve Harrington”, words as sweet as caramelized sugar. He flipped the scoop in his hand only to fumble when it hit his fingertips at the wrong angle, the offensive clang of metal on metal made your nose scrunch.

But little did he know, Steve had you pinned. Completely enamored in every way you wish you never would be, pinched by the collar between his fingers.

“I know who you are” you snickered through your fingers, not wanting to embarrass the poor boy anymore as he just dive-bombed his attempt to be suave. His cheeks stippled the lightest dusting of pink, growing disgruntled when Robin didn’t hold back on the overboard cackles and chastising.

Your first kiss happened exactly one month after that, parked up outside your house after a late showing of ‘Back to the Future’, third date pocketed and he had only done so much as kiss your cheek. You liked who Steve Harrington blossomed into, you liked him a lot.

The realisation came that even during those high school years, where someone like Steve would never give you the time of day, he had always been a sappy lovesick little puppy. The years of babysitting and near enough mothering had stripped the cool guy illusion, and thank every higher power that they did.

Because Steve Harrington had only ever wanted to be loved, and you were grateful to be the one he welcomed with open arms.

You would always remember that first morning waking up to him, fearing that you may never be able to wake up alone again. If your parents knew you were at Steve’s rather than Robin’s like you’d told them, they would have moved states before letting you see him again. As sleeping over at a new boyfriend's house could only mean one thing, right?

But even three months in, Steve never once touched you unless you made it clear it was okay. He never pressured, or reprimanded. Neither did he break up with you as you had expected, having the knowledge burnt into your brain that he certainly got around.

But you weren’t just a new conquest or a summer love affair. His heart had never beat quite as fast as it did when he was with you, and he made every effort to show you just how much you meant to him.

The affection trickled in at first, keeping you at arms length whilst you were still figuring each other out. But soon the outpouring of love came in tidal waves, and you quickly realised that Steve’s love language was absolutely physical touch.

Whether it be a safety net of a hand at the small of your back, fingers delicately intertwined with yours, a gentle hand roaming through your hair, or a pinky finger rooted through your belt loops - he was always there.

Right on queue, Steve shifted in his sleep beside you, pressing his face further into the crook of your neck and gripping you at the ribs just that little bit tighter. You placed a small kiss to the crown of his head, and he smiled, a lazy grin painting his charming features.

“Morning handsome,” you mumbled into his mess of hair, and Steve speckled that small sliver of collarbone with what felt like a million tiny pecks. He hummed against your warm skin, pulling the arm back that was fastened underneath your ribcage so he could snake it beneath your t-shirt.

His touch travelled over the soft plush of your belly, fingertips barely tracing your skin, settling right at the base of the valley of your bare breasts. You bit the inside of your lip, he was always so conscious of boundaries.

“You can touch them if you want,” you said quickly, before you had a chance to take it back, the back of your neck burning with embarrassment at the mere suggestion. But Steve laughed delightfully into your skin, the vibrations of his throat tickling and he lifted his head up to meet your eyes then.

That dummy beamed up at you like he’d just won the lottery. “Really?” a quick flick of his gaze to your lips, and you felt your chest ignite like a bonfire.

He always held the lit match in his hand, delicately enclosed in his fingers, your heart permanently doused in gasoline and begging words escaping your lips for him to set it alight.

An enthusiastic nod was more than a perfect green light, settling back down into the crook of your neck. So with permission, Steve floated his hand up to the swell of your breast, careful and methodical, tracing around the shape and eventually enclosing his palm over you.

Bare teeth amidst a cheerful grin brushed along your skin, and you couldn’t help but roll your eyes at how giddy he was getting over your tits.

“Jesus, Harrington. Haven’t even said good morning to me and you’re already feeling me up?” you wanted to make light of it all, despite the growing rate of your heartbeat the more Steve pushed and pulled amiably, plus the blatant erection that was now pressing urgently into your leg.

“Good morning” a gravelly mutter cloaked beneath a poorly hidden chuckle, wild bed-head mane sweeping along your chin when he angled his head up again, this time to place attentive kisses just beneath your jaw.

Of course he had touched you like this before, but the sexual contact you had didn’t branch out further than copping a feel and a bit of dry humping. And the poor boy was in absolute bits, pitiful and whimpery however always able to understand the word no.

Having had a small amount of sexual experience - Steve’s encounters a trilogy of novels compared to your half sheet of paper - you had been put off because neither of your previous partners had been particularly good. To say the least. So you were cautious, a slow burn, not really clued up on the appeal.

But hell, did that boy make you want it. Want him. A broad hand spread along your inner thigh whilst he was driving, absentmindedly massaging the skin there, setting your cheeks aflame and kindling an ache that burned in the pit of your stomach. A suckle at the sweet spot right under your ear, blood vessels burst deep purple and rouge, sweet nothings and scandalous fantasies whispered in your ear, with a tone akin to hot dripping honey, as his fingertips played with the band of your panties.

But it would always end the same. “Only when you’re ready” he would hush, words fuelled with indisputable devotion, a torch lit ready and patiently waiting. And you loved him evermore for it. Which is why on this particular morning, you thought it was about time to put that loveable touch starved idiot out of his misery.

So you slid your fingers into the untamed mess of his hair, the golden glow of the sun creeping through the bedroom window illuminating every glittering strand. His shoulders grew limp, rotating palm circling lazily as your nails travelled further down, grazing the top of his taut back between broad shoulders.

He groaned your name into your heating skin, placing a stippling kiss right on that jutting artery that beat furiously. Spurred on by his clear enjoyment, you spread your fingers down until they couldn’t travel any further, stopping halfway along his ribcage and back up again.

Though you were already pressed impossibly close, Steve leaned further into you, rutting his hip against you either accidentally or on purpose, you weren’t too sure. And the groan that caught in the back of his throat was enough to engulf you in a raging wildfire.

“Steve,” his name came out more as a warning, pitched and a little desperate, though he definitely took it as an opportunity to do it again now that he had gauged your response. And the bastard smiled into you when your chest heaved that little harder.

“Yeah, baby?” a breathy near goddamn whimper and he knew exactly what he was doing. Paired with his thumb pad grazing over your stiffened nipple, he had you tumbling to the edge.

You couldn’t even think about preparing yourself for what he had you in for when he finally lifted his head from your chest - glossy pink parted lips, shining honeysuckle eyes and the rosiest of fucking cheeks stippled with a galaxy of freckles. Pretty pretty boy.

“You think so?” a hint of a grin pricking at the corner of his plush lips, and you breathed out a shaky exhale of a laugh in response - partly because you had said that out loud, and partly because he wouldn’t stop rolling your nipple between his forefinger and thumb.

And you’re nodding, finally framing his beautiful face in your hands and pulling him up. It was anything but chaste, noses sliding together and hot breath mingling before you finally sealed his lips to yours.

His kisses symbolised Steve; sweet, loving, fiery and nothing but enthusiastic. His hand slips from beneath your shirt, and he’s pulling you down into him and onto your side so you’re facing one another. He kisses you fervently, swallowing a sigh from his open mouth when your hands wove through his hair.

“You’re so beautiful” he admitted whilst eventually coming up for air, ragged and coarse, juxtaposed by the dotting of simple pecks at the outer curves of your lips with your head held in his hands. God, how your heart swelled.

“So are you” you replied, breathless and wholeheartedly lovestruck, and his thumbs traced along the highs of your cheekbones. Steve Harrington smiled bigger than you had ever seen, one that had the apples of his cheeks bobbing and eyes crinkling delicately at the corners. You really meant it, especially when the morning light cast him in a heavenly glow.

Then he was leaning over you, pushing you on your back again and propped up on his elbow as his other hand glided along your blazing cheek, hooking at the hinge of your jaw and planting you there. His weight bore down torso to torso, noses crushing, mouths wide and eager and searching.

Steve dragged your face forwards as if you were his life support, teeth colliding and you had never felt so desperate in all your life. He pulled you this way and that, large hands clambering along the expanse of your back to scoop you up into his tight embrace.

Then he was back to his favourite spot - kiss bruised lips discovering every dip and curve of your hot neck, urgent and intense, and all you could do was tug on those goddamn untamed locks and unsuccessfully bite back every whimper that threatened to break free.

“You know…” he mumbled at your throat, a promise of a love bite hidden behind a slow ghosting of teeth, “I’ve had so many wet dreams about you like this, in my bed…” the vibration of his lazy morning voice cascaded shock waves right down to your centre.

“And I wake up such a goddamn mess, thinking about these pretty shaking thighs wrapped around me…”

Without warning, Steve knocked your knees apart so he could slide across and into the space, looming over you now like a black raincloud promising a thunderstorm, hot breath never once leaving the shell of your ear.

His touch trailed down to roll soft circles into your inner thighs, and all you could do was cling to him as if your life depended on it, not sure what to do with yourself or even where to look.

“You got a dirty fucking mouth, Harrington” the words catching in your throat when your earlobe caught between his teeth, a gentle tug and nursing of the tip of his tongue when you sucked in a breath.

“I can’t help it with you” dipping down his pretty head to suckle at that sweet spot right under the hinge of your jaw, just where he knew you liked.

“I can say a lot more if you want?”. His hands were playing with the waistband of your panties and you felt like you could scream. Then his hands shifted, pulling back on the elastic and snapping it against your heated skin.

“I’ll take that as a yes,” he grinned, shining pearly whites both a blessing and a curse. A whispered huff of his name and clench of your thighs was a good enough answer for him. How could he ignore the angelic noises leaving your lips just from his fingers alone?

He had barely even done anything yet.

#steve harrington #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x you #steve harrington x fem!reader #steve harrington fluff #steve harrington smut #steve harrington short #stranger things fanfic #my writing

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minhosimthings · 9 months

Text

Kitty Love || 18+

Synopsis: Minho fucking a baby into you, in throws of anger and jealousy

Pairings: husband!Minho × wife!fem!reader

Warnings: SMUT MINORS DNI, angry sex, jealous sex, sex with plot, this is basically porn, breeding kink, p in v, Minho wants to fuck a baby into reader, unprotected sex (highly not recommended for you), volume control, kinda fluffy at the end

A/N: I need Minho to fuck a baby into me right now so... Have this instead

"Do you know how many people would have liked this dress on their bedroom floor tonight, kitten?"

"Minho I wasn't-"

"Shut it."

And yet again, yet another 'important buisness party' that Minho had to attend, completely forgetting your anniversary. And of course, as his trophy-good-for-nothing wife, you had to tag along, in a dress which was 'modest' enough to not attract all the other pig headed men at that event.

A married woman wearing a high slit dress, off shoulder dress? Certainly not! Scandalous, even.

And for Minho, it was more than just anger that flee through him as his eyes lay on all the disgusting men staring at your thighs all evening.

"Minho would you stop screaming and listen to me for once?" You cried, slamming your hand on the table. You were done with him, forgetting a day which was special and screaming at you for doing absolutely nothing.

His composure is sickly, every breath he takes - laboured and drawn out as he pushes himself closer to you, like he's trying to meld himself against you - seems to taunt you.

"we can have a 'fucking conversation' or we can start fucking," he grunts, rolling his hips into you as he watches your eyes roll in frustration, though not enough to mask the tell tale signs of arousal evident on you - a sheen of sweat glistening on your collarbone and highlighting your lust blown pupils.

"that's my girl," he grins, pushing your panties to the side and rubbing his digits through your slick, circling his index finger around your hole before plunging two in to prep you for his dick.

Your breath hitches as he begins to finger you, back arching off the bed as you try your best to remain impassive, unwilling to give him the emotional satisfaction of 'winning' the argument just because you let him get his dick wet.

With an arrogant smirk still residing on his features, he pulls his dick out - longer than it was thick, his tip cut and a blushing pink - teasing you with the head by slapping it on your soaked folds before slipping it in and groaning.

A stifled whine escapes through your sealed lips, the sound muted and restrained but desperate enough for coryo to hear and throb inside of you as he continues to sheath himself further.

"know it feels good kitten, y'dont have to hide," he taunts, patronising and knowing without a doubt that you're still mad and as a consequence refuse to explicitly vocalise any pleasure.

His thrusts start deep and slow, hitting that spot inside of you each time to chip away any composure you thought you had, your own forearm hiding tears of pleasure brimming at your waterline for how deep he was going, an abundance of emotions - alongside the sharp contrast of anger and pleasure - leave you feeling feverish and flush with confusion as he stimulates your most sensitive erogenous zones.

He coos at your dazed expression, your face ruddy and warm as he successfully fucks the anger out of you, quelling any urges you may have to shout by leaving you stupid and vulnerable due to the warmth of him inside you coupled with his measured, languid strokes.

Your hands are trembling. Your legs are shaking. Your chest is heaving. And the nickname sits on the tip of your tongue, yet you swallow it down.

"You really wanted to test me huh kitten?" Minho grunts, "Wearing that cute little slut outfit."

"Who said I was wearing it for you?"

“God, you’re such a fucking brat,” he sneers, tightening his hold on your hips before resuming his unrelenting pace. Thick cock stretching you open like it's the first time. “Fine. You want me to be jealous? Want me to say that I won’t share you with all those other men?”

And even if he’s mocking you, the thought has your pussy clenching.

“Maybe I don’t want to share you,” he continues, although a bit softer. As though speaking to himself. “Maybe I won’t. Won’t fucking share you with any of them.”

“Gonna fuck my cum so deep into this pussy…you have my baby,” he exhales. “So then they know who you really belong to, yeah?”

“Is that what you want?” Another slap to your clit. “Wanna have my babies, kitten? Wanna carry me around? Wanna know that you own a part of me?”

You can’t think straight. Can’t fathom what he’s really saying to you, but it’s everything. Delicious and dirty and somehow, exactly what you need.

“Yeah? Oh, I know,” he nearly coos, and you feel his cock twitch. He’s close. “Then I’ll let you. Let you have my babies. Get you so pretty and pregnant. Make you mine—”

“Minho!,” you gasp before you’re cumming harder than you think you have in weeks. Flinging your arms around his neck in order to keep him as close as possible.

He’s beautiful. And he feels like heaven. It’s all you can truly comprehend as the warmth spreads through your cunt and makes a home in your pussy. As he keeps it there even long after you’ve both come back down.

"Still mad at me?" Minho mumbles into your ear, kissing the top of your forehead as both of you lay, sweating and euphonious on the bed.

You say nothing and grunt in response, cuddling closer to him, to catch all of his warmth.

"Don't worry kitten." Minho chuckles, "We'll have our anniversary tomorrow." You doze off to sleep under the tone of his voice, "A proper anniversary."

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scoops-stevie-archive · 1 year

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@steddieas-shegoes :)

the media and fans have a field day with it. steve and eddie have been public for years yet there's pictures all over twitter of steve cozied up in a booth in the corner of whatever bar, tucked tight into gareth's side under his arm with eddie nowhere in sight. a different fan posts a tiktok of them from a different angle and a little closer and you can clearly see that steve is drunk. his eyes shine unfocused in the camera flash and his cheeks are flushed. in the video he laughs loudly at something and just before one of cc's security guards blocks the view, steve leans in and buries his face in gareth's neck and gareth's fingers go to his hair.

the cheating allegations come out after that. article after article with the photo on the front page but it's nothing but radio silence from the band's twitter. no statement from eddie or gareth. fans think they're hashing it out behind the scenes and are preparing themselves for gareth's exit statement from the band or for the news to hit of steve and eddie breaking up.

none of that happens.

gareth stays in the band, steve and eddie go on like normal. they're papped in a starbucks in new york looking just as much in love as they were before the scandal. eddie and gareth don't behave any different in the videos they post of each other or on stage.

it kind of dies down after that- until a video goes up on the band's youtube one afternoon, shot that morning.

they try to keep themselves as authentic as they can, show the fans that not everything is sunshine and rainbows in the industry, and that they're real people who do real people things, too.

in the video, someone knocks on a hotel door and jeff answers. he says something that's purposefully scripted very badly and it gets a laugh out of the guys. the video shows them walking into jeff's room and it's revealed that it's a room tour. they pan around the corner into the main room and there's a lump in the bed.

there's no awkward silence between them, just a laugh from freak and a "jeeeff, it's almost ten a.m." and then eddie's pulling back the covers to reveal a slumbering steve.

people watching expect the footage to cut off abruptly or for eddie to angrily demand the situation, but again, it doesn't happen. he just laughs and squats down on the side of the bed and runs his hand through steve's hair until he wakes up.

"hey, sweetheart," he says, his voice dripping with fondness as he smiles a syrupy smile that hundreds of fans have dreampt of being on the receiving end of. "have a good sleep?"

they see steve reach out and pull eddie in by the head for a kiss. the video goes back to its scheduled programing after that, eddie following steve into the bathroom to get ready.

they don't do many interviews in the span of all this happening so fans and the media are left wondering what in the world is going on between the five of them. the boys act the same on stage every night without any signs of jealousy between them.

and then steve is photographed wearing a hoodie that fans can clearly see belongs to freak just from the size alone. neither steve or freak are small guys, but the garment is like a dress on steve. it almost goes down to his knees and the arms hang at least three inches passed his hands. it threatens to hang off of one shoulder but goddamn does steve look cozy and comfortable, burrowing into the hood pulled over his head like a little hamster.

the hoodie isn't what gets their attention, though.

it's the fact that the picture is from the band's soundcheck, to the band's twitter, and that steve is sitting on gareth's lap at his drum kit, while wearing the hoodie, and while eddie is leaning down and kissing him. gareth doesn't look put off by it. he's looking somewhere off camera and laughing but his hand is still on steve's waist and steve's is tangled in eddie's wild hair.

it answers all and none of everyone's questions.

#cj talks #this sort of ran away from me lmao #steddie #corroded coffin

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the-roo-too · 2 months

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kim minjeong x reader; idol au

foul language; mentions of fwb (kissing); Y/N KISSES A MAN

you and minjeong had this causal situationship going on even before aespa debuted. you called it a situationship, but who were you lying to? it was practically dating. just…

minjeong refused to ask you out officially. she just always expected you to agree to her outings that were clearly romantic. right now, you were walking off stage with your -favourite- member following behind you. it was another stage for black mamba, nothing special.

on kbs, there were other groups performing that day. amongst them was enhypen, performing given taken. as you were walking with your members, a boy from said group suddenly walked up to your leader, looking all shy. you cooed at him, thinking he was trying to ask jimin out but then he suddenly turned to you.

“hello, y/n!” he bows at you, a bright grin on his face. “i’m jake. from enhypen!” as if that wasn’t obvious. “would you be willing to give me your number?”

you wondered if there were cameras on you right then. your group just barely debuted and you were on your way to get into the first dating scandal. before you had a chance to reply, minjeong slipped in front of you with a small scowl on her face.

“i don’t think she would.” jake looked taken aback, clearly not expecting that from the lovable winter everyone has seen so far.

“i-i asked y/n-“ she cut him off quickly.

“and i replied. scram, boy.” before you could yell at her yourself, jimin and aeri beat you to it. the japanese gave her a warning look and subtly gestured at the people around.

“shut it, minjeong.” your group then scrambled to go hide in your changing room before you could attract any unwanted attention. you felt winter’s eyes boring into you the whole time.

“what the fuck was that.” fell from your leader’s lips when the doors to the changing room closed. winter shuffled to her corner, completely ignoring all of you. “minjeong, i’m talking to you.”

“i know, jimin unnie.” she said dismissively and looks at you. “what about you, y/n? what the fuck was that?”

you turned to look at her like she grew a second head. her gaze seemed accusing, but she had no right to be like that. it was only a casual fling, her words not yours.

“don’t bring y/n into this.” you could see minjeong’s blood boiling as ning walked over to you and hugged you with a exaggerated pout on her lips. the older girl stormed off angrily, leaving only the four of you in the changing room.

“…any clue what that was about, y/n?” you heard aeri ask and you suddenly remembered that they didn't know about your little affair. you and minjeong never told them—what was there to say in the first place?

“it’s nothing. i’m sure she’ll come back soon, maybe she just woke up on the wrong side of the bed?” you lied smoothly—although lying to your members felt wrong. they all nodded in understanding and you guys called it a day.

only a couple days later, when you were sitting alone in the dance practice room, polishing your moves, did minjeong finally approach you about that. she walked into the room, her gaze filled with hunger. you didn’t get a lot of time to react before she pinned you to the mirror, glaring at you yet licking her lips.

“y/n…” her tone was needy, her lips already leaving a trail of kisses down the side of your neck. then you pushed her away with a frown and she looked up at you with something between hurt and confusion. “y/n?”

“what are we, minjeong?” she rolled her eyes at the question, as you expected. you could easily predict what she’d say.

“we’ve talked about this, y/n.” her hands gripped your shoulders, trying to pin you again before you gently slapped her hands away. “oh, come on!”

“if its just a casual fling, why can’t i date other people?”

“date?” minjeong’s brows furrowed before an angry scowl appeared on her face. “is this about that jake guy-“

“wow! you’re so smart of a sudden!”

“shut the fuck up.” she leaned close, her breath hitting your lips. you could practically see the blood boiling in her veins. “why would you need to date an idiot like him when you have me?”

“do i have you? because i don’t feel like i do!”

“good!” she angrily pulled away. “then you don’t have me. fuck you, y/n.”

“cut! girls, take five. minjeong, y/n, come here this instant.”

you felt yourself blush in embarrassment as you were called over by the choreographer. you quite honestly knew what this was about. armageddon was about to be released and you guys needed to film the practice video, performance version, perform the song for promotions…

and the annoying part was the choreo—both you and minjeong could by then perform it flawlessly. the problem was the member placement. for the bridge, ningning had a solo part. while she sang, your members were supposed to kind of embrace her—minjeong was behind you then. that part wasn’t working out as the idol wouldn’t for the life of her touch you without looking stiff.

“girls.” the choreographer looked between the two of you with a disappointed gaze. “i get playful banter. i get making jokes during choreography. looking like you’re about to throw up because you’re touching your member isn’t something i want to see on stage.”

“i didn’t do anything!” you could feel the older girl’s gaze burning into you. “i can’t control minjeong unnie.”

“don’t put the blame on me, y/n.”

“shut it, both of you.” your frown deepened as the choreographer lightly pushed you both away from each other. “i don’t care who started it. what, are you five?”

“no, unnie.” you both gritted out. the choreographer nodded her head, deeming the problem as resolved.

you were about to turn to minjeong to give her a piece of your mind before she was called over by the group’s manager. with one final glare, she stormed off. just as you thought you’d have a second to take a breather and maybe relax, karina approached you.

“this shit has been going on for almost four years.” she groaned before looking at you seriously. “whatever it is between the two of you, solve it, y/n. it’s ruining the group’s chemistry.”

your eyes widened at the accusation and you angrily scoffed. “ruining the group, unnie? tell that to her! she’s the one with a problem.”

“your unnie, y/n. minjeong is older than you. have some damn respect.”

“you’re acting like my dear minjeong unnie respects me. take five my ass…” grabbing your water bottle and phone, you started walking towards the doors of the practice room.

“where are you going, y/n?”

“i’m meeting chenle oppa for coffee.”

“what? we have practice now, y/n.” you could hear the anger in her voice. “get back here. are you listening to me? y/n!”

you should have never met up with chenle. you were angry when you saw him, with your choreographer, your members, *minjeong*. chenle was always a good friend of yours, being in the same company and sometimes passing by each other in the halls made you close. he was always only that, a friend. despite the two of you being seen together in public often, the rumours weren’t that tragic and you two often mentioned each other as close friends.

what made you kiss him after yours fight with your group, you’ll never know. you picked the worst place to do that too—the coffee shop you two were scheduled to meet up in.

the scandal broke out before you could get back to the dorm. of course some passer-bys recognised you two and took photos. the angle was a little awkward so it could technically be turned around and into a ‘friendly hug’, but that would still mean you’d have a meeting with the company. and your members would rip your head off. jimin was just after her own scandal in april so she wouldn’t probably take that lightly.

you fidgeted with your phone nervously as the manager was driving you back. she picked you up when you called her and as you were riding, dispatch posted some of the photos. with how your manager was side eyeing you, you assumed she sneaked a glance at the horrific amount of notifications buzzing her phone.

maybe for the sake of your sanity, she wasn’t asking you about just yet. the manager was probably waiting until the board took action. you were around 5 minutes from the dorms and time was passing by a lot faster than you wished it did.

you already texted the boy at least, clearing the air with him. how you did it in the heat of the moment and how it really meant nothing. thankfully, he didn’t seem bothered at all. he sent you a laughing emoji and thumbs up, followed by wishing you good luck. you were glad you at least didn’t loose a friend because of your mindless actions.

the car stopped by the dorms. the manager slowly turned around in the driver’s seat and gave you something between a pitiful and angry gaze. “good luck with jimin, y/n.”

“thank you, unnie.” as slowly as you possibly could, you unbuckled your belt. maybe they didn’t know yet? maybe she’d be understanding? “i think i’ll need it.”

she winced and nodded her head. “you definitely will.”

with a heavy heart, you got out of the group’s car and walked inside the dorm’s building. the quiet hum of the air conditioner greeted you as you made your way to the elevator. it made a small ‘ding’ sound as it arrived, opening the doors to let you enter.

as you pressed the button for you floor, you nervously rocked back and forth on your feet. the tension was slowly eating you up alive. another ‘ding’ turned your attention back to the elevator doors opening. when you stepped out of the lift and they shut behind you, there was only one door separating you from the angry jimin.

almost on autopilot, you knocked on the heavy doors. shuffling could be heard from inside the dorm before a red in the face karina slammed it open. she rarely could be seen like this, but she must have already taken off her make-up.

“hi, jimin unnie…”

“get your ass inside.” you didn’t have it in you to try and argue now, in the middle of the hallway. you’d still get a chance to explain (and maybe defend) yourself, right?

when the doors slammed shut behind you, you were greeted with the 3 of your members. jimin was facing the entrance still, probably trying to sort out her thoughts so she doesn’t erupt on you. aeri had her arms crossed over her chest and next to her yizhuo was leaning on the table. they all looked rightfully bothered.

“chenle out of all people?” you heard the way ningning hissed when giselle punched her arm. “what?”

“don’t say anything. for your own good.” the japanese mumbled, looking at the oldest girl in the room.

“first, you and minjeong can’t act like adults for once. second, you storm off in the middle of practice because you’re a whiny kid.” you winced at karina’s tone. she turned to face you, you could see that in the corner of your eyes, but you tried to stay burning your gaze into the floor. “now you kiss a random boy without thinking?!”

“chenle isn’t a random guy-“

“shut up! i’m talking.” you’ve never seen the oldest member of aespa this angry before. “you don’t get to speak now. you’ve messed up as it is.”

“but, unnie-!”

“i told you to shut up!”

you felt your eyes watering slightly as she raised her voice at you again. aeri, who must have noticed this, slowly walked up to jimin and placed her hand on her shoulder.

“calm down, jimin unnie…”

“i won’t calm down! y/n needs to understand that her actions have consequences! you can’t just do shit like that because you’re mad at minjeong when it’s gonna affect the whole group!”

mad at minjeong. the first tear fell from your eyes and you weakly placed your hand on your face to shield it. “i-i love minjeong unnie… i'm mad at her but i love her… i’m sorry, unnie!”

the three of them looked at you uncertainly before you felt one of them hesitantly embrace you. ningning leaned her chin on the top of your head and hummed gently, trying to help you stop crying. jimin couldn’t bear to look at your tear stained face. her gaze was boring into the floor beneath you as aeri stood on her side, also contemplating it. seeing that the two eldest weren’t saying anything, yizhuo rubbed your shoulder softly and tilted her head.

“i’ll lead you to your room, okay y/nnie?” she sighed in relief when you nodded your head weakly. not minding karina and giselle, she led the two of you away to your bedroom.

“that was… unexpected.” aeri nodded as if to herself before leaning on the table again and gazing intently at the spot where you just stood. “actually, no, it was. minjeong has been giving y/n puppy eyes when she’s not looking for years.”

jimin ran her hand through the strands tickling her face. being a leader huff got more complicated. “i thought they were over it at this point. now we’re gonna have to deal with a lovesick y/n, stubborn minjeong, and the goddamn public.”

“gosh, she finally admitted it!” both heads turned to look at ningning, who just came back from your bedroom. “it was getting so tiring! i thought minjeong would melt her with those stupid puppy eyes but y/n likes her too!”

“…you knew? about everything?”

“you guys didn’t?” the two awkwardly looked at anything but the chinese member. she riled her eyes and pulled out her phone. upon typing ‘y/n and minjeong’ into the search bar, they were greeted with a series of pictures where either you or winter looked fondly at the other person, of course only if she wasn’t looking. “i knew minjeong unnie had it in her, but i’m glad y/nnie also feels it.”

“wow.” aeri glanced at the phone again before a small smile broke out on her face. “they’re cute together when they don’t look like they wanna rip each other’s throats out.”

“true.” clearing her throat and looking at her two members, jimin still looked a little lost. “so what do we do?”

“we get them together, duh.”

“but how?”

yizhuo hummed in thought, her face full of determination. “we’ll cross that bridge when we get there.”

the plan was put into action the next day, starting during vocal practice. giselle made it a point to try and make a face every time winter made the slightest mistake. riling the girl up, she ignored the questioning glances you’d been sending her.

“um, actually minjeong, in your line there-“

she didn’t get to finish as the girl angrily stood up and excused herself, saying she suddenly needed to use the restroom. your group’s vocal coach glanced at her watch and nodded slowly, signalling it was the time to finish nonetheless.

after leaving the room, the four of you glanced between each other a little awkwardly. you pulled up your schedule on your phone before gesturing to one end of the building. “dance practice? it should start soon, maybe winter unnie will come back until then.”

“good thinking. i’ll text the group chat.” jimin quickly sent a text to aespa’s chat about going to the practice now. then she suddenly showed something to aeri. “gosh, i just got a text from manager unnie… she wants us to meet her. it might be about the little stunt you pulled yesterday.”

you winced at the mention of the incident. they just had to bring that up on every possible occasion. the two of them scurried off without a second glance at you and yizhuo. you turned to the chinese girl and smiled.

“so, dance practice?” she nodded and you two started walking towards the practice room. on the way there, ningning suddenly stopped in her tracks and started frantically rummaging through her bag.

“oh no…” she looked at you with an apologetic glance. “i think i forgot my water. do you mind if i go get some real quick? i swear i’ll join you soon!”

without waiting for you reply she also scurried off to god knows where. your brows furrowed as you realised three of your members disappeared all at once. the situation was just the tiniest bit fishy. something in you was telling you this wasn’t normal. trying to ignore the feeling you walked towards the practice room. what could go wrong, right?

“do you seriously think it’s a good idea?”

“100% honestly? no. i hope we don’t have to pay for the cracked mirrors if they fight.”

“damn you’re right. is it too late to try and stop them now?”

“let the gay people have gay affairs.”

it’s been a couple long minutes and you were still alone in the practice room. sitting idly and waiting bored you out, so now you were laying down on the slightly chilly floor of the room. you texted the group chat a couple times, asking the others if they think coming back would take them long, but you never got a reply. having tossed your phone under the mirror with your water bottle, you were just staring at the ceiling now.

a soft groan interrupted your train of thoughts. you looked to the side and saw minjeong scowling at you lightly. wordlessly, you sat up and waited for her to come close too. the universe had to be playing you.

winter sluggishly walked over to the mirror, placing her water bottle and rolled up jacket on the floor, making it a point to lay it as far away from your stuff as she could. the slight scowl she was sporting upon entering the room slowly faded off her face. when she discarded her things, she walked over to the middle of the room and joined you on the floor.

after a couple of long and awkward seconds, you started stretching. it was a good thing to do before having to dance for hours. you didn’t want to wake up sore the next day. you could feel minjeong’s eyes boring into you every couple seconds.

“you’re staring.” you mumbled finally while standing up, begging to stretch your legs now.

winter wordlessly stood up and walked closer to you. your eyes were following her through the mirror until she arrived behind you and your gaze finally met hers. her eyes were slightly darkened, holding something unreadable. you shivered when you felt how close she was standing. for the first time in years, it didn’t feel like she was forced to be near you.

“you kissed that stupid boy.” she mumbled, more to herself than to you. despite that, her eyes never left yours. they were like magnets, pulling you in so you couldn’t look away. “that chenle guy. i never liked him.”

“he’s my friend.” the reply was slightly choked. you didn’t know why you felt like you couldn’t breathe with her this close.

“you have other friends.”

“why do you bother, minjeong?” faster than you could process it, she had turned you around and was staring you down. her eyes bore into yours but not angrily, like it’s been ever since your debut.

“i don’t like when you kiss other people.” her tone was barely a whisper.

a weak chuckle left your lips at that and you shook your head. “unnie, you lost the right to say that three years ago.”

“i don’t care.” she took another small step towards you. minjeong was now dangerously close. you didn’t think you’d see her like that again. “vixen… you did that on purpose, didn’t you? you wanted to rile me up, get me jealous…”

you didn’t think you did. at least, not intentionally. the way she was looking at you made you feel like maybe, just maybe, there was something true in her words. you didn’t want to admit it even in your head, but winter could’ve been right.

“tell me you love him…” she whispered. her face was just inches away from yours. you didn’t even notice when the two of you got so close. she was practically embracing you. “tell me you love him, and i’ll leave you alone. we’ll act like this never happened. please, y/n…”

you gulped heavily. her gaze turned pleading and you had to close your eyes. you didn’t want to give in so easily.

“minjeong unnie…” you heard the way her breath hitched. “i don’t love him… i don’t love chenle.”

“fuck.” she cursed under her breath before her hands gripped you, one arm holding you close while the other embraced you gently. she leaned her forehead on yours and gave you a second to calm down. “fuck, y/n… that’s now what you were supposed to say.”

“minjeong…”

“i love you.” she whispered against your lips softly. “i hate it. i think you hate me. i love you so much. y/n, i was so blind…. please.”

your hand slowly trails up her back until you’re softly gripping her hair. “minjeong, i… i don’t think i want to do the casual shit all over again.”

“fuck casual, i need you all to myself.” she mumbled before her lips finally met yours.

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lokisgoodgirl · 3 months

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Measurement : The Rite (III)

A Masterlist for The Rite is HERE A Link to my Regular Masterlist is HERE Summary: (3) Loki gives you a taste of luxury, a visit to the Asgardian Weaving Crones - and his inseam isn't the only thing measured up. (w/c 3.9k) Warnings: 18+ Minors DNI. Smuttish. Language. Loki being a tease. Ridiculous Asgardian lore.

‘I’ve never wanted anything so badly,’ Loki drips in your ear: warm, hot, desperate. With every impossibly calculated push of his hips, your spine arches off the bed: inch, by inch, by inch.

His lips meet the hollow of your collarbone with a hungry growl, like he'll eat you alive. ‘I’ve never wanted anyone so—’ You wake with a violent shudder, wide-eyed and staring at the ceiling. An oil of sweat covers your naked body, tangled in the sheets. The air is sticky, mind racing as you squint towards the window. It’s barely daybreak.

Noon, Loki said. The boy will come at noon.

Loki’s stone-faced apprentice seems unimpressed when you open the door before the second of his tiny knocks. It’s exactly midday. Not desperate at all, you think, as his lips form a thin line. He’s judging the neckline, you can tell.

“After you,” you say, forcing a smile. You don’t like him, and the feeling is clearly mutual. You catch the start of his eye-roll as he turns away and his silly little boots clack across the stone.

Shameless stares fall on the two of you walking the bustling corridors of Asgard’s court. Looks are followed by whispers. It feels…naughty - a tingling feeling that starts in the seat of your belly and seems to plump the ends of your hair, giving it a bounce as you walk.

You wonder what they’re thinking, seeing you led by the boy with Loki’s symbol emblazoned on his chest. You hope they think it’s something scandalous. And, maybe it is.

At every turn, you expect to see Loki standing in the middle of the corridor with his hands clasped behind his back; a smirk curling at his lip and the start of a hard-on in his ridiculously tight trousers at the mere whiff of your approach. But alas, it’s not to be. Just more stares, more whispers. They’re starting to get annoying.

“How much longer?” you hiss. He glances over his shoulder. “Not long, pipe down,” he says with all the enthusiasm of a bag of sand.

You stick your tongue out at the back of his head and suddenly his fist rises, a burst of blue smoke curling between his fingers. It undulates in the air, a ball gaining the shape of a small fist identical to his own. Slowly, one finger unfurls in your direction: the middle one.

Little shit, you think. But honestly, it’s pretty impressive. Loki's clearly teaching him well. Sort of.

Eventually, after passing through the courtyard and out the palace gates, he stops under a lemon tree. There’s a massive, bronze door cut into the stone walls with one large turret protruding from the top. Your eyes dart over the door, and then to him, and then the door.

“Well?” you ask, trying to be polite but the impatience bleeding through. This dress is pretty tight; your breasts look incredible but fucking Norns, it’s hot today. He gestures to the tree. “You have to bite into a lemon to open the doors.”

Your arms fold, eyebrows rising. “Be serious. I wasn’t born yesterday.”

His beady gaze drops down to the hem of your dress and back to your face. “Clearly,” he says. Your eyebrows rise further and you chew the inside of your mouth, reminding yourself he’s a literal child. He shrugs with a sudden burst of youthful innocence. “I don’t make the rules. It's some kind of test so they get no time wasters.”

“Who?” “The Crones.” No...way.

The Asgardian Weaving Crones are second only to the royal family in their legendary status. How many times had you pranced around in your aunt’s scrap fabrics from her sewing table, playing 'Ceremony' – inventing all the spells you’d have woven into the fabrics the Crones create with their famously nobbled fingers. The more nobbled, the more revered.

It's said the robes can make you more beautiful, more lucky, more fertile. Whatever you desired. Every piece is a work of art, cost more than a summer-palace in the hills, reserved only for the highest…highest…members of the court. I guess Prince Loki wasn’t kidding about the luxury, you think, eyes sliding to the plump lemons hanging over your head. “Just a bite?” The boy nods, and you reach up – pulling down the nearest one. He gives an unnerving smile of encouragement just before you bite into the peel, and stinging juice floods your tongue. A rogue spurt splashes into your eye and you yelp, dropping it on the ground. Through the burn, doubled-over, you see a fading wisp of blue smoke. Little shit, you think again, more violently this time. “What’s going on?” Loki’s voice is somehow everywhere all at once, smooth and heavy in the stifling air, falling like rain.

You squint up towards it. He’s hanging out a window in the turret, propped on his elbow with that smirk on his face. But no hard-on, you think. At least, not that you can see. Rumour is he’s always sporting at least a semi. Side-effect of all the mirrors in the palace, you figure. From this angle, his taut jawline cuts like an anvil, and his hair hangs apart from his shoulders as he cranes to get a better view. He's not wearing a shirt, and the temperature rises another few degrees. “Are you tormenting her?” he chides casually, and through the half-blind haze, you can tell the boy is squirming. The bronze door swings open from invisible hands, and you shoot the kid a withering glare with your one good eye before disappearing inside. The first, fresh waft of marble-chilled air hits like an orgasm and you let out a sigh of relief. “Come upstairs,” Loki’s velvet voice commands from above. You follow the spiral staircase in the direction of his soft laughter, skirts bunched in one hand, hoping your face isn’t as sweaty as it feels by the time you reach the top.

Ignoring the burn in your lungs, and your eye, you set your face in a mask of cool indifference totally at odds with the rabid excitement clawing in your veins. Long curtains of chiffon which ripple in impossible colours with each waft of breeze surround the turret walls.

Loki lounges in a chaise in the corner, loose green silk trousers slung low on his hips. One leg dangles off the end of the short seat, the other slung to the side as his laugh tapers and his eyes fix on you.

You swallow, unable to stop the rolls of your gaze up his exposed torso above the silk stretched across the bulge in his pants: pale, deep lines of muscle highlighted in painfully arousing definition as he brings a hand behind his head, raking those black waves back as he does it.

“Did he ask you to bite into the lemons?” Loki asks innocently. A solitary dimple crushes into his cheek as one side of his lip curls. You nod, mouth dry and knees weak. Loki sighs with a short tut. “He did the same to my brother. And what’s worse, my brother has been here before many times: he’s just an idiot.” You’re not sure if you should agree. It might be treason; you can never tell. Thankfully – that’s the moment you notice someone in a black robe hunched over at a wide table in the corner, laying out a selection of colourful fabrics so fine they seem to breathe. “Like what you see?” she croaks, wearing a matching smirk to the one Loki sports, just visible beneath a dark hood. You swallow, glancing between them. The two of them burst into laughter; the old woman’s hoarse cackle somehow twists perfectly with Loki’s deep, melodic mirth. Heat crawls up your cheeks. She waves a hand, brushing the hood down to reveal a shock of white hair plaited in a low bun, folds of tanned wrinkles creased in mischief. “Sorry dear, where are my manners? This one brings out the worst in me.” Loki scoffs, bounding from the chaise and crossing the floor in two long strides. He falls to his knees, gathering her hands in his own and places a gentle kiss on the crepey skin. The way he’s looking at her, the wide-eyed sincerity...it makes an unexpected lance of jealousy spear through your chest.

“And you bring out the best in me, my dearest Lagertha,” he says in earnest. “Still beautiful: inside and out.” She pulls the hands from his with a quicksilver grin, curling thick chunk of black hair behind his ear. “Mmm,” she hums, flashing you a wink. “At least where garments are concerned, I do my best. What you do in them, is your concern. Now, onto your usual perch.”

Loki raises a eyebrow and she watches him stand. The two of you follow the methodical shift of his muscular ass in those silky pants all the way to a small, raised block in the centre of the room. “You’re next, dear,” she says and you startle, realising she’s hovering at your shoulder. She turns her head fractionally, hiding the movement of her lips from view. “For now, take a seat, enjoy the show. Hmm?”

You shift to the same seat Loki occupied, still warm from his body. Spreading your skirts, it’s difficult not to feel the weight of the prince’s stare as Lagertha fusses around him.

And suddenly, the questions start. Loki’s eyes narrow and widen in perfect time to the cadence of your answers: hobbies, studies, the time you saw Thor fall into a well on his way back from a tavern. His laugh is music, as sweet and filthy as the best of your dreams – and you find yourself reclining on the chaise just like he was, a fist resting beneath your temple as you talk. It’s nice, it’s…easy. He's interested. And all the while, Lagertha works silently; the only indicator she’s listening at all is the covert smile that occasionally pushes her cheeks up.

“You have to stop making him laugh so much, the hemline will be askew if I get the lengths wrong.” “Nonsense,” Loki smiles down at her, before meeting your eyes again. “Lagertha has never put a stitch out of place. I have every faith in her.” “You’ve never had someone entertain you so much before…”

“I thought you’d have his measurements written down somewhere,” you say like the three of you are old friends. She pushes the silken tape into the hollow of his ankle, stretching up the length of his thigh to the bulge of his crotch. Loki shifts, spine straightening, and he shoots you a wicked smile that makes the pulse in your throat race.

You trace the angle of his chin, the sharp lines of his jaw, imagining how perfectly they’ll fit between your legs; only his strong brow and devastating eyes drunk with pleasure visible as he laps at your clit. A shudder wrenches down your spine.

“I don’t need to take Prince Loki’s measurements, dear,” Lagertha says brightly. ‘I’ve been fashioning garments that make his public weak for many centuries, I think I can remember an inseam.” “So why are…?” “Lagertha and I have an understanding, don’t we darling?” Loki tips her chin up with his finger and even beneath the heavy folds of wrinkles, she blushes. “Lagertha turns a blind eye to my family’s archaic demands of style, and we pretend that she forgets my measurements.” Lagertha meets your stunned expression, offering a self-assured shrug. “I may be old, but my eyes are just fine,” she says, winking. Suddenly, you wonder where Lagertha’s been all your life.

“What…demands of style, do they have?” You sit up, crossing your legs. Loki tilts his head, and you note his gaze drop to your lips. You wonder if he’s been thinking about last night’s kiss-come-dry-hump as much as you have, and as Lagertha loops her hands around his bare abdomen, pulling the measuring silk tight, he lets out a sensual, silent ooof that makes your pussy clench.

“My father and his ilk have very set notions of what ceremonial robes should be; you’ll be shocked to learn I don’t agree. In their eyes, we should parade ourselves in sack cloth and ashes—" “—Sack cloth? How dare you!” Lagertha screeches, mortally wounded. She slaps his thigh again, shooting you a look. “This one has a very specific set of requirements for his ceremonial garbs, ones that tend to highlight his…assets. Things which don’t concern the other family members quite so much – not even when Odin was a strapping one too." She sighs wistfully. "Loki likes the spells woven in to be just so: make it smell like orange blossom when the folds move, cape fluttering to a particular rhythm…that sort of thing.” I fucking knew it; you think with silent vindication. Loki looks down on her with adoration. “And you never disappoint.” “You should be more worried about disappointing her,” she jabs, nodding towards you. A sudden clarity settles in your stomach like a stone. “Wait, is this for our…the…Rite?” Loki looks up, impossibly beautiful; a slat of sunlight splitting the symmetry of his face. “You agree, then?” “If you don’t, I will…” Lagertha mutters loud enough for you to hear, and Loki snorts. “You know the stipulations, Lagertha. You don’t qualify, much as it pains me.” He presses a hand to his chest. “Otherwise, I’d have been at your door on my hands and knees centuries ago.” She slaps his thigh again, and then, they both look at you in perfect sync.

“I agree. I’ll be your partner,” you blurt without an ounce of doubt. As if it could have been any other way. Because now, as his eyes fall to your lips again and his tongue nips over his own; pulling the bottom one between his teeth like he doesn’t know he’s done it, you know he wants it as much as you do. Loki says nothing: a close-lipped smile skating across his lips and a regal bow of his head that his father would be proud of.

The next fifteen minutes passes in pleasantries and then, it’s your turn. You stand on the podium. Even in the strangely cool air in this secret place feels like hot needles; breaths growing short and heart hammering. The fucking…bodice, you curse as Loki’s expression hardens at your distress. He raises his hand, long fingers poised and his eyebrows raise like he’s asking for permission. You give him a small nod. He clicks them. The dress melts into a light cotton shift that blows around your ankles, and the relief is immediate. “Oh my…gods, Loki…that feels amazing,” you moan, head falling back. Lagertha shuffles at your feet. “Getting some practice in, good idea, dear.” Your neck snaps up, catching the back end of her sly smirk, before glancing to Loki reclined on the chair. He shrugs, picking at a bowl of nuts – his eyes are alight with amusement, and you wonder if he's always like this or you’re…special. Don’t think that, you chide. Don’t start being an idiot and actually falling for him. He needs you, that’s all. Just enjoy whatever this is.

Somehow, your measurements don’t take as long as Loki’s did. You’ve got a feeling that has something to do with the agreement they have. She creaks to her feet, shuffling to the wide table and notes something down on a scroll of parchment which reaches the floor. “Oh,” she says suddenly, patting the long folds of her black garb. One extra-nobbled finger rises. “I left something in the other room. Stay here,” she says, hobbling to the stairs. She glances over a hunched shoulder. “Behave yourselves, won’t you?” You figure it would be rude to follow her down the stairs to make sure she doesn’t fall to her death. Looking at Loki, you’re surprised to see the mirth dancing beneath his skin has somehow grown. “What?” you ask, skin prickling under his stare. The god’s dark hair spreads over his bare shoulders, the point of his chin lowered as he observes you beneath his lashes. Something occurs to you. “There’s only one room in this place, isn’t there?”

Without breaking eye-contact, without a falter in that low smirk, Loki nods. Just once. You step off the podium, wobbling a little. Forgot he took my shoes, but somehow you manage to maintain a sultry approach. Loki straightens against the chair’s back, a sudden nervousness flashing in his eyes. A silent conversation seems to pass between you. ‘What are you doing, little owl?’ his raised eyebrow says. ‘What are you doing?’ His legs widen, as if of their own accord. The forest green silk at his crotch stretches tight, an unmistakable bump rising on the right-hand side. You stop in front of him, and his eyes move from their level place on your torso to your face. ‘What are you waiting for?’ the flicker of his lips says.

Hands slide past his temples as you fasten one knee beside the thick line of his thigh – and then the second. You press tight to the crease of his hips, staring down at him. Loki of Asgard gazes up like the prettiest sub you’ve ever seen; but there’s nothing submissive about the slide of his large hands over the curve of your ass. The cotton of the robe he manifested for you is as thin as a spider web – but somehow opaque. You feel his touch like it’s bare skin; the lazy circles he’s making on the small of your back sending sharp shivers tingle across your limbs. “We must be very, very careful…” he murmurs, that famously stoic brow rippling in front of your eyes. You draw a finger down his cheek, cupping the angle of his jaw; brushing your lips against his. He sighs into your throat: shuddering, warm, desperate. Loki’s tongue feels like heaven in your mouth. Growls rumble in his chest as he pushes forward and pulls back in time with your body, completely in sync. Your hand creeps to his cock, fingers grazing the impossibly hard length of him. He must be eight…surely not nine, inches. Gods, what if he doesn’t fit. And then you remember, that isn’t part of the deal. He pulls away as your squeeze at the root, stark fear in his eyes.

“I know…I’ll stay away from the tip, I promise,” you whisper, catching his lips again. Loki melts into it.

His cock was made to fit in your hand – even the outline of it through the silk is like a legendary sword made for your grip. He palms ravenously at your breast with every work of his mouth, lips travelling to the curve of your neck and drawing his teeth over the supple skin they find.

The fact you can’t touch him…really touch him, somehow makes it even hotter; like you’re terrified virgins around the back of the stables. The other hand rocks you dangerously on his lap, and the sudden fear the thin fabric separating you both won’t be enough is very real. Loki’s thumb grazes against your nipple, pinching gently, rubbing in a way that shoots a lance of primal fuck-me energy straight to your cunt. Arousal tides between your thighs: tacky and warm and screaming for you to have him right here. You’ve never been more turned on in your entire life. You didn’t even know it could be like this.

“Gods, I want to taste you,” he husks through gritted teeth. Saliva rings his lips, and Loki’s head falls back against the sofa, back arching under the ghost of your fingertips trailing up the ridges of his manhood like it’s made of spun sugar. “Slower…Norns…I—"

His eyes fly open, pupils as wide and deep as fresh tar and his jaw slack. Loki’s hand flies to your wrist, wrapping it tight and pulling it away. His abdomen clenches as he breathes: slow, heavy, restrained.

“Did you almost…?”

The look in his eyes gives you the answer, and you can barely stifle the look of pride. You lean forwards, noting the shiver that tightens his thighs as your lips fasten around his earlobe. “Four moons, my prince," you whisper, bold as sin. He releases a low, ragged exhale that vibrates through his chest.

“I need to see you,” he says slowly, searching your face, “every day, from now until then.” You roll your lips together. “You said there was a feast?” Loki nods. “The night before – for the next two days, we can do whatever we want.” That smirk lights from its embers. “Almost.”

Your heart drops somewhere around your knees and you shuffle off his lap, shifting to the small edge of the cushion beside him. Suddenly, somehow, time is moving too fast; slipping through your fingers like sand. “Not that I’m…” -desperate- “…but, are you free tonight? Maybe we could go for a walk, or, something.”

Loki’s brows peak. It’s something he isn’t expecting, and suddenly you wonder how much of this charming afternoon has been staged. “I can’t, I’m afraid,” he says, lingering over each word like its passing quality control. “My brother-“ “-It’s fine,” you cut, forcing a smile. He’s a prince. Of course he’s not free, idiot. “Maybe tomorrow.”

At that moment, Lagertha heaves herself into view at the top of the staircase. Her face contorts in a staggeringly fake caricature of innocence. “Oh, I almost forgot you were here.” Out of the corner of your eye, you see Loki pluck a cushion from his side and place it on his lap. But Lagertha misses nothing, and her eyes slide to yours with a sparkle of approval.

“I’ll take my leave,” you say, standing and giving a quick curtsey. Loki calls your name as you cross the floor, but you need to go. You need to think – shake away these ridiculous, girlish thoughts in your brain before you embarrass yourself any further.

A faint glow of green colours your vision and you realise Loki’s magic has restored the dress you came in, and like before…it’s far too tight. At the bottom of the stairs, you press a hand against the marble; steading your breaths. The bronze door swings open.

“Ah, the jester,” a sneering voice craws. “Are you lost?”

You look up, locking eyes with Fandral. A cape slings jauntily over his shoulder: pale blue, rippling silk the same colour as the cloudless sky. His hair is particularly resplendent today, and as much as you’d like to kick him in the balls and run – he does hold clout. People like him, for some reason.

Fandral chuckles, and it makes your stomach turn. He paces forward, the tap of his heels on marble echoing until they stop in front of you. “May I offer a little advice?” he asks, in a way that says you’re hearing it whether you like it or not.

“Prince Loki likes shiny things, pretty things.” His eyes narrow. “He likes playing with new toys; the novelty, you know? I’m sure rumours of his appetites have even spread to whichever hovel you crawled out of.”

You open your mouth to call him a cunt but he raises a finger to his lips, eyes closed like you’ve interrupted the sweetest melody in the nine realms. They open slowly. “I will perform the Rite with Prince Loki, little jester. It will be my thighs shaking under the work of his regal, royal mouth. And do you know why?”

Anger, white hot and thick, curdles beneath your skin.

“Because,” he says with black delight, eyes dropping down to your feet and back to your face, “the pleasure of the subject is only one part of the ritual. You cannot possibly fulfil the second.”

He leans forward, and the scent of his cologne chokes up your nostrils. “But I can.” Fandral twirls the golden lock hanging over his forehead and stalks towards the spiral staircase. The periwinkle cape shimmers as he spins.

“I expect he didn’t tell you about that,” he says with feigned regret, pouting. It crawls into a shit-eating smile, and he offers a wink that makes your blood freeze.

“For him, you’re just a bit of mischief - best you know sooner, rather than later. You'll thank me...sometime. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a certain ceremonial robe to be measured for.”

The click of his heels ascending to the turret room fades as you tear gasping into the open air; heart hammering as you run; his words beating in your ears with every breath.

Chapter Four: Daylight Orgy The Masterlist for The Rite is HERE ❤️🕯️❤️ Tags in comments x

#the rite🕯️#loki x reader #loki smut #loki laufeyson #loki fanfiction #loki fanfic #loki x you #loki x reader smut #loki x you smut #loki x yn #loki x female reader #loki imagine #loki odinson #loki

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rafesfavbimbo · 1 month

Text

Hook. Line. Sinker.

Pairing: Rafe Cameron x Glamour Model!Reader

Read Part 2 here

Moodboard for this chapter here.

Author’s Note: I could not get this idea out of my head since I sent it in to @bunnyrafe. So I decided to create my own little universe about it. Imagine playboy is still big and making magazines + social media post. (w/o all the dark history.) It’s canon reader has a boob job bc yk Playboy. But I made her non-descriptive as possible. Season 1 Rafe.

Tw: Stalking, Emotional Cheating (by Tooper), Objectification/Sexualization, slight non-descriptive smut, Canon-Rafe, eventual smut.

Rafe thanks whatever higher power decided to make sure he was at this exact location at this exact time. Almost feeling like he needs to thank God for guiding him here or some shit.

His curiosity peaked when he was driving down the one way road near the cut. His eyes going immediately to the ropes blocking off and a sign stating “Closed,” on one of the prettiest parts of the beach. Pfft, nothing’s ever private for the self-crowned King of Kildare. So Rafe does what comes natural to him; he inserts his nose in business that has nothing to do with him, with an arrogance that states it’s his right to know and parks his freshly-washed truck. Immediately sneaking under the ropes and walking a short distance until he sees something that for once in a long, long while. Leaves him struck.

He’s watching from afar as a crew sets up various reflectors. There’s slight chaos, people buzzing around and setting up. A photographer adjusting the lens on his camera. Women decked in casual clothing, going through a rack with various pieces of barely-there lingerie and bikinis.

But that’s not what catches Rafe’s attention.

It’s her.

There she’s sat in a pink directors chair. Her hair in a pretty blowout, flowing long behind her with the beach breeze. Her pretty legs peeking out from the white robe wrapped around her. Smooth and glowing, stretching down to pretty manicured toes. Makeup artist buzz around her, adding finishing touches to her flawless face, slathering gloss against plump, pouty lips and adjusting the tousled loose curls flowing around her gorgeous face.

Even from afar Rafe can see the long, wispy lashes adorning pretty eyes, staring up at the woman standing over her, brushing a makeup brush lightly over the smooth skin of her face.

He knows who she is, he knows exactly who she is. She’s been the figment in his imagination whenever he’s desperate and withering, stroking himself. Eyes shut tightly imagining her perfect figure withering under him or staring harshly at his phone screen at the skimpy photo she’s posing for.

He’d never in his life imagine he’d be standing right in front of his biggest fantasy. Albeit from afar, but so close. He feels like a creep, like a peeping tom lurking on what he knows is going to be another one of the various, scandalous shoots she’s so famous for. He can’t help it, even with all the chaos surrounding her he’s zoned in on her and her only.

When she stands up, the white fluffy robe falling erotically off her shoulder, exposing more of her smooth skin, it has him huffing deeply out of his nose. His eyes zoned in on her behind his wayfarers, hand slightly clenching.

It’s when she begins untying the lose knot on the straps of her robe that his him tensing up the most. The smooth skin of her back being revealed down to her pert, plump butt and slim thighs. He feels like he’s dreaming, almost like he wants to pinch himself to make sure he’s not dreaming. But the blaring heat of the sun, the sweat dripping down his tan forehead, making his shirt stick to his back and the painful ache of his stiffened cock brings him back to reality.

She hands the robe to the woman next to her, throwing her tousled curls behind her back. Her back is still facing him but when she turns around … that’s when Rafe really feels like he’s died and gone straight to erotic heaven. He runs his gaze down the entirety of the beach goddess standing right in front of him. His slightly clenched fist now turning white at the knuckles and blunt nails digging into his palm.

He runs his eyes over her perfect, incredibly busty perky tits and perfect upturned nipples. Down to her smooth, flat stomach which pinches in perfectly at the waist and rounds out to beautiful hips he wants to grip into and leave bruised. Her skin glowing, flawless. Slathered in some kind of oil or lotion, making her glisten exquisitely under the North Carolina sun.

But it’s when he sees the perfect V sat inbetween her slightly muscular, yet plush thighs that he lets out a deep heavy groan. The perfectly groomed landing strip waxed there teasing him and making him want to feel it tickle his nose as he buries his face into the most perfect cunt he’s seen in his life.

She’s looking down at her stomach, smoothing her pretty hands over it and then flipping her head back adjusting her hair with both hands, eyes closed. It’s like she knows he’s right there and like she’s putting on a show for him and he revels in it.

He watches as she turns back around and prances confidently forward, walking on the tips of her french-tipped toes slightly kicking the sand. Walking toward the shore and dipping her toes in it.

“Alright everybody! Let’s get this going!” Shouts the older man with frosted tips, dressed flamboyantly. An enthusiastic smile on his slightly wrinkled face.

Rafe watches as men on the crew adjust the reflectors, and he especially watches as his dream girl faces the crowd once behind her. And all he can wonder is how she can feel so comfortable standing so bare in front of so many people. Her hands coming to her pretty hips, cocking them to one side as she digs her french-tipped nails into her smooth-tanned skin.

Rafe gets closer and ducks behind one of the various palms trees hiding his tall figure, needing to get a closer look and hear whatever the fuck they’re talking about.

“Okay y/n, we’re gonna do a couple prints with the blowout and then a good few in the water with your hair slicked back. Sound good?” states, who he’s positive by now is, the photographer.

“Yeah. Sounds good.” she replies back, light and airy with a sweet giggle. Fuck, even though he can barely hear what’s going on just the cadence of the way she speaks sends his nerves into overdrive.

“Perfect.” chips the photographer, “Let’s get a roll on it while the sun is still out.”

Rafe stays there the entire time. The ache in his cock growing bigger, his chest tightened and body tense watching her maneuver herself into various poses. And in his sick mind he feels as if she’s posing for him, and him only. Teasing him with that perfect body and flawless face, seductively bending and prancing around as various clicks and murmurs of praise clamor near.

It’s when the sun starts bleeding into the ocean like lovers reuniting and leaving a warm orange haze across the beach as the photographer shouts “aaaanddd that’s a wrap!” that Rafe realizes he’s been there the entire time. His once neat and primped, plaid button up now soaked through with sweat.

“You did great! I think this is one of your best editorials yet! Absolutely stunning my dear, as always.” praises the flamboyant man as he embraces the now covered model, giving her a slight squeeze and she returns his affections with a warm smile on her face.

“It’s always the best time working with you Stephen, you make it great.” she quips genuinely. Pretty lips turning up on a sweet smile.

“Nonsense, you make my job easy being as perfect as you are. My star! Now get some rest, you’ve earned it. And maybe visit around the Island, I know you love places like this.” He pinches her smooth cheek endearingly.

“Maybe! We’ll see. Goodnight everyone thank you!”

Various voices shouting “goodnight y/n” and “be safe,” reply back. As if he would let anything happen to his precious gift, thinks Rafe.

The beach princess of his dreams now changed into a baby pink, ‘Juciy’ velour jumpsuit and light-brown uggs. Her drying hair clipped back in a light pink claw clip, walking her way up the designated path back to the main road.

Rafe jumps into action, making it back quickly to his truck and speeding out of there before anyone catches him. Debating if he should have followed her to make sure she got back to wherever she’s staying safely. But his cock was so hard it was almost painful. He needed to get home. Driving all the way with only one thought in his mind. Her.

That night, Rafe fist his cock till he can’t anymore under the shower head until the once hot water turns freezing cold. His eyes shut tightly replaying the events he’ll forever have ingrained into his mind, from earlier.

And once he finishes up and steps out of the shower, drying himself off and staring at himself in the mirror. He’s only got one thought in his head. His methodical brain going into overdrive with plots. That no matter what it takes, she’ll be his. Under his thumb, and he’ll never let her go. Ever.

“Did you hear who’s on the island? Everyone’s talking about it man.” quips Topper straightening himself quickly with excitement. The country club is lively, Kooks in every corner and constant murmurs of conversation all around.

“Hell yeah! I’ve been dying to see her, I want to know if she’s as sexy in real life as she is in pictures and on social media.” states Kelce, fully catching onto Topper’s direction of conversation with the same enthusiasm.

She is. Thinks Rafe, knowing exactly who they’re talking about. His stomach filling with that possessiveness he’s so well-known for. His eyes glaring at his friends behind his shades, who talk animatedly about you. He catches slight statements of “she’s the ultimate wet dream” and “i’d do anything for just one night,” as his ears ring with brewing rage.

Ha! He thinks. He’d bash their heads in before they even got near you. His perverted mind already convincing himself that you belong solely to him. And he’s not letting his grip loose.

“Aren’t you dating my sister, bro?” drawls Rafe in his deep, nasally cadence. His legs spread wide as he leans back confidently with his arms over the chairs handles. His demeanor threatening and protective. The boys assuming over Sarah, but in his mind it’s because they’re speaking about his woman.

“Yeah-I mean-c’mon man this is Y/N Y/LN we’re talking about. She’s like the ultimate sex symbol and besides she’s basically famous. We probably won’t see her, let a man drea-holy shit.” Topper’s eyes widen comically, staring straight behind Rafe as Kelce turns in the same direction, jaw dropping slightly and body sitting forward quickly. Eyes bulging in the same comedic manner as Topper.

Rafe’s brows furrow as he watches people in his line of vision all turn in the same direction, eyes of lust, shock, curiosity and even envy from the various men and women around. And when Rafe tilts his head to the side, eyeing whatever is behind him from his peripheral vision that has people, including his friends so starstruck, does he see the girl who’s been invading his mind since yesterday.

There she is. In the prettiest, skimpiest little off-white sundress. Her statuesque figure shown off by the scrap of clothing and contrasting perfectly against her skin-tone. Her skin is glowing just like it was yesterday, stunning legs on display and her pretty feet sitting beautifully in clear platform mules. Shiny hair pinned up in a messy up-do with wispy hairs framing her face beautifully. Big squared glasses perched on her perfect nose and a small smile on her luscious lips as she listens to- is that fucking Sarah?

People’s eyes follow his sister and his future woman as they make their way over to the table resided by the 3 boys. Men and women’s eyes lowering down to her backside and he can only imagine what they’re leering at if the shortness in the front of her dress is any indicator for the length in the back. All the attention quickly dividing elsewhere when Sarah reaches them and speaks up.

“Hey guys!” says his sister enthusiastically as she catches them in her line of sight, immediately reaching back and holding her hand out to guide you along with her. “This is y/n. I met her at the market.” Idiot, thinks Rafe. Why would Sarah think they’d need to be introduced to someone that even his own Dad, has admitted to finding attractive. Rafe shudders at the thought.

Both Kelce and Topper shoot straight up, hands sticking out cheerfully shouting out overlapping “Hi’s” wearing smiles so big it looks like their cheeks hurt. Idiots, thinks Rafe. Why would they make it so obvious? Especially Topper in front of Sarah?

“Hi…” the model says shyly, reaching her hand out and placing it delicately in Topper’s. Giving him a warm smile. “It’s so nice to meet you.”

“This is my boyfriend Topper, who by the way is a big fan!” says Sarah gives Topper a playful eye roll and smug smile, to which he bashfully looks to the side with a cough to clear his throat, cheeks reddening. “This is Kelce, and this,” Sarah turns to point “is my brother Rafe,” to a still-sitting Rafe. Who now rises slowly, shades hiding his pretty cobalt eyes. He stands to full height, towering over the 4 of you and inching a bit closer to you, taking off his glasses as he hangs them on the collar of his white polo.

When y/n turns to look at him, it’s like something struck in both of them. Rafe already felt someway, he stalked her all day yesterday for fucks-sake! But being near her is making his body and mind go haywire. He watches as she pulls her glasses off, exposing those pretty eyes and long wispy lashes. Perching them on her head.

When y/n looks at him though, her breath stops and she’s looking at him with a love-struck look that has Rafe smirking. Hook.

“Hello,” drawls Rafe, his voice deep and nasally, reaching his hand out, “nice to meet you.” He says with the same smug smirk sat on his pretty face. He watches as she places her delicate hand in his palm, beautiful eyes still stuck on him and now locking with his piercing ones. He brings her small hand up to his lips, holding eye contact and pressing a small kiss to her knuckles. Taking in the creamy, vanilla scent radiating off of her and smooth skin of her palm.

“Hiiii..” she whispers, airy voice as light as ever. Eyes still stuck on him in a daze and glazed over with… is that lust? Rafe convinces himself it is, and he’s almost sure it is. Only deepening his para social infatuation with her. “It’s nice to meet you ..Rafe.” He swears he can drop dead right there, hearing his name roll off her tongue in that pretty voice he imagined moaning into his ear all night.

“Ahem!” Sarah clears her throat inquisitively. Breaking the veil that lifted over the both of them for that single moment, like two lovers destined to meet. Topper and Kelce watching the interaction with wide eyes. “Well, now that you’ve got acquainted with a couple people around here and have pretty much seen all there is to this area, that’s interesting anyway. How about we go down to the Outer Ban-“

“No.” quips Rafe sternly. Voice firm. Leaving no room for argument with just a single word. His eyes cutting deeply into Sarah, whose face now scrunches with defensive attitude, “what is your problem?” she bites back.

The two boys still watching with wide eyes, but glancing over unabashedly at the model whose eyes are still focused on the man who’s got heat building between her thighs very quickly. And her heart pounding in her chest.

“You wanna take her to the Cut? Around those filthy fucking pogues?” bites back Rafe with the same animosity, inching forward threateningly as if daring Sarah. As if she ever gave a fuck what her brother thought. “Yeah.” she bites back firmly, “And what? She did a photoshoot there just last night.” Oh, I know. “She wants to see the area outside of working, besides I’m her tour guide and I promised to show her the whole island and that’s what I’m gonna do.” scoffs Sarah, rolling her eyes at her brother’s ingrained dominance.

“Nah. You’re not.” quips back Rafe, arrogance radiating off of his big and tall frame. “Nah, you know what. I’ll take it upon myself to show this sweet little princess around, if she wants to see the Cut or play in the water it’s better she’s with someone who can take care of her. Protect her from those fucking weirdos you like so much. Like me.” says Rafe with that smug smile on his face that Sarah wants to smack off 100% of the time. “Who do you even think you are-“

“So you wanna see the Outer Banks, beautiful? How about I show you around?” He cuts off Sarah, ignoring the anger radiating off of her as he turns his full attention to his proclaimed little princess. Who had been watching the whole time, struck by the sexy man who she now knows as Sarah’s brother and who’s got her inner thighs squeezing together and slick. His causal dominance over her, making her head hazy, and stomach flip.

Line.

Sarah, Topper and Kelce stand stunned by Rafe’s casual display of dominance but more-so by the fact that they can see that she liked it. A flirty giggle falling from her lips as she nods her head quickly. Leaning her body into him. Rafe smiles at the sweet sound, throwing his arm over her shoulders and turning his back to his sister and friends. Completely over-taking her attention and asserting his claim. She immediately nuzzles into his side, her arm wrapping around his waist and giving Rafe her undivided attention as she looks up at him with doe-eyes hanging onto every word that falls from his pretty pink lips.

“Yeah? You Like that?” He brings his other hand to pinch her chin, then giving it a slight knock with his index finger as he smirks down at her. “You stick with me and I’ll show you exactly everything you’ve been missing and whatever you want to see. I’ll take such good care of you, princess. Don’t worry.”

Sinker.

Read Part 2 here.

a/n: phew! he’s so dreamy ugh! I hope you all enjoy!

#rafe cameron #rafe obx #rafe outer banks #rafe cameron smut #rafe cameron imagine #rafe cameron angst #outer banks #sarah cameron #rafe imagine #glamourmodel!reader

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