seonghwaddict · 7 months ago
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the lamb and the wolf — park seonghwa
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in which all he wanted was someone to love in his dark, lonely world… and then you came along.
hades!park seonghwa x fem!reader. genre. strangers to lovers. fluff. smut. warnings. he’s literally obsessed with mc, ankle injury, alcohol consumption, mention of cannibalism as a metaphor for love but it’s not really explicit, mc is described as innocent, explicit sexual content mdni, oral (f. receiving), unprotected, soft dom!hwa, big dick!hwa, praise, creampie. wc. 7.2k. rating. mature.
lilo’s notes. i’ve been working on this for two-ish months and i’m so happy to finally share it. writing this was fun, i love writing men infatuated with their lovers <33 the letter he reads does not belong to me and comes from “Albert Camus, María Casares. Correspondence (1944-1959)” which is a collection of love letters sent between camus and casares. this particular one is letter #95.
listening to. from persephone, kiki rockwell // sunlight, hozier // liquid smooth, mitski // cinnamon girl, lana del rey // nothing’s gonna hurt you baby, cigarettes after sex
masterlist.
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the realm of the dead was terribly dark and cold and, as the name would suggest, barren of life. for seonghwa, the ruler of the underworld who had spent thousands of years in the realm, this hadn’t been a problem before. yet, he couldn’t deny the temptation of the distant sounds of chirping birds and gentle breezes humming through the air above.
he was, of course, free to leave whenever he wished to but more often than not he was busy—ruling over the souls that had passed or meetings with nymphs and the other deities. there had never been an inclination to explore, but somehow he found himself taking curious steps out of the cave entrance to his world.
and that’s where he saw you.
you weren’t a long way away from the entrance to the underworld, idling in a meadow and picking flowers and berries in a woven basket. the sunlight glinted off your rich skin, glistening on you manicured nails as your hands tended to the plants. the slow wind wafted through your soft-looking hair, making it dance in the air. he was entranced by the way the skirt of your dainty silk dress flowed as you moved around, hypnotised by the ivory fabric folding and brushing against your ankle with every step. you were beautiful in every sense of the word—but not the soft and comforting kind. no, not at all. in fact, he was quite alarmed by the notion of being so infatuated with a mortal at first glance.
seonghwa knew he was doomed from the moment he laid eyes on you. he wanted nothing more than for you to glance his way, willing to split himself in half or carve his heart right out of his chest to get a second of your attention. you spoke to yourself softly, muttering about how pretty you thought the little branch of lilac you plucked out of a bush was.
oh, how lovely your voice sounded; even the sun would not compare to it’s dulcet warmth.
a brilliant idea crossed his mind, one that he knew would get you to fall right in his grasp. and minutes later, he was able to conjure up a disturbingly realistic illusion of a rain storm. he descended back into his realm and all he had to do was wait.
you, however, flinched as the first droplets hit you. looking around for shelter, you spotted a cave entrance just a little way ahead, scrambling to sit there and wait for the storm to pass. the ground and walls felt cold against your body, nothing to separate your skin from the dark stone but your gown that was now soaked through and clung to your body.
minutes after you had sat down, a vaguely familiar scent breezed past you and had your head darting to look into the deeper part of the cave. there was no way it came from outside, not a single house in sight as the dewy smell of rain overtook the meadow. so your next most likely assumption was that it came from inside the cave. you stared into the seemingly endless abyss, squinting into the darkness for signs of, well, anything other than rocks and dirt.
and that’s when you saw it. a brief flickering flame, metres away from where you were sat. in the seconds that it lit, you could faintly make out what looked to be a staircase, descending further into a cave. an intrigued hum left you as you pushed yourself up from the ground and walked to the strange stairs, basket of berries and flowers left behind. there’s a reason they say curiosity killed the cat.
it was significantly colder as you stood at the top of the carved stairs, staring as far as you could see before they winded around and further into the unknown. another light came on, this time around the corner the stairs disappeared behind. with a final look at the exit of the cave, you began your unknowing descent into hell.
the light behind you flickered before going out, leaving you in darkness until you passed by the next torch, mounted on the damp stone. you planted your hand on the wall, afraid you’d lose your footing as each flame only lit the foreign path temporarily. the deeper you went, the colder you got. by the time you thought the stairs were endless, you could see faint puffs of white air emerging from your shaking lips with each breath you took. shivers ran through your body occasionally, your wet dress not doing anything to keep you warm.
just when you were going to give up and turn around to return to the surface, you stumbled at the unexpected absence of yet another step. your faint wince echoed through the small space as you rolled your ankle, instinctively holding yourself against the stone wall. your hand slipped from the wall for a second, a pebble falling and rolling until it stopped with an odd “clink.” you looked up in confusion to see what made the pebble stop with such a sound. looking with wide, bewildered eyes, a black and engraved set of double doors stood a few steps ahead of you. had they been there the whole time?
maybe someone lived there, someone who could help you. your father kept you safe and sound for as long as you could remember, teaching you to always see the best in people, rendering you a little sheltered and much too kind. perhaps this is what made you so trusting as you forced yourself to walk to the doors on limping legs. both doors had beautiful metal knockers mounted on them. the rusted brass resembled three dog heads, a heavy metal ring hanging from the snout of the dog in the middle. more than mildly nervous and with cold, shaking hands, you reached forward and tentatively lifted the ring of the right door before letting it knock against the dark wood.
moments later it swung open, held by a tall, pale-skinned man with slim fingers. for a moment you forgot what you were there for, caught off guard by the sharp eyes that looked down at you. your warm breath swirled in the air as you finally pieced together a sentence.
“i’m sorry, sir, but… i-i really meant to leave but i hurt my ankle…” you spoke quietly, your voice an octave higher than it usually was.
his gaze softened, the light of a torch on the wall reflecting in his dark eyes, and he smiled down at you as he opened the door wider and stepped aside. “oh, you poor thing. please, come inside.”
seonghwa watched you walk past him and into this home he had conjured up just for your arrival. it was quite dark, illuminated by a fireplace and candelabras decorating shelves and tables. he didn’t care enough to provide more light, completely entranced by the way you kneeled in front of the hearth, hands outstretched to warm them by the fire. they looked so much smaller compared to his. seeing you up close made his heart skip a beat, he wanted nothing more than to lay his hands on your smooth skin, run them through your damp hair, pat the thin and wet flowing dress dry and keep you warm. droplets of the rain ran from the top of you head down your face slowly, occasionally getting caught in your eyebrows or the corner of your beautiful lips.
he wondered fleetingly if they felt as soft as they looked. another bead of rain made it past your features, trailing past your jawline and neck. his eyes tracked it but when it disappeared under the fabric covering your chest, he refused to continue looking.
you felt his presence standing beside you a moment later, drawing your eyes—your naïve, innocent eyes—to look up at him. he offered you a hand to help you stand.
“come, love, let me take a look at your ankle,” he smiled at you kindly, pulling you up helpfully as you took his hand. once you stood, you stumbled slightly, accidentally putting weight on your injured ankle and wincing. one of his arm quickly looped itself around your waist, holding you up against him so you wouldn’t fall.
his touch was gentle yet you felt a certain firmness to it, feeling as if his warm hand was searing through your cold gown. your cheeks burned and you looked away shyly, something that had him biting back a smile as he guided you to sit at one of the sofas. he was mildly surprised by how small and delicate you felt in his arms. you felt fragile. there was something so seductive about that, the thought of breaking you in the most intimate of ways. but soon he had to let you go. after you settled into the cushions of the seat, his movements caught your eye.
your jaw nearly dropped when you saw him kneeling on the ground before you. though you weren’t aware of it, something made you so special that you had a god getting on the ground on his knees in front of a mortal. his dark eyes found yours, voice as gentle as it had been the whole time.
“may i?”
when you gave him a small nod, not trusting yourself to say anything, his hand grazed your calf before gently wrapping around your ankle and lifting it to rest on his thigh. despite his intimidating and malicious role among the deities, he was softer with you than anyone could ever imagine. he slipped off your shoe but kept your sock on, dragging the ruffled trim just under your heel so he could inspect the swelling at your ankle. the ruffles tickled you as he moved it, eliciting the most melodic giggle he’d ever heard.
when he glanced up at you, a smile stretched your tempting lips and making your smooth cheeks swell as you looked back down at him. he couldn’t help but smile, endeared by everything you did.
“it tickles.” you explained through another giggle, looking down at him. as his gaze returned to your ankle, you took note of how close he was. if he leaned forward just a little he’d be able to brush his plump lips along your knees. he knew that, of course, since he planned it. every touch, every position, every word had been meticulously planned, it was no surprise to him how close be found himself.
well, other than you getting injured, everything had been planned.
his slender finger pressed against different areas of your swollen ankle with featherlight pressure, gauging where it hurt most. you winced occasionally, but a certain spot made you flinch and whimper.
“there?” he whispered, looking up at you. his gaze was still tender as he gazed at you, his fingers pressing against that spot again with just a little more pressure. you knew he needed to check if it was really that spot, but in reality he wanted nothing more than to hear those lovely sounds tumble from your lips. to his delight, you did just that, bottom lip quivering slightly with the sound as you nodded. his gaze fell to your lips and he imagined kissing you, sucking your lower lip into his mouth, but he refocused his thoughts on your injury quickly.
“how did you even hurt yourself like this?” his other hand moved to the knee of your uninjured leg, thumb brushing small circles soothingly.
“i missed a step on the stairs and rolled my ankle.” you frowned slightly, the cute downturn if the corners of your lips almost making him coo at you. you leaned forward to catch a glimpse of your ankle but it was hard to see in the dim light provided by the fireplace and various candelabras around on shelves.
“i see… how careless of you, dear,” he tutted, fingers tapping against your knee absentmindedly, “but it’s okay, don’t worry. it’s just a small injury… wait here for a moment while i go get something, alright?”
you nodded once more and he got up, disappearing through a doorway as your eyes traced over his figure. you looked around the room as you waited patiently. it was a simple sitting room slash entrance area at first glance, but upon looking closer you found there were many little breathtaking details littered around for those who cared enough to find them. intricately embroidered golden designs decorating the wine red carpet beneath your feet, the shelves lining the wall on either side of the fireplace stocked with worn books neatly.
silent brisk steps drew your eyes back to him as the handsome stranger returned, a little glass bottle and roll of bandages held in his hands. his cheeks warmed at the sight of you sitting there so pretty and obediently. seonghwa kneeled in front of you once again and brought your foot to the same position as before.
“i’m going to apply this,” he held up the bottle for you to see, a mysterious deep blue liquid swishing around inside, “it’ll be cold and it might hurt a bit, but i promise to be gentle, okay?” after you nodded silently, he uncapped the bottle and poured a bit into his hand. “i’ll need you to stay still and relax. can you do that for me, love?”
after you gave him a muttered ‘yes’ he flattened his palm over the swelling. true to his word, the liquid he had poured into his hand was icy cold and stung a little as he rubbed it in as gently as possible. if you had to describe the feeling, you’d compared it to hundred of pinpricks concentrated on one area. it was uncomfortable, to say the least.
your eyes squeezed shut and your hands dug into the couch beneath you. you felt his touch leave your knee but a second later his hand found it’s way to yours, slipping between your fingers for you to hold him instead of tearing up his couch. he squeezed reassuringly and his heart swelled when you squeezed back.
before you knew it, his warm voice filled the silence of the room. “all done. you can open your eyes now, darling, you did so well.”
you eyes opened slowly at his words and looked down. he was peering up at you with round caring eyes, making your stomach flutter. his hand on your ankle lingered before he pulled away so you could have a look at the bandages wrapped around it skilfully, his other hand still intertwined with yours.
“thank you…?” you trailed off, indirectly asking for his name. despite him being a stranger, you somehow trusted this handsome man with your life. perhaps it was because he had shown you nothing but kindness thus far, every one of his actions illuminating warmth and care.
“of course. the ointment works fairly quickly, so you should be free to walk around just fine for a few hours at least,” his lips tugged into a small grin. he thought you were so cute, too shy to be upfront about your interest in him.
he wasn’t blind, your increased heart rate below his touch didn’t go unnoticed by him. for a moment, he considered lying to you—introducing you to an identity that didn’t exist in fear that you’d run away from him once he revealed himself. however, soon enough he came to the conclusion that he wanted you to love him, not some made up caricature. besides, he didn’t have to tell you about his occupation just yet. “it’s seonghwa.”
you tested the syllables on your tongue and he could’ve sworn honey poured right out of your mouth with how sweet you sounded. he nodded encouragingly and you gave him your name. he decided it fit you and your serene disposition. you watched with a warming face as he lifted your hand to his lips, eyes locked on yours as he kissed your knuckles.
“pleasure to make your acquaintance, love.” he winked smoothly before standing from the ground, pulling you off the couch with him. his eyes glanced down at your dress. it was still wet but not nearly as drenched as it was before, though it still clung to your body, teasing him. “you must be uncomfortable. if you want, i probably have a change of clothes for you.”
you smiled at his invitation gratefully, nodding. “i’d love that, thank you.”
“down that hall,” he pointed in the direction he went earlier to get that odd liquid, “the second door on the right is a bedroom. you’ll find some clothes in the closet, i think they’ll fit you.”
you took a step towards the hall before stopping and turning around to look at him with a questioning gaze. it didn’t take a genius to figure out what you were thinking. he fumbled to find a convincing excuse, speaking slowly. “my, uh, sister used to live with me but she moved away recently, so her clothes are still there.”
the explanation satisfied you and he watched as you followed his instructions, eyes drawn to the way you hips swayed slightly with each step. you stepped through the door he told you to, yellow candlelight seeping into the hallway before you closed it behind you. but it didn’t close fully and left you visible through the sliver. he forced his eyes away when he caught a glimpse of you pulling your gown off yourself.
just as he said, you found many suitable clothes in the shelves of the wooden dresser. the room itself was quite plain, though the bed looked more than comfortable. there were many options, though all of them seemed to be dresses of some kind. long or short, dark or pastel, silk or cotton, and everything in between. finally you settled on a flowy white nightgown, the skirt brushing against your thighs. you pulled on some clean socks and slippers and dried your hair as best you could with a towel you found before stepping out to join him in the sitting room again.
but when you got there, he was nowhere to be found. looking around in confusion, you breathed a sigh if relief when you heard him call your name for another room, beckoning you to join him. upon entering said room, it quickly became apparent it was a dining room.
the walls were practically black, much like the rest of the house so far, and made the room appear much darker than it probably actually was despite the multiple candelabras on the long wooden table and the extravagant chandelier hanging from the ceiling. he sat at the chair on the left of the head of the table, a meal set in front of the head. he gestured for you take a seat in front of it. you obliged quickly.
his eyes roamed over your figure, lips parting in a soft exhale at the sight of your bare thighs. fleetingly, he came to the conclusion he wanted to bury his head between them, let them squeeze and suffocate him as he ravished you. before he could further entertain those thoughts, the squeak of the chair brought him out of his head.
“i figured you’d be hungry, so i made a little something for you,” he spoke as you got comfortable in the seat, pushing a glass of water towards you, “i hope it’s up to your standards, dear.”
you gazed down at the bowl of what appeared to be chicken soup with vegetables before looking back up at him. “you’re too kind, really, you didn’t have to do all this for me.”
he was more than delighted by your kindness and manners, looking at him so cutely with the candlelight dancing in your eyes magically. “no but i did have to. i can’t have you sitting here, injured and starved… plus, it’s nice to have company.”
“oh?” his final sentence piqued your interest, fiddling with the handle of your spoon. “you don’t get a lot of company?”
he really didn’t, other than the souls that made down here after their bodies passed on. but that’s a conversation for another time. he shook his head slightly, lifting a glass of wine you hadn’t noticed before to his lips. he let it sit in his mouth for a moment before swallowing it and returning his gaze to you.
“not very often, no…” he explained slowly, setting the glass back on the table with a quiet clink before folding his hands beside it, elegant as ever, “people don’t tend to come all the way down here and i don’t tend to invite people over.”
a frown tugged at you lips and you turned your gaze away, feeling slightly ashamed. “i’m sorry to have bothered your peace then, seonghwa.”
he tensed, hands gripping each other just a little tighter. why on earth were you ashamed, why were you apologising? he reached over and placed a hand over your free one, momentarily distracted by how soft it felt in his grip before he was quick to reassure you. “oh no, darling, don’t you dare apologise. you’re not bothering me at all, really. it’s been a long time since i’ve enjoyed someone’s company this much.”
“r-really?” you finally looked at him again, the warmth returning to his stomach as he faintly noticed one of the straps threatening to fall off your shoulder.
“really,” he reaffirmed, turning your hand over so he could hold it properly, “i should be thanking you, if anything.”
you averted your gaze once again, this time feeling shy rather than ashamed; a fact that had him grinning. soon enough, you began eating your soup, humming at the taste approvingly after the first taste. you conversed leisurely as you ate, jumping from subject to subject naturally as if you’d known each other for years. you asked him why he wasn’t eating with you, to which he said he’d already eaten and didn’t feel hungry. this was, of course, a lie since deities like him don’t need to eat anyway.
eventually, you finished, slumping back in your seat with a yawn. “that was absolutely amazing. thank you, hwa.”
the new nickname had his cheeks tinting a soft pink but he hid it quickly. he watched you yawn. somehow everything you did felt adorable to him, the urge to scoop you up in his arms to hold you tightly and kiss you softly growing stronger by the second. if he weren’t a man with unrivalled self-restraint and patience, he would’ve done it by now.
“someone’s tired, huh?” he cooed at you, crossing one leg over the other. “you should go sleep in the room you got the clothes from. i’d prefer for you to stay until your ankle is fully healed, just in case.”
you nodded slowly, another yawn ripped from your throat as you got up and stretched your arms over your head. the movement caused the skirt of your nightgown to ride up, his breath hitching as he realised if it went up any further head be able to see your lacy white undergarments you’d borrowed from the dresser too. he distracted himself with a chuckle, standing up and guiding you out of the dining room to the bedroom by the small of your back.
before you knew it, you were on your back on the bed of the bedroom that supposedly belonged to his sister. your dress fell over your body entrancingly, tempting his hungry eyes as he stood over you, adoring the way your hair laid on the satin pillow. you turned to your side and curled up with your knees pulled to your chest. he caught a glimpse of your lacy panties before they fell over the swell of your ass as if they hadn’t moved in the first place.
thoughts swarmed his mind, none of them appropriate. he imagined your legs wrapped around his waist, burying himself into the curve of your neck, sculpted for his face to fit right there. he longed to feel your soft curves against his fingers, not a single layer of clothing separating you.
“hwa?” the way you said his name made his thoughts snap to reality as his eyes found yours. the nickname sounded so wonderful with your voice, he wanted to bottle up the sound and keep it safe on a shelf for the rest of eternity. not only that, but the way you looked at him, lips parted softly with small breaths, cheeks flushed, and eyes looking wide and innocent. oh, how innocent you smelled to him. he was torn between preserving it and corrupting it.
“yes, love?” he whispered back, brushing a strand of your hair from you face as casually as possible.
“thank you… for everything,” you whispered, peering up at him with those same glittering round eyes, “i’ll be sure to repay you for your kindness when i can.”
“there’s no need, really. it’s nothing,” he chuckled quietly, gaze flitting all over your features—you fluttering eyelashes, the slope of your nose, the curve of your neck, the slight upturn of the corners of your lips. he took a deep breath as discreetly as possible, reminding himself that there was a chance he wouldn’t be able to convince you to stay with him, he shouldn’t get too attached just yet.
somehow, he held himself back from pulling you into his arms and kissing you breathless. he pulled his hand back after letting his thumb brush against your cheekbone for a moment.
“i’ll let you rest now,” he whispered, “sleep well. i’ll see you in the morning, love.”
you muttered a soft ‘goodnight, hwa’ in return before he was out of the room and shutting the door a second later.
the door clicked shut and you heard his footsteps getting more and more distant. you let out another quiet yawn, pulling the comfortable blanket over your body and up to your chin. your room was quiet, the silence oddly comforting. something about the place had that feel and despite being so far underground, it didn’t feel claustrophobic at all. you compared it to home, your parents always bickering with each other or taking out their frustrations on you. it felt nice to be in a quiet space again, and you briefly wondered if you could stay a little longer than another day.
your eyelids became heavier with each blink in the dark before they ultimately closed completely, pulling you into a deep sleep.
though you didn’t expect it to last so long, over a week passed and you were still staying with him in his little cave house. you didn’t mind, of course, since he took such great care of you. in the week, you’d grown closer, treating each other like lovers though neither of you brought it up. he’d let you sit in his lap and you’d let him brush his fingers through your hair.
you stirred awake, one day short of having spent two weeks with him. today was one of those days where he’d gone out to run some errands, trusting you enough to leave you alone. with not much to do, you usually sat in his little library or took a nap until the evening. this time you chose the latter.
some hair clung to the thin layer of sweat on your forehead, your blanket displaced and only covering half of your left leg, having kicked it off in your sleep. for a second you couldn’t remember where you were, but memories of the previous days returned quickly and you relaxed before sitting up and looking around the room. the candle had stayed on overnight, providing light in a place where windows really couldn’t exist.
there was no indication of the time other than a clock on one of the bedside tables. assuming it was functional and accurate, it was 10:24 in the evening. you hummed, surprised you’d slept so much when usually you’d be awake hours before that. with a quiet groan, you realised there was no point in going back to bed, pulling yourself off the mattress and to the door.
you reached for the door handle but paused, pulling back to check yourself in the mirror. not wanting to look like a mess in front of seonghwa, you readjusted your dress so it sat on your body properly and tried your best to make your hair appear less messy. only then did you tiptoe your way out of your bedroom and to the sitting room.
he was back already, sat on the couch and readings a book, back straight and one leg crossed elegantly over the other. he wore something different. instead of the loose white shirt, black slacks and black corset, he now wore a black vest that had sheer black sleeves with black slacks. the neckline of his vest dipped low, revealing the lean muscles of his chest. you forced yourself to look away, settling into the armchair across from him, separated by a long coffee table.
“i don’t bite, you know,” he spoke without looking up from his book, sounding amused that you sat so far away after how close you’d been the night before.
your daze cracked, chuckling as you stood and walking around the coffee table to sit beside him on his right. though you weren’t touching, a few centimetres of space between you, you could feel his body heat radiating off him. he glanced down at your exposed thighs briefly before continuing to read, or at least trying to. his eyes were stuck on the same line for a minute, distracted by the way you leaned your head on his shoulder to read with him.
he contemplated pulling you onto his lap, missing the feel of your weight against him like the night before. you had insisted for him to carry you to bed, pouty and tired, and when he did, he had a hard time letting go of you and ended up sitting with his back against the headboard with you snuggled safely on his lap until you fell asleep.
knowing you wouldn’t mind, he moved his right arm around your waist, slipping his hand down to your hip to make pulling you onto his lap easier. once you were there, straddling him so prettily, he let you rest the side of your head on his shoulder, your nose brushing against his neck as he tried his best to maintain his focus on his book. to the world he was a merciless king, but with you in his lap he was tender and caring.
you shifted your head, trying to look down at the book he was reading. your breath tickled him as you spoke. “what’re you reading?”
“oh,” he turned the book over for you to see the title. he let you read over, revelling in the feeling of your nose and lips accidentally grazing his neck. it tested every inch if his patience. feeling your heart beat against his chest and wanting so desperately to crawl into your ribcage, cradling your heart in his hands and peppering the beating muscle with kisses. he cleared his throat. “it’s a collection of poetry and letters.”
“you like poetry?” you giggled quietly and he swore he could taste the sweetness of it.
“i do,” he nodded, the tips of his ears dusted a rosy pink, “would you like me to read some to you?”
the offer made you feel giddy for some reason, glancing up at him with a grin as you nodded. you could only imagine how poetry would sound spoken by his divine voice.
seonghwa snickered at your excitement, flipping through the pages of his book to find something worthy of your ears. he stopped at a page near the end, his hand dropping back to your hip as he began reading. he traced a finger over your hipbone as he did, the light pressure making you squirm lightly in his lap.
“i have never surrendered myself entirely to anyone but you, and only recently. and to let my heart speak, when i am pressed against you, is an emotion and a peace that overflows all imagination.”
by the time he finished reading it, you were holding your breath, heart hammering against your ribs so hard you had no doubt he’d be able to feel it. the way he said it sounded less like a recitation and more like a confession, your stomach buzzing with anticipation as you sat up to look at him face to face, eye to eye, your hands resting on his chest.
your touch drove him to insanity. the soft press of your fingers against his vest, making it that much harder to hold himself back. he wanted to hold you against him forever. to inhale your scent so that his lungs would depend on you and only you. to touch you, to kiss you, to knit your flesh to his so you’d never leave him, to devour you, consume you. he wanted to do it all.
he could only whisper, “may i?”
his words echoed what he said before tending to your ankle two weeks prior, the day you first met him. that felt so long ago, a nostalgic smile tugging at your lips as you nodded.
his hand squeezed you hip gently while the other moved to cup your jaw, wasting no time in pulling your face to his. it was a slow, reverent kiss that filled every inch of your senses with warmth. your lips felt softer than he imagined. when your lips finally touched, your fingers curled into his vest, sighing against his lips softly.
he shuddered at the sound, pulling your hips tighter against him and pressing his lips against yours a little harder, your body perfectly molded to his as if that’s where you belonged. his tongue ran along your bottom lip, not pushing into your mouth, just tasting you enough to satiate his growing hunger. despite the way your hips rolled against him, guided by his hand and eliciting subtle gasps against his lips, he couldn’t help but still find you so sweet, so innocent, as you let him kiss you breathless.
in a way, you reminded him of a little lamb, hunted by a wolf. one could say you had tamed him. he could easily tear out your throat, add you to his collection of souls, yet he decided to kiss you instead. kiss you so softly your cheeks warmed.
the next time your eyes fluttered open, you somehow found yourself in your room, still on his lap as he sat on the edge. his kisses slowed, being replaced with repeated pecks before he pulled away fully to rest his forehead against yours, panting.
he sighed your name and for a second you felt the world stop, the sound making your head spin. “darling, please, let me taste you.”
your breath hitched at his whispered request, suddenly aware of your panties sticking to your wet core. wordlessly, you nodded and he manoeuvred you to lay on your back, making sure your head rested on your pillow comfortably.
he kissed your forehead, then your lips. from there he kissed his way further down over your nightgown—your jaw, neck, shoulder, collarbone, the valley of your breast, your stomach, hipbones, the top of your pelvis—all the while murmuring praises of how beautiful you were. his hands rested on your waist and moved down to your thighs, spreading them apart without resistance as he kneeled between them.
with a final look at your curious face, looking down and following his every action with your eyes, he dragged the end of your skirt up, revealing more and more of your smooth thighs and baby blue cotton panties. he thought they were cute as he let the dress bunch up at your waist, leaning down to kiss the little satin bow of your undergarments before hooking his finger through them.
he began dragging them down but stopped abruptly when you place a hand over his own, worried eyes darting to look at you. all you had to do was say the word and he’d stop.
“no one has ever… you know,” you blushed, too shy to say no one had ever eaten you out, only giving your lower half a meaningful glance.
relieved, he chuckled lowly and kissed the hand atop his. “you know i’ll be careful, darling. just relax, okay?”
once you relaxed as he told you to, he slipped his fingers between yours, using his other hand to slip your underwear down and off you, tossing them in a random direction before finally taking a look at the parts of you he craved the most. he nearly moaned at the sight of your folds, glistening in the dim light as your engorged clit begged for his attention.
leaning down to kiss your inner thighs first, his tongue slid between your folds, licking an experimental stripe from your hole to your clit, drawing a soft whine from you. he himself groaned at the taste, the sweet nectar that seeped from your body.
“fuck, you taste so good.”
your thighs quivered around his head as he pushed his face deep into your heat, lapping up your juices and sucking at your nub with the desperation of a starved man. each prod of his tongue had your breath shaking, whimpering, as he drove you closer and closer to the edge. before, you figured it would feel good, but not quite this delicious.
when you came, you came with a faint cry of his name, body arching of the bed. your hand that didn’t hold his moved to his hair at some point during his meal, tugging softly as your juices gushed out and you twitched from overstimulation, his tongue unrelenting and determined to swallow every last drop of your release.
he pulled away as you tugged at his hair, moving his torso up your body to kiss you. it was less a kiss and more feverish presses against each other, his tongue wandering between your teeth and making you taste yourself. you couldn’t taste much, but to his sensitive taste buds you were the sweetest thing he’d ever had.
his hips pressed against yours and your breath hitched, feeling the weight of his erection straining against his pants and nudging your aching clit. he pulled back from your lips, searching your eyes for any sign that you wanted to stop. but you only nodded encouragingly and he grinned, his lips moving to your neck as he helped you sit up so he could pull your dress off you and finally see everything he’d been fantasising about.
he detached his lips from your pulse point to pull it the rest of the way and toss it in a random direction, his eyes trained on your breasts. they were just as pretty as he imagined, nudging you to lay down again so he could take one erect nipple into his mouth and suck and lick and kiss it and around it.
“you look so pretty right now, love,” he muttered against your skin as he kissed his way to your other breast, his hands working on releasing himself from his pants while yours unbuttoned his vest, hands shaking with want.
you closed your eyes and leaned your head back against your pillow, your fingers gripping onto his bare shoulders as he dragged his tip through your folds, gathering your wetness. he kissed your cheek.
“tell me if anything hurts, okay?”
only once you breathed an ‘okay’ did he begin pushing in. he was blessed with a cock so big and perfect it hit every sensitive spot in your walls with precision as his length filled you slowly. his tip alone had you gasping softly, moaning incoherently as your eyes rolled back and fell shut, the stretch somehow pleasing you.
when he bottomed out, his eyes were drawn to the way he could see himself pressing through the bottom of your stomach, groaning as he passed his hand over the area and felt the bump. he stilled inside you, not moving until you told him so.
“p-please move, hwa.”
his pace throughout was relaxed, slow but not painfully slow, just enough roughness to his grinds to leave you breathless without tipping you over the edge just yet. it was when his hand slipped under your waist and angled you differently that you began feeling the familiar knot tighten in your abdomen.
he had a hard time stopping himself from releasing the moment he entered you, your walls hugging him so perfectly he choked back a moan with each stroke. everything about you felt as if you’d been made for him to worship, for him to indulge in. before you had come along, there was that occasional craving of romance, of wanting someone. he longed for someone to hold his hand, whose eyes replied to his so lovingly.
and there you were, beneath him, squeezing one of his hands while your dilated pupils showed him just how much you wanted him too.
you bit down on your bottom lip to hold back your sounds, something that made him chuckle and kiss the bridge of your nose. “don’t be shy, i want to hear you.”
his quiet praises made your face warm, letting out the softest of moans as his words shot straight to your core.
“you take me so well, love.” “you’re so precious and all mine.” “keep your eyes on me, darling.”
at some point his deep slow strokes grew needy and faster, pounding against your g-spot repeatedly as moans and whimpers of the two of you filled the room, hot breaths mingling with each other. your next orgasm crashed down on you with little warning, your walls squeezing around him as he muffled your sounds with his lips.
he came soon after that, filling you with his release after you had told him it was okay. his face dropped into the crook of your neck, cock twitching until his body slumped against yours.
after cleaning you up with a damp towel and slipping a new pair of panties over your legs, he joined you in bed once more and wrapped his arms around you. your legs tangled together and your chest pressed against his, your head tucked under his chin as you drifted back to sleep, lazy kisses placed onto the crown of your head.
he sighed softly and shut his eyes, filled with thoughts. now that he’s had you, he could hardly see himself letting go of you. but why would he? you were all he wanted and more.
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networks. @cromernet @wonderlandnet @cultofdionysusnet @pirateeznet
permanent taglist. @ad0rechuu @sankatchu @mlink64 @yeosangsbb @seonghwasbbgirl @likexaxdaydream @dreamingofyeo @yalyallic @yunhoswrldddd @coffee-addict-kitten @thunderous-wolf @chngbnwf
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freedomfireflies · 8 months ago
Text
Insufferable You*
Summary: The third part to Infinite You*
The one where Harry is still in an open relationship with your best friend, so maybe it's time to remind him what he's missing.
Word Count: 7.3k
Content Warning: 18+, smut, edging, spanking, brief exhibitionism, sir kink, masturbation, brief choking
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“Kitten…what are you doing?”
Your whimpers are airy. Light. A string of breathless pleas woven between the soft sounds of your fingers fucking into your cunt. And you can’t answer his question. Can’t find the strength to pull yourself away from the pleasure between your thighs.
“Kitten,” he asks again and it’s firm. “Talk to me.”
He’s panting through his request and the sound—the image in your head of the way he must look, fucking his fist to the melody of your voice almost hurts you.
“I’m…I’m playing with my clit,” you answer. He groans. “Just like you do.”
“Just like me, hm?” He curses on his end of the phone and your legs shake. “How?”
“M’pinching it,” you tell him. “And pulling it. The way you like.”
His noises are louder. Needier. He must like the image in his head, too. “God, I’d give anything to see it, baby. Give fucking anything to watch you touch yourself for me.”
Anything. Anything. You shiver. “Yeah? You’d watch me?”
“Mhm.” He’s getting closer and you don’t want this to end. “Sit there on my knees and take every drop in my mouth when you’re done.”
Your hips buck up and your fingers sink deeper. He ruins you even when he’s not here. “I know,” you whisper. Your eyes squeeze shut. “And I’d let you.”
He makes a sound that might be a laugh but could be a strained moan. You aren’t sure. But you don’t really care because it’s beautiful, no matter what it is. “Kitten,” he exhales and your insides twist. “I need you to cum for me, okay? I need to hear you. God, I need to fucking hear you, baby, let me. Come on—”
There’s something in the way he speaks. Like he’s just woken up. Rough and low and thick. He sounds like sex and you miss hearing it in person. But you were desperate—you had to call him. You had to hear him talk you through this moment and you’re so glad you did.
When you cum, it’s everything. Perhaps not as satisfying as when it’s with him, but still euphoric. And your whimpers of pleasure are what send him over the edge.
The phone fills with the sounds of your ecstasy and you wish you could record the way he moans your name. You wish you could bottle this feeling and get drunk on the way he adores you. 
Instead, you indulge in the few moments you have with him. Because you know they won’t last much longer.
“That was good,” you tell him breathlessly and he chuckles. “How are you so good at that? Even over the phone?”
“Could ask you the same thing. Now I’ve got a sticky hand and nobody to clean it up.”
You pout. “Stop, don’t tell me that. It’s not fair.”
He laughs again. “Sorry, Kitten. Couldn’t help it. You all right? You feel better?”
“I do. Thank you for letting me call you.”
“Always.”
Your heart skips. “So…what are you up to today?”
There’s a pause. A long pause and you know what he’s going to say even before he says it. “Rebecca and I are running some errands.”
“Oh.” Oh. Your throat goes dry. “Right…sorry, I’m…you probably need to go, don’t you?”
Another pause. “In a bit,” he says. “After I make sure you’re okay.”
“I’m okay,” you say far too quickly. And far too obviously forced. “Yeah, no, I’m…duh. Obviously I’m okay now. After…yeah. Okay, sorry. You can…I’ll talk to you later—"
“Kitten.”
You stop. “What? I’m…I’m letting you go—”
“Don’t. I want to talk to you a little longer.”
“But you’re busy—”
“It can wait.”
Swallowing, you whisper, “Harry, I’m…I’m just saying—”
“So am I.” He’s firm again. “Don’t do that. Don’t send me away because of her. We can talk. I promise.”
Your eyes squeeze shut. You force the tears back. Why does orgasming make you so emotional? “I know, I just…she’s there, isn’t she?”
Another beat. “Not in the room.”
“But she’s there. In the apartment. Near you.”
“Yes.”
Don’t cry, don’t cry, don’t cry. “See, that’s…that’s why I’m letting you go. So you can be with her. Okay? I’ll talk to you later—”
“Kitten.”
“Harry.” You huff if only to make yourself sound stronger than you feel. “I’m okay. You can go.”
“You’re not okay. You’re sad.”
“I’m…no, I’m not sad, I’m just…I’m tired. I came really hard.”
“I know you.”
“Well…you don’t know me that well. Cause I’m fine.”
“Baby—”
“Just go,” you insist. “I promise I’m okay as long as you are. I shouldn’t have called so early anyway, that was…I’m sorry. That was my mistake—”
“You can call when she’s here, you know that—”
“But I don’t want to.”
Another long pause that feels like an eternity. “Okay,” he finally murmurs and you pull the phone away to take in a shaky breath. “But I want your honesty. Okay?”
“Sure.”
“Are you really okay?”
Truthfully, you don’t know. “Yeah, I’m fine. Swear. Thanks for helping me. I’ll talk to you later?”
“You will,” he agrees. “Tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow?”
“Rebecca’s dinner.”
Fuck. You forgot. “Oh…right—”
“You’ll be there. Right?”
It doesn’t really feel like you have a choice. “I…I don’t know yet, I might be busy—”
“You’re not.”
“You don’t know that. I could have plans.”
“You do. With us.”
Us. Your nose scrunches. “I mean other plans—”
“You don’t.”
“I might—”
“You don’t. If you did, I’d know.”
“Well, that’s presumptuous.”
“Maybe, but it’s true. Because you talk to me. When I ask you a question, you answer honestly. You’re a good girl. I know you.”
Your chest feels tight again. “Well, I don’t tell you everything.”
“You should.”
“You don’t tell me.”
“Because you don’t ask.”
He’s right. You never ask him anything personal because honestly, you’re afraid of what he’ll say.
“Fine,” you agree. “I’ll be there. Are we done?”
He waits a moment before saying, “We’re not done. We’ll discuss this later. But for right now, yes.”
And even if he sounds a bit strict, you can’t help smiling. “Yes, Sir.”
“Mm. That’s my girl. Take it easy today, all right?”
“I will.”
“Good. See you tomorrow, Kitten.”
“Goodbye, Sir.”
He chuckles and you hang up and even despite everything else…you can’t help but grin.
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“Oh, my god. He does. Every time. He’s got such a weird thing with feet.”
You laugh. “It wasn’t so bad at first. But then he got a little too comfortable—”
“No, he does that. He really does.” Rebecca smirks as she throws the freshly chopped carrots into her pot. “And it started out cute, but now…”
You both glance into the living room where Harry is relaxing on the sofa. He’s smiling as he watches the two of you work on the food and even if he can’t hear you, he must know you’re talking about him.
“It’s still cute,” you argue in his defense. “Gross…but cute.”
She laughs. “Yeah, I guess he can be cute when he wants to be.”
You grin together and this feels good. You’ve missed your friend. You’ve missed having someone to laugh with, gossip with. And maybe it was strange at first, to come into their apartment and talk to your best friend about sleeping with her boyfriend.
But after a minute or two, you settled right back into the familiar rhythm of your friendship. And it almost felt…normal. 
“Has he done the thing where his left leg starts to shake when he gets overstimulated?” she asks and you nearly snort. 
“Oh, my god. Yes. The other day. I thought he was having a heart attack.”
“It’s the funniest thing. It just started, too. Couple years ago. He swears it doesn’t but like…I can see it.”
“It’s quite the tell,” you agree and you can’t help the way your eyes drift back to where he’s lounging on the sofa.
He notices and smirks at you.
“What?” you call.
He shrugs. “Nothing. You girls are cute, that’s all.”
“Bite me,” Rebecca says and he chuckles. “We’re not cute. We’re hot.”
“Absolutely,” he agrees. He leans forward. “Let me guess. You’re telling her about the leg thing?”
“Yup. And I was right,” she says smugly. “She sees it, too.”
His eyes roll but he smiles at you. “It’s not that bad—”
“No, it is,” she argues. “You look like a dog. A very cute dog, but still.”
He laughs a little louder and you’re almost jealous of their dynamic. A dynamic you’ve been witness to for almost five years. And it’s never made you jealous before.
But now…
She puts the soup on simmer and grabs your hand to lead you to the living room. “I told you we were gonna gossip about you,” she reminds him. “All good things, don’t worry.”
“I’m sure.” He smiles at you both as you take a seat on the sofa. She flops down right beside him while you cautiously sit on the other end. Exactly where you’d been that first day you agreed to this arrangement. “This is nice,” he says.
She hums. “Yeah, it feels like old times.” She glances toward you. “And it’s not weird…is it? I mean, you feel okay?”
Feeling a little hot under the spotlight, you swallow and force a quick shake of your head. “No, this is…it’s good. This is fun.”
However, she knows you better than anyone and her brows pull together as she studies you. “Do you have any questions? Or anything we can clear up?”
“Uh…I don’t know.” Truthfully, you don’t want to ask. “Is it…is it weird for you guys?”
They both shake their heads, almost as if in sync, and you resist the urge to scrunch your nose.
“Do you…have any regrets?”
“No,” she says and Harry agrees. “None. Do you?”
“No,” you echo. “No, I just…I don’t know. This still kind of feels like cheating.”
They exchange a glance and your heart skips. You’re even jealous of the way they look at each other.
“Rebecca and I have always agreed that whatever the other decides to do is their business,” Harry says. “As long as we communicate, there's freedom there. No judgment, no expectations, no regret.”
“And no jealousy,” she adds, offering you a soft smile. “Or shame. Or anything like that.”
You nod and pick at a loose string on your jeans. “And are you two…I mean do you still…”
“No,” she assures you and you’re thankful she figured out what you meant. “No, we haven’t in a few weeks.”
“Oh…because of me?”
She shakes her head while Harry says, “Not entirely. Most of it is for safety reasons. Keeping things clean and respectful. But it’s also one of our rules.”
“Rules?”
“We have a few rules we like to follow,” she explains. “It just makes it easier. Sometimes it can be tricky and this helps keep us on the same page.”
“And no sex is one of them?”
“Kind of. We don’t sleep together if one of us is seeing someone else. Well, no penetration, anyway.”
You hate the way your stomach sinks. “Oh. And…do you date other people…a lot?”
He looks over at her and she thinks. “Not…really?” she says. “I don’t think, anyway.”
“Jack was the last guy you were with, right?” Harry asks and she snaps her fingers.
“Jack. Right. Yeah. He was cute. And then yours was…Angie? I think?”
He nods. “Last year.”
“She was nice.”
“She was…sure. Yeah. She was nice.”
Rebecca laughs and he grins proudly, happy to have made her laugh. Your nose scrunches.
“She wasn’t that bad,” Rebecca argues. “She was just put in a weird position.”
“Literally and figuratively.”
She smacks his arm playfully and he pinches her thigh. You want to look away. 
“Either way,” she finally says, “we don’t very often. And I don’t think of it as cheating. Especially not with you. Because I know he’s a good partner and I know that you deserve someone as kind as he is.” 
He gives her a grateful grin before returning his attention to you. “We can stop if you want. Because I agree with Bex. I wouldn’t want to lose you as my friend and if you feel pressured or unsure—”
“I don’t,” you nearly rush to argue. “No, I don’t, I…I’m just really struggling with the dynamics of it. I guess.”
“Trust me, I get it,” she says gently. “It was a bit of a learning curve for us, too. Harry can get incredibly jealous.”
You’re tempted to tell her that you already know but you watch his reaction instead.
His eyes roll but then his stare returns to you and he winks, as though he’s recalling the same memory you are. 
It makes your skin feel warm.
“Oop, hold on. I gotta check the soup,” Rebecca suddenly exclaims before jumping off the sofa to rush back to the kitchen.
And now left alone together, your attention is drawn back to the tall, handsome man you can already feel staring at you.
“Any more questions?” he asks softly. He leans forward and places his elbows on his knees and somehow, even that makes you feel safer. 
“Just one,” you murmur and he nods. “Does this mean you and I are…dating? Or are we just fucking until I can find somebody else?”
There’s a slight edge in your voice that you hadn’t meant to be there, but he picks up on it instantly.
“Are you looking for somebody else?” he asks.
“Not really. But this whole thing started because you both felt bad for me,” you remind him. “And it’s been a lot of fun. Honestly. But you are kind of on loan. I just…I’m not sure what this makes our situation. If we’re just fucking…or more.”
He takes a moment to think about his answer, eyes flicking between yours almost as though studying you. “Would you like there to be more?”
You bite back huff. He’s very good at redirecting. “I don’t know. Would you?”
“I think more can get complicated.”
Your feel your expression fall. “Right.”
“And I don’t want to lose you from my life for good,” he continues. “You know that. Neither of us want to lose you—”
“Right, yeah. It’s fine. Forget I asked.”
He’s frowning now. “Kitten, don’t do that—”
“No, really,” you argue. “It’s fine. You’re right. Let’s just keep it like this until I can find somebody else.”
The frown turns into a glare. “Kitten—”
“Okay, soup is almost done,” Rebecca announces as she returns. This time she sits next to you and throws an arm around your shoulder. “What did I miss?”
The tension is palpable. You speak first. “I was just telling Harry that I might not need his services much longer.”
Rebecca’s eyebrows raise while Harry’s scowl deepens.
“Oh?” she asks.
You nod. “Well, seeing as we don’t want to do anything to ruin the friendship…I thought I’d give Ethan a call.”
It’s mean and perhaps a bit cruel, but you can’t help yourself. You aren’t trying to hurt him. Because he is right. And don’t want to lose him for good, either, and all this evening has truly done is prove how close he and Rebecca actually are.
You’ll never be able to compete with five years of love and affection. And maybe you don’t want to.
Maybe it’s time to move on.
“Ethan?” Harry repeats while Rebecca perks up.
“Yes,” she squeals excitedly. “Oh, I was hoping you would. He’s so nice, I think you guys would be perfect together.”
“Yeah,” you agree with a pointed look at Harry. “I think so, too.”
He knows what you’re doing. You can tell. And he’s oddly calm as he leans against the cushions and tosses his arms over the back of the couch. “And who the fuck is this Ethan?”
“Guy from my work,” you answer, equally as calm. “Nice. He’s been asking me out for a while.”
“A while.”
“Yeah, a while.”
His brows furrow. “So why do you want to go out with him now?”
“I don’t know.” You shrug. “He was never really my type before but we’ve gotten closer recently. I think it’s only fair I give him a real chance.”
“Really?” He’s curious. Maybe skeptical. “Now?”
You nod. “That way the three of us can preserve our friendship. Since that is the most important thing.”
“Well, I think it’s a great idea,” Rebecca tells you and hugs you to her side. “You’ll have to let us know how it goes.”
You grin and it’s all teeth. “I will.”
Dinner is nice. Tense but nice. You and Harry spend a majority of the meal exchanging icy glances and keeping to yourselves, leaving Rebecca to do most of the conversing.
And she doesn’t seem to notice. That or she merely pretends not to. She catches you up on some drama at work. Teases Harry about his sleep talking. Says she’s planning to visit her parents in a few weeks and then gives you the recipe for the soup.
And you and Harry nod politely, despite the unspoken rage from your ends of the table.
When dinner is finished, Harry offers to clean up and do the dishes. She kisses him on the cheek gratefully and says she’s gonna go take a quick shower since she’s got an early day tomorrow. She tells you that you’re welcome to stay as long as you’d like and then she hugs you tightly and whispers, “I’m so glad we’re still friends.”
You hug her back and agree.
The moment she’s gone, Harry sets down his sponge and turns to you. “Come here.”
You hesitate by the front door, itching to escape. But he’s firm as he watches you from the sink, eyebrow raised and jaw clenched, leaving you no choice but to listen.
“Kitten,” he repeats. Lower. Sterner. “Come. Here.”
You take a tentative step toward him. “What?”
“We need to talk.”
“Do we?”
“Kitten.”
You huff and throw your purse back down. “I really don’t think we need to—”
“I don’t care what you think. I’m telling you that we’re gonna have a chat and you’re gonna come in here like a good fucking girl and talk to me.”
This is how he gets you. This is how he pulls your strings and turns you around until you obediently join him in the kitchen. Like a good fucking girl.
Satisfied, he leans back against the counter. “Now. What’s this Ethan shit you pulled?”
“It’s not shit, it’s real,” you huff. “He really did ask me out and I really am going to say yes.”
“But you haven’t yet.”
“No.”
“Why?”
“I told you. He wasn’t my type—”
“No, I want the real answer.”
You frown. “That is the real answer—”
“No,” he repeats. “It’s not. And you know it.”
You cross your arms and look down at your shoes. “Well, I don’t know what to tell you. He wasn’t my type but now he is.”
The argument lulls and the small kitchen falls silent. You hear him sigh and it almost hurts to hear how heavy his disappointment hangs.
But a moment later, he’s slipping his fingers beneath your chin and raising your eyes to his. They’re soft. Serene. Filled with everything he can’t seem to find the words to say and you hate how quickly your body begins to crave him.
“You aren’t being honest with me, baby,” he murmurs. Your lashes flutter. “You aren’t communicating with me. And I can’t help you if you don’t tell me what’s wrong.”
“Nothing’s wrong,” you say and he sighs like he knows this is a lie. “Really, I just…I know myself. If I don’t put a bit of distance between us…I don’t think I’ll ever be able to breathe on my own.”
This makes him sad and it hurts you to know you’ve made him sad. “Kitten,” he whispers. He steps closer until his chest is brushing against yours. “If I’m doing something wrong—”
“You’re not. That’s the problem.” You swallow and he brushes his thumb along your jaw. “You’re doing everything right and I’m worried I’m gonna want you in ways that I shouldn’t.”
“Do you not want to want me?”
“Not…like that,” you admit. “Not when you’re still hers.”
He frowns. “I told you, you don’t have to worry about anyone else—”
“But I do. Because at the end of the day, you’re still her Harry. You’re on loan to me until one of you decides you shouldn’t be anymore—”
“Kitten—”
“And I can’t be with you in any way but physically. You said so yourself. More would get complicated and even if you wanted to be with me…I don’t think I could share you.”
 He considers this. A long moment passes. “So you’re punishing me,” he says. “You’re going out with this Ethan guy to prove that you don’t need me.”
“What? No.” You lean back but he doesn’t let go of your chin. “I mean…okay, maybe I wanted to piss you off a little but I really do think I need to be with someone else in order to truly move on. I’m not punishing you. I’m…obeying you. If anything.”
He scoffs. “If you really wanted to obey me, you would have talked to me about what you were feeling.”
“I tried. You said more would get complicated.”
“It could. There’s always that risk. But I never said it wouldn’t be worth it.”
“So…what? You’d date me?”
“Of course.”
The answer is quick and it surprises you but it doesn’t seem to surprise him.
You blink. “You…really? You would date me? Like…officially?”
“I would.”
“And…what about Rebecca?”
“What about her?”
“You’d…you’d still be with her? Right? Even if we were together?”
He seems to know what you’re implying and sighs quietly. “Yes. I would.”
“And even if you weren’t…I’m assuming you would still want to be in an open relationship with me?”
Another pause. “Probably,” he admits, and even if you knew it was coming, you can’t help the tears that spring to your eyes. “That’s just the agreement I’ve always felt most comfortable with—”
“And that’s fine. I get it,” you assure him. You sniffle and he seems to wilt. “Really. I just…like I said, I don’t do well with sharing and if…if all we’re doing is fucking, I might as well just find somebody else, right? So that way the three of us can stay friends. And it doesn’t have to get weird.”
“I understand,” he says and you know he does. “I do, Kitten. And I would never keep you in a relationship you’re not comfortable in.” A beat. “But I can’t say that I like the idea of you going out with this guy.”
You smile. Gently. “Oh yeah? And why’s that?”
He looks down at you and takes your cheek in his hand. “You’re my girl,” he says. “No matter what. If you’re with me or not with me. You’re my fucking girl. And he doesn’t deserve even a second of your time.”
You fight a large grin and cling to his shirt. “You can’t say stuff like that.”
“Why not? It’s true.”
“Because.” You play with his buttons. “You don’t get to be jealous when you’re still with her.”
“Doesn’t mean I’m gonna like seeing you with someone else.”
You pout. “That’s not fair, Harry.”
“I know.” He brings his lips to yours. They hover—close—but never make contact. “I can’t help it. Can’t ever seem to help it when it comes to you.”
You want to push up and take his kiss, but he teases you just a little longer. “Harry—”
“Do you know that, Kitten?” His hands drop to your waist and he squeezes. Even though Rebecca is only two rooms away. Even though you can hear her humming in the bath. Even though he can never be yours. “Do you know how much I think about you?”
You swallow. Thick.
“How I think about the way you asked me to take care of you…” He ghosts his mouth down your neck. “The way you begged me to be rough….to spank you. Choke you. Degrade you.”
His voice is a sin and your eyes fall shut.
“Do you want me to degrade you, baby?” His fingers slip beneath your shirt. “Do you want me to pull you on my lap and spank you until you’re crying?”
The image in your head is somehow even better than his taunting. Your knees about buckle. “Harry…”
“You can find somebody else if you want to,” he whispers. “But do you really think they’ll be able to care of you the way I do? The way you want? The way you deserve?” 
His kisses find your chest while his knee slots between your thighs.
“I know how naughty you really are, baby girl,” he says and it’s over. “He will never know.” 
You grab his hair and he grabs your hips and you’re on the counter before you can even whisper his name. He pushes the hem of your dress up and guides your legs apart. He makes a home there, finger curling around the crotch of your panties in order to get a taste and it’s magic. Always.
And he does this to you only a few hundred feet away from where his girlfriend is innocently taking a shower. He does this, knowing she could walk out and see. He does this and you let him do this because there is no world in which you stop him.
“Harry,” you say—whimper—and he hums. His tongue licks up your cunt and your head drops back. “Har—wait—”
He doesn’t. He holds your thighs beside his cheeks and he sucks on your clit until you begin to squirm. “You promised to stay for dessert,” he says. “This is my dessert.”
The sounds are loud and beautiful and his curls feel good in your hands. You feel good in his.
Things fall to the ground. Bowls, pots, containers. He grins. He likes this, the danger. And he knows you like it, too. Because if you really wanted him to stop, he would. 
But you don’t. And you yank him closer to your pussy as though this will be the last time he ever gets a taste.
And deep down, you wonder if it is.
Either way, you enjoy his tongue and his lips and the tip of his nose that nudges your clit so expertly. You wonder how it’s possible to be so addicted to a man you’re not even with. A man that only recently started fucking you and a man that you’ve only ever considered a friend.
Part of you wants to get caught. Part of you wants things to implode. To believe that he’s doing this because he wants her to find out. Because what would happen if she saw? What would happen if he realized he wanted to end things? Would he be yours? Would he decide that your time and your heart and your pussy were infinitely more important than his sexual prowess?
You scrunch your nose. These are all the wrong questions. Harry doesn’t work like that. He never has and you can’t expect something from him that he won’t ever give you.
You return your focus to him. To the way his large hands are curling around your thighs and hoisting them up on the counter. You love his hands. You think they might be your favorite hands in the world.
They’re so gentle but strong. Practiced. You know they’d look good anywhere on your body. Your thighs, your chest, your throat…
You whimper at the thought and he glances up. He’s proud again. Drenched in your arousal and the evidence of your lust for him.
He moves his mouth to the inside of your leg and nips. He leaves marks and memories along the soft skin and you can’t wait to stare at them whenever he’s not around. The way he makes you his in the only way he can.
And you’re so close. You aren’t even sure how he got you here so quickly but he always seems to. And you don’t mind. Instead, you fist his hair and you buck against his tongue and he’s going to make you cum all over his girlfriend’s kitchen counter.
And then he stops.
He stops, he lets you go, and he pulls away.
Your heart drops to your toes as the orgasm fizzles down to nothing. “What…what are you—"
“Get down,” he says curtly. He slaps your outer thigh. “We’re leaving.”
He doesn’t tell you where you’re going. And you don’t ask. Instead, you watch as he wipes his mouth and disappears from the kitchen to wait by the front door.
After straightening your dress and readjusting your underwear, you scurry to his side with a fretful glance toward the bathroom. “Shouldn’t you tell her you’re going?”
He smiles. “She’ll figure it out.”
With that, you leave their apartment so he can take you back to your place and he keeps his hand on your thigh the whole drive. You wonder if he merely wants to keep some sort of claim on you or if it’s habit. 
Either way, his thumb rubs circles into your skin, right over the dark spots made by his lips and you smile. You want to lace your fingers with his. Want to hold his hand and pretend like the two of you are on your way home from a date. To pretend like this is normal—an everyday occurrence.
But you lose your nerve and soon, he’s pulling into the parking lot.  
“I want you upstairs,” he says and gives you a pointed look. “On the bed. Naked. And waiting for me by the time I come up.”
You nod quickly. “Okay. Are…am I in trouble—”
“That depends on if you obey.” He unlocks the door. “So let’s hope you do.”
Swallowing a giddy grin, you scurry from the vehicle and into your building. You don’t bother with tidying up or adjusting your appearance. You run straight into your bedroom, rip off your clothes, and spread out into a starfish position on the bed.
You hear him follow not much later. Slow, deliberate steps. Meant to taunt you, tease you. Make your stomach flip. And it works.
When you see his tall, muscular figure in the doorway, your pulse skips.
Smiling, you call, “Hi, Sir—”
“No speaking,” he says shortly. “Unless I say otherwise. Is that understood?”
“Yes—no—sorry, I’m…” You stop. Nod. 
He frowns but you know it’s only to hide a smirk. “Don’t test me, Kitten. You’ve already done that enough this evening, have you not?”
Another nod.
“And you knew better, didn’t you?” He walks into the room and begins to unzip his jeans. “Knew better than to dangle fucking Ethan in my face.”
You nod again but your eyes are trained on his hands. On the fingers that pull the hem of his shirt up and over his head.
“And you fucking knew…that if I got a taste of such a sweet pussy…I’d never stop,” he murmurs. He crawls onto the bed, wearing nothing more than his briefs. “That I’d forgive you. And let you off the hook.”
You don’t nod this time. You can’t. You’re too far gone in the lust in his eyes. The gentle green that’s now dangerous and luring you in.
“Well,” he whispers and then he smiles. “You thought wrong.”
He grabs your thighs and flips you over. Before you know it, you’re on your stomach, head spinning, while a large palm comes down in a sharp smack to your ass.
You jolt. Shriek. 
“Easy,” he says and he’s kinder now. “You’re gonna take your punishment like a good little whore, aren’t you?”
Now you understand. You see. And you settle onto the bed as he smooths the stinging print with the soft of his hand. 
You nod.
“Good.” He spanks you again. “I think we should do one for every time you lied to me. For every time I asked for the truth…and you refused to give it to me.”
Your lashes flutter. You suppose that’s only fair, although in your defense, the truth would have only hurt him.
“Let’s see…we’ll start with five,” he says and you exhale a sigh of relief. “Because I know you don’t mean to be a bad girl, do you?”
You whimper.
“You want to be good. Want to behave for me.” He spanks you. Number three. “You want a lot of things from me, don’t you? And maybe I’m bad, too. For not being able to give them to you.”
The air in the room shifts and you attempt to glance back.
However, he lays another firm smack to your ass before you can and then squeezes your hip. “Come on, you’re almost done,” he coos. A beat passes. “Do you remember me mentioning the traffic light system?”
You nod.
“Red for stop, yellow for pause, green for good, keep going?”
Nod.
“Good. Then I want you to use your words and tell me what color you are right now. Honestly.”
“Green,” you whisper, then clear your throat and speak louder. “I’m green. Honestly.”
He hums. “And you’re gonna take your last strike, yes?”
“Yes, Sir.”
“And you’re gonna thank me for being so generous to such a selfish fucking whore?”
Your cheeks flush. Oh, he’s very good. “Yes, Sir.”
You still can’t see him but you can imagine his grin.
The last spank of his hand lands against your tender skin and somehow…it feels good. There’s something delicious about his pain. About the way he inflicts it. The way your body responds to it.
You groan—moan—and finally manage, “Thank you, Sir.”
He purrs something devious as he strokes the spot and begins to kiss his way up your spine. “Good fucking girl,” he breathes. The exhale of his praise dances across your back and you shiver. “Took your punishment so well. Wasn’t so bad, was it? Bet you even fucking liked, dirty thing. Didn’t you?”
You nod again and feel his knee begin to nudge its way back between your thighs. 
“Let’s check, shall we?” His fingers move now for the mess you already know is there. And when he feels it, he curses. “Fucking shit, Kitten, you’re soaked.”
You are. You are soaked and you’re making a mess of your duvet and his knee and he still hasn’t let you cum yet and you think you might die if he waits any longer. 
“Harry,” you nearly cry. “Please…please…”
He brings his kisses to the back of your neck. To the place below your ear that makes your stomach flip. He kisses. Sucks. Nips and violates the skin with his teeth.
“Okay,” he agrees. “Okay, but only because I know you need it.”
You nod again and begin to turn over. He goes to stop you—he wants to try from behind—but you insist.
“I want to see your face,” you say. “Please, I just…I need that tonight.”
The softness in his eyes and the fall of his expression almost hurts you. You don’t want to cause him pain or confusion. Ever.
But he’s not confused. He understands. And he agrees because maybe he needs it, too.
You pull him out of his briefs and he hikes your leg around his hip. Until the heel of your foot is digging into his ass and pulling him forward.
When he first pushes in, you both take a moment of silence to appreciate the beauty of your bodies connecting.
Harry was once your best friend and now he’s something else entirely. A completely different entity and you never imagined you’d see his cock disappearing into your cunt but now you don’t want to imagine his cock anywhere else.
When he’s about halfway in, he pulls back out and begins a steady pace. He’s large and he knows you need a moment or two to find the pleasure before he picks up a faster rhythm. So, he puts the focus on you. On your clit, on your thighs, on the way his lips feel against yours.
He kisses you—soft, sweet. Gentle. And then he kisses your neck. Your chest. Plays with your tits and whispers about how good they feel in his hand.
Then, he buries himself to the hilt as his hips find yours.
You arch and he catches you. There are more kisses, more soft murmurings. And there’s an intimacy here that doesn’t feel like sex. It feels like making love, a term you once scoffed at but now indulge in. Because maybe he does love you, in the only way he knows how. Maybe he does choose your body over hers. Maybe this was the best thing that ever could have happened to you. 
You grab his hand and bring it to your throat. Pointed enough that he knows what you want and after a quick glance for consent…he squeezes.
Your lashes flutter and you press on his knuckles. Harder. He obeys.
And you were right. His hand does look good on your body. A necklace to wear proudly and he whispers your name before tightening his grip and allowing the sides of your sanity to go fuzzy before loosening his fingers. 
You breathe. Deep. The air tastes like him and you love it.
He smiles. “You okay?”
“More than okay. That was…shit, I really like that.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah. Probably cause you’re doing it.”
He uses this hold to kiss you and it’s a mess of tongues and spit and loud sucking. It makes you giggle.
“You’re making this very hard for me,” he suddenly whispers.
“Well, I prefer you hard.”
He smirks, but this is not what he means. “I want this to work.”
“I know. I do, too.”
He surges forward—a sharp thrust. “It can’t work if Ethan’s in the picture.”
Oh. “Why? Because you need room for Rebecca?”
He sighs and you hate how sad it sounds. “I know I’m not being fair—”
“You’re not.”
“I can’t help it—”
“Well, neither can I.”
He stops for a moment and looks at you. “You have every right to go out with him. I know that. But I think I’ll lose my fucking mind if you do.” He continues to roll his body against yours and you want to purr. “So I want to make a deal.”
“Okay…”
“If you go out with Ethan, you go out with me,” he says. “If you date him, you date me. And I’ll play nice. I’ll share. But only until you realize he’s a waste of time.”
You run your fingers along his shoulders. Along his back. Along the curve of his ass. You think about his proposition. It sounds good, it does. A way to keep him while also keeping your options open. 
Because maybe this way, it won’t hurt so much when he still goes home to her.
“Can I think about it?” you ask. 
He kisses you. “Of course. Always.”
You resume the languid but fervent pace he previously set. He squeezes your neck whenever he wants to hear you whimper and you scratch your nails down his spine whenever you want him to groan.
And it’s perfect. Truly. Because while you’re on this date with Ethan, he’ll be able to see the marks Harry left on your throat.
And when Harry goes back to Rebecca, she’ll see the scratches down his back made by your hands.
You can’t help but feel satisfied with the idea and it brings you that much closer as Harry presses your hips to the bed and begins to fuck into you harder.
He readjusts his stance above you, knees deep into the mattress and hands clutching the sheets beside your waist. And every thrust is purposeful. Hard. Beautiful. The sounds are symphonic and when you look down to see, you nearly mewl. The way his cock is absolutely fucking covered in you, slipping in and out of your cunt with ease and determination. 
He’s beautiful when he’s focused. When he’s about to cum. You just want to kiss him and hold him and love him and be his.
And you fucking hate it.
“Need you to cum, baby,” he whispers and you nod in agreement. “Can you do that?”
“Yes….yes, Sir,” you stammer, already feeling the overwhelming power creep up your thighs. “I’m…I—”
“I know. I know, come on—”
You do. Just like that. Unravel like a spool of thread and dissolve into nothing but pleasure beneath him.
But you don’t feel him follow. In fact, he continues fucking you through your high until he suddenly pulls out and comes all over your swollen pussy.
It’s the most mesmerizing thing you think you’ve ever seen. The sticky substance paints your cunt in masterful strokes. Glistening from your body, your clit, your thighs like stars.
And you want to be disappointed that he didn’t finish inside but soon you understand why.
He takes your hand. Moves it closer and presses your fingers into the mess. 
“Touch it,” he whispers. “Fuck it back in.”
Your eyes widen. He smiles but the look in his eye is mischievous and deranged.
“Go on, Kitten,” he says. “I wanna watch.”
Your arms are shaking. In fact, every part of you is still shaking from your orgasm but you obey. You slowly—very slowly—begin to circle your touch around your clit. Feeling the way it nearly throbs as you stimulate it. As you force it into more pleasure.
Harry’s attention is glued to the show before him as he swallows thickly and you swear you can almost see his heart beating against his chest like a cartoon.
You move down. Collect as many drops of him as you can and slowly begin to ease two fingers into your fluttering hole.
When you reach the knuckle, you gasp and he exhales. 
It’s perfect.
He scoots back until he can lay on his stomach and place his cheek against your thigh. Close. Close enough that you can feel his breath fan across your hand.
And he watches. Happy. A lazy smile on those beautiful, pink lips. Lashes fluttering every time you whimper or whine.
“I…I can’t,” you whisper. The sensations are too strong. You’ve already cum once, you can’t possibly cum again so soon.
He hums. “Yes, you can. Let me see, baby. Let me watch.”
And you almost want to be embarrassed but something else seems to take over your mind entirely and you can’t help but go faster.
You pinch and curl and flex. You push his offering as far into you as you can reach and then you push in a little more. And it’s easier this time, even if it almost hurts. But you cum. You do, right in front of his very eyes until he’s quickly grabbing hold of you as though he’s desperate to be closer.
You’re more than a puddle this time. You’re practically limp but you’re also so incredibly happy. And he smiles brightly as he pulls your fingers away and puts them in his mouth.
You don’t even have the energy to make a noise this time. You merely watch him—content—until he starts kissing down your palm, along your arm, and to your chest.
Then, he pulls you into his embrace and you both indulge in a moment of peace. 
You’re both quiet for a while. Even after your heartbeat has steadied. Even after the sweat on your skin has dried and the room no longer feels so warm. 
You run your fingers down his torso. Along the dips and curves of his muscles that seem more defined every time you see him. 
“You’re insufferable,” you finally say and he laughs. The sound bounces between the walls of your room—joyous and unencumbered—and it makes you giddy. He doesn’t laugh like this for her. “What? You are.”
“I know. I’m sorry.”
“Yeah. I know.”
Another beat. Longer.
Then, you whisper, “Okay.”
He looks down. “Okay?”
“I’ll agree to your deal.”
“Really?” He’s grinning again. Big.
“Mhm. As long as I get to keep you in some way…maybe it’ll be worth it.”
He seems to sadden at the use of the word maybe, but he brushes it off before you can comment on it. Instead, he pulls you closer and kisses you hard. Forever. 
And maybe…this won’t be so bad.
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Previous Part:
~ Insatiable You* (Pt. 2)
~ Full Infinite You Masterlist
~ Main Masterlist
Amazing divider by @firefly-graphics! 💞
Taglist: @walkingintheheartbreaksatellite @keepdrivingkisses @swiftmendeshoran @tiredinwinter @straightontilmornin @justlemmeadoreyou @harrysdaydreams @tiaamberxx @peterparker1sgf @myfavfanficsever @littlenatilda @vamprry @fdl305 @tchalametishot @ssaama @indierockgirrl @likeapplejuicenpeach @vane28282 @lukesaprince @closureesny @lc-fics @0nlythrowharrybeaux @hannahdressedasabanana @iguessyourejustwhatineeded @dylanobandposts21 @butdaddyilovehim-hs @floral-recs @itjustkindahappenedreally @samanddeaninatrenchcoat @buckybarnessimpp @hannah9921
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saenari · 10 days ago
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☆ the woods
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e. williams x fem! reader
cw: smut duh, not proofread, established relationship, hunter/hunted kink, blood play (kinda idk) mild weapon kink (knife), sex outside, degradation, intentional lowercase, fingering and strap on sex (r receiving), dom ellie and sub reader (IM SORRY OK I LIKE DOM ELLIE SUE ME)
au: okay ill post again bro i actually feel bad but im back from the dead I'm literally sobbing banging my head on the keyboard having to write this but I'm not dead ok guys.
you had hopped up from the comfy yet old sofa you and ellie were sitting on after a slight argument, saying you wanted to "take a walk." ellie protested, but you both knew the best thing after a disagreement like this was for one of you to get some fresh air. it was a crisp cool autumn night, the wind bustling along with the leaves of the trees down the path by you and ellies sweet little home. It was pleasant. The woods behind your house served as a beautiful painting, a work of art for you to look at.
as you walked past some of the trees, you ended up at a wooden fence, finally deciding to stop there to look out over the watery colors of the setting sun, when a slender hand came up behind you and gently touched the side of your shoulder.
the touch startled you, but you turned around quickly to see the familiar hardened face of your girlfriend, ellie williams. her eyes looked tired, but relieved to see you. "you're jumpy." she commented.
"sorry..." you trail off quietly, not wanting to fight anymore with her. "hey, hey. don't be like that." ellie said, grabbing your face almost forcefully. she looked at you with those piercing eyes, the ones that made you feel like she could see your entire past and future with just one glance. you immediately cave in, wanting her to just have you right there and then. it was hard to stay mad at her.
without missing a single moment, without even hesitating, you kissed her. soft and sloppy, exactly the way you knew she'd like, breathy sounds escaping into her mouth, the cold of the fall air and the sound of leaves rustling from the forest behind you had disappeared, and all you could hear was the sound of your own heart beating in your chest and the sound of ellies lips, now chapped from the cold pressed against yours.
you whimpered, suddenly needy and eager for her, but just as you started to want more, she pulled away, a dark look in her eyes. shit. "you think you can get off that easy?" she said, looking at you and grasping the front of the woven blue sweater she had given you. you stayed silent, knowing exactly what was coming, what she had planned for you. "you know, i don't think you deserve to move on from being such a little fucking brat earlier." she said, looking down at you.
and that's why, after all of the soft moments you had shared just a few minutes ago seemed to turn into years ago, you were running from her, into the cold woods, the light peering out from the canopy of the tree tops, the pale moonlight being the only thing you could see along with the crushing of leaves and small pebbles beneath your feet.
you knew you couldn't run from her forever. she enjoyed the thrill of chasing you, it was like a reward, you were her little mouse, so pure trying to run away from her, desperate to get away from whatever she wanted to do when she eventually got you. just as you thought you could not run another inch you stumbled, tripping over yourself onto the ground on all fours, your knees scraped through your jeans, bloody hands and all. what a sight for ellie to behold.
ellie came up behind you. you could feel her presence. "gotcha..." she whispered before grabbing you and pulling you up, a whimpering mess for her. it was pathetic and you knew it. the worst part? you liked it. you genuinely liked it. you mentally hit yourself in the head for getting off on being chased and caught by her, your own girlfriend. it was certainly a sick fantasy, but you loved it. you loved her having you like this.
you still squirmed, your back to her front, unable to fend for yourself at last, pitifully trying to get away, though you really didn't want to. "stop." ellie said, holding you closer to her. as you softly whimpered for her to release you, though you knew it was all for nothing.
"shut the fuck up." ellie said, grabbing her switchblade from her pocket, holding it up to where your jeans had torn earlier, slowly deepening the cut along the seams, whilst slowly dragging the blade ever so softly over your skin. you winced, the blade sharp across your smooth skin. it wasn't deep enough to truly even cause a scar, but the cut still stung as it was freshly opened up to the chill air surrounding you.
"you ready to give up?" ellie said, still holding you close to your body, your legs pushing away from her, but her grip didn't loosen. eventually, you half gave up and allowed her to slip her hand down your soft stomach into your jeans. truly, you wanted this, you didn't want to be bratty, but there was no way you'd let her get her way with you that easy. you were better than that.
but you weren't good enough to withstand the growing arousal pooling in your stomach, the way her slender fingers slid along your slit, the way she whispered in your ear; "s'fucking perverted bun, your cunt is fucking dripping." the pads of her fingers rubbing circles around your clit, harshly, almost needily, but you knew better than to think she truly meant this to be loving. no, she wanted you to be a ruined, drooling, sloppy mess when she was finished with you.
"so needy, you look like you're in heat or somethin'." she mocked you, and although you whimpered at her comment, your body was roaring its approval of her words. you wanted to tell her, to tell her she was right, that you were nothing other than her toy, that you needed her to touch you in any and every way possible, but your mind was growing fuzzier with each second.
ellie absolutely adored seeing you like this, lips puffy from biting them, watery doe eyes, face slightly sweating, and soft whimpers and pants coming from those soft delicate little lips of yours.
you whimpered under the delicate drawn out touches to your clit, the rubbing from her fingers making your body and brain go numb, all you could focus was on her.
“mmh, yeah. i know you like this. your little cunt is absolutely soaked, bun.” ellie whispered. you shook your head as if to tell her to stop teasing, desperately trying now to get off on her touching you. “no? you dont like it?” she said, almost sneering. “dont fucking lie.”
ellie moved her hand out from underneath those cute lacey panties of yours, out from under your jeans, having you groaning at the feeling of being overly sensitive.
“thought i told you to shut up.” ellie said, and, too quick for you, immediately pushed you down onto the leave-strewn ground, your slightly scraped up hands making contact with the cold dirt of the woodland floor. ellie didn’t waste any time in pulling those jeans off of you.
she dragged her blade along your thigh, allowing the droplets of your blood to fall onto her knife. pulling down those small, soft white panties of yours, clad in nothing but the blue sweater and your ass up in the air, on all fours, like some bitch in heat. what a sight to behold.
cunt dripping slick down your thighs, ellies fingers pounding inside you, pulling your hair, and giving harsh slaps to your asscheck which made you whimper even more from the sweet stinging pain.
her fingers felt like heaven inside you, your poor little hole being fucked over and over again by her. and worse of it all, you really fucking enjoyed it. you felt so pathetic, and even worse when you came onto her fingers, drenching her hand and your thighs with your sticky milky white cum.
”s’all for me, huh?” ellie said as she fucked her fingers into you, helping you ride out your climax. “goddamn, you’re too fucking easy, y’know that?”
eventually, she helps cloth you again, and you walk back, clinging onto your girlfriend like she didnt just have you on all fours, getting off to being chased and caught by her like some stupid naive prey.
as you walked back to your house, entirely fucked out and holding onto ellie, she buried her face in your neck, inhaling your sweet scent, the night air filling with soft “i love yous”.
hi bro i cannot believe i wrote this in like maybe two hours lmfao i kinda am excited to start writing again but it scares me my stuff will freaking flop ANYWAYS hai i hope u enjoy .. :( theres no fics about ellie chasing u so i took it upon myself to make one !! have a good day / night n remember to drink water !! :3
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misswynters · 3 months ago
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Pleasure to the mind
Aemond Targaryen x fem! reader
[synopsis: You and aemond get married, spending the night together.
[warning: mature/explicit, 18+ (minors dni), no use of y/n, afab reader, p. in v sex, unprotected sex, breeding kink, mating press, riding, cream pie, rough sex towards the end
[a/n: smut under the sparkles, not proof read
[word count: 2.0k
[note | pls don’t just like, reblog & give me feedback. i don’t want to get shadowbanned
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It was your ceremony today, as you are betrothed to Prince Aemond. The halls were decorated with lavish flowers, candles and other gifts. And the presence of the nobles waiting to see you, greatly increased.
On the other hand, aemond is sitting at the middle of the table waiting for you to come in. His gaze was intense as he continued to look towards the door. A free moments later, you were announced into the room, with one of the most beautiful gown in all of westeros. It was made from the most exquisite of silks and gold. You’re hair was neatly arranged in the targaryen ceremonial hair style. The grand hall of the Red Keep was adorned with lavish decorations, tapestries of red and black fluttering gently in the breeze that wafted through the high windows. The scent of roses and jasmine filled the air, mingling with the warmth of the hundreds of candles illuminating the room. Nobles and lords from across the realm filled the hall, their murmurs of excitement and anticipation a soft hum beneath the soaring arches.
At the end of the aisle, Aemond Targaryen stood tall and composed, his violet eye fixed on the grand doors as they slowly opened. He wore his finest tunic, a deep black emblazoned with the silver three-headed dragon of House Targaryen, and a black eye patch that only served to accentuate the intensity of his gaze. His silver hair gleamed under the candlelight, cascading down his back like a waterfall of molten silver.
As you entered the hall, the soft rustle of your gown echoed against the stone floor. The dress was a masterpiece, a blend of Targaryen red and the color of your own house, woven together in intricate patterns that shimmered with every step you took. Your heart pounded in your chest, a mix of nerves and excitement as you made your way towards the man who had captured your heart.
Reaching the end of the aisle, you took Aemond’s outstretched hand, the warmth of his touch sending a reassuring wave through you. The septon began the ceremony, his voice a deep and melodic drone that filled the hall.
“Today, we gather to witness the union of Aemond Targaryen and Lady Y/N,” he proclaimed, his words echoing in the hushed hall.
Aemond turned to you, his expression softening as he began his vows. “Y/N, from the moment I first saw you, I knew my life would never be the same. You have brought light into my darkest days and strength when I needed it most. I vow to stand by your side, to protect and cherish you, as long as we both shall live.”
Tears welled in your eyes as you took a deep breath, your voice steady despite the emotions swirling within you. “Aemond, you have shown me a love I never thought possible. With you, I am home. I vow to support and honor you, to be your partner in all things, for as long as we both shall live.”
The septon nodded approvingly, signaling for the exchange of rings. Aemond slipped a band of Valyrian steel, etched with dragon scales, onto your finger, and you did the same for him, the metal cool against your skin.
“With these vows and the exchange of rings, we now join your hands and hearts,” the septon declared. “May your love burn as brightly as the dragonfire that flows through your veins.”
Aemond took your hands in his, his grip firm and reassuring. “We are one, now and forever,” he whispered, his eye locked onto yours.
“And now, seal your union with a kiss,” the septon announced.
Aemond’s hand cupped your cheek, his touch gentle yet possessive. As he leaned in, your breath caught, the world around you fading away. His lips met yours in a kiss that was soft at first, then deepened as he pulled you closer. The hall seemed to hold its breath, the kiss lingering far longer than tradition dictated. Your fingers tangled in his hair, and the cheers of the gathered crowd faded into a distant roar.
When you finally parted, breathless and flushed, Aemond’s eye was dark with promise. “This is just the beginning, my love,” he murmured, his voice low and filled with emotion. You smiled, knowing that whatever the future held, you would face it together, bound by the vows you had exchanged and the love that burned brighter than any dragon’s fire.
The cheers and applause of the gathered crowd still echoed in your ears as you were led away from the grand hall, Aemond’s hand firmly holding yours. The corridors of the Red Keep were quieter, the sounds of the celebration fading into the background. Each step you took together heightened the anticipation, the weight of what was to come settling over you like a cloak.
࣪⠀⊹  ˑ  ִ  ֗   ִ  ۫
Aemond’s gaze remained fixed ahead, his jaw set with determination. Yet every now and then, he would glance at you, his eye softening with an emotion that made your heart flutter. The journey to your private chambers seemed both too quick and agonizingly slow, each moment stretched out by the tension that crackled between you.
At last, you reached the door to your chambers. Aemond paused, turning to you. “Are you ready?” he asked, his voice a low murmur.
You nodded, your breath catching as he pushed open the door. The sight that greeted you took your breath away. The room was bathed in the soft glow of countless candles, their light casting flickering shadows on the stone walls. The air was thick with the heady scent of incense, a blend of exotic spices and fragrant flowers that created an intoxicating atmosphere.
The bed at the center of the room was a masterpiece of opulence. It was large and inviting, adorned with fine linens of deep crimson and black, embroidered with silver dragons. Silk and velvet pillows were piled high, promising comfort and luxury. The canopy overhead was draped with sheer fabrics that caught the candlelight, giving the bed an almost ethereal appearance.
Aemond closed the door behind you, the soft click of the latch loud in the quiet room. He stepped closer, his hand coming up to gently cup your cheek. “You look breathtaking,” he whispered, his thumb brushing against your skin.
“And you,” you replied, your voice barely above a whisper. “You look like a prince from the old tales that i’ve read.”
His lips curved into a small, almost shy smile. “Tonight, I am yours,” he said, his voice filled with promise.
He took your hand, leading you to the bed. The anticipation was a palpable thing, a living entity that wrapped around the two of you. He turned you to face him, his hands coming to rest on your waist. Slowly, he leaned in, his breath warm against your ear. “Are you nervous?” he whispered, his voice a soft murmur.
“A little,” you admitted, your heart racing. “But I trust you.”
Aemond's fingers gently traced the contours of your face, his touch both soothing and electrifying. “I will always protect you,” he vowed, his eye filled with a fierce tenderness. “You are my wife, my heart.”
His words sent a shiver down your spine, the weight of his promise settling deep within you. As he began to undo the delicate fastenings of your gown, his movements were careful and deliberate, each touch sending a ripple of anticipation through you. The fabric slipped from your shoulders, pooling at your feet, leaving you feeling both exposed and cherished under his intense gaze.
Aemond stepped back, his eye roaming over you with a reverence that made your cheeks flush. He quickly discarded his own garments, revealing the lean, sculpted lines of his body. The candlelight danced over his skin, highlighting the sharp angles and smooth planes that spoke of both strength and grace.
He reached for your hand, guiding you to the bed. The fine linens felt cool against your skin as you sank onto the mattress, Aemond following you down with a slow, deliberate grace. He settled above you, his body warm hovering over yours.
For a moment, he simply looked at you, his eye tracing every detail of your face as if committing it to memory. “I have dreamt of this moment,” he confessed to you, his voice a huskey whisper. “Seeing you like this” he continued, as he started to kiss your neck. His lips exploring every inch, leaving pecks everywhere.
Aemond leaned in, capturing your lips in a kiss that was both tender and searing. The world outside ceased to exist as you lost yourself in the taste and feel of him. His hands roamed over your body, mapping every curve and hollow with a reverence that made your heart swell. The kiss deepened, growing more urgent as the tension between you reached a fever pitch. Aemond's hand slid down your body towards your core, his touch igniting a trail of fire in its wake. You responded with a hum, your fingers tracing the lines of his muscles, feeling the strength and power that lay beneath his skin.
When he finally pulled back, his eye was dark with desire, his breath coming in ragged gasps. "You are mine," he declared, his voice a possessive growl.
You hummed in response as pleasure started to cloud your mind. Aemond continued to touch you where you most needed him, playing with your core as he slipped a digit in. You nodded, your own breath catching. Eventually he stopped and looked at you.
“You gotta use your words, sweetheart” he said as he looked you in the eyes with a soft gaze. With desperation wishing for him to continue you answered, “Always…i’m yours”
The anticipation built to a fever pitch, your bodies pressed together, the heat between you almost unbearable. Aemond's control began to slip, his touches growing more urgent, more desperate. His lips trailed down your neck, his teeth grazing your skin in a way that made you gasp. His free hand roamed over your body, rough and demanding, each touch a testament to his need for you. Your skin tingled under his touch, every nerve ending alight with sensation. His kisses grew more demanding, his lips and tongue exploring every inch of your skin.
The world outside ceased to exist as you lost yourself in the feel of him, the raw intensity of his desire. His hand slid up your body, towards your breast as he pushed a second digit into you. Your own hands roamed over him, feeling the strength and power that lay beneath his skin, finally settling on his sculptured shoulders.
He let out a moan, lifting your thighs with his hands until they touched your chest. Aemond started to push his hips into you. He could feel your warm walls slowly closing in, it was a tightness feeling that was driving him insane.
He claimed you with a possessive hunger, each thrust a declaration of his love and desire. His rhythm was slow at first, but it quickly built to a frantic, driving pace that left you both gasping for breath.
Aemond's control slipped entirely, his need for you overtaking everything else. His movements were relentless, each thrust drove you deeper into the mattress as he continued to press your thighs towards your body. He worshipped you, his touch a mixture of his possessive and gentle nature.
He stopped for a moment to catch a glimpse at your beautiful body and without warning he entered you again, his thrusts hard and unyielding. The intensity took your breath away, your body arching against the mattress as he set a relentless pace. His movements were powerful, each thrust driving deeper, the sound of your bodies colliding filling the room.
Your thighs slapped against his hips, the force of his movements sending shockwaves through you. The pleasure was overwhelming, a mixture of pain and ecstasy that left you gasping and moaning. Aemond's hands gripped your thighs, holding you in place as he pounded into you, showing no signs of stopping.
He leaned over you, his mouth finding one of your breasts. His lips closed around the sensitive peak, sucking it into his mouth with a fervor that made you cry out. He sucked hard, as if he wanted to milk it dry, his tongue flicking over the hardened nub, sending jolts of pleasure through you.
The sounds of your combined pleasure filled the room, a symphony of moans, gasps, and the rhythmic creaking of the bed. The bedframe banged against the wall with each powerful thrust, the noise a testament to the intensity of your love. You clung to him, your fingers digging into his back, your body trembling with the force of his passion.
Aemond's pace never wavered, each thrust driving deeper, harder. His grip on your thighs tightened, his need for you evident in every movement. The world outside ceased to exist, the only reality the two of you, joined in a frenzied dance of desire. As you lay entwined with Aemond, the desire that had simmered beneath the surface began to boil over once more.
You looked into his eye, seeing the same need reflected back at you. With a determined glint, you decided to take control, to show him that you could match his passion. Summoning your strength, you pushed against his chest, urging him to lie down.
His eye widened in surprise and then darkened with anticipation as he let you guide him onto his back. You straddled his hips, feeling the hardness of him against you. The power in this position, the control, sent a thrill through your body.
With a slow, deliberate movement, you sank down onto him, taking him in fully. The sensation was intense, a delicious mix of pleasure and pressure that made you gasp. Aemond's hands found purchase on your waist, his grip firm but reverent.
You began to move, starting with a slow, teasing rhythm that made his breath hitch. His eye locked onto yours, a fierce blend of love and lust that made your heart race. You placed your hands on his shoulders, using them as leverage as you increased the pace.
Aemond's grip on your waist tightened, his fingers digging into your flesh as you rode him harder. The sound of your bodies slapping filled the room yet again, accompanied by the wet sounds your clue made as you slapped yourself down onto him. You could feel every inch of him inside you, the pleasure building with each bounce, each thrust. The intensity grew, your movements becoming more frantic, more urgent.
You bounced hard on his cock, each descent driving him deeper, sending waves of pleasure through your body. The friction, the heat, it was all-consuming.
Aemond's hands moved to your hips, guiding your movements, his own hips thrusting up to meet you. The sensation was overwhelming, a perfect blend of dominance and submission, control and surrender. You threw your head back, a cry of pleasure escaping your lips as the intensity reached new heights.
A white sticky ring began to form beneath you, a testament to the raw, unrestrained passion that consumed you both. The sight of it, the feel of it, only spurred you on, driving you to move faster, harder.
Aemond's eye was fixed on you, his gaze burning with desire and admiration. "Gods, you're perfect," he growled, his voice thick with emotion.
"Ride me, my love. Show me how much you want me." Aemond’s words sent a jolt of pleasure through you, adding fuel to the fire that already burned so brightly. You gripped his shoulders tighter, your nails digging into his skin as you moved with renewed vigor. The bed creaked and groaned beneath you, the sounds of your lovemaking echoing in the candlelit room.
He continued to move your hips against his at an animalistic manner, sleeks of cum appearing at the bottom of his abdomen. His eyes were lit of fire thinking of you appearing a few months from not with a swollen belly. Aemond couldn’t wait to breed you and stuff you full of his seed.
The pleasure built to an almost unbearable peak, your body trembling with the effort and the intensity of your emotions. Aemond's hands never left your hips, guiding you, encouraging you, his touch a constant reminder of his love and desire.
As you approached your climax, the world seemed to blur around you, the only reality the two of you, joined in this fierce, beautiful dance. The pleasure was overwhelming, a tidal wave that threatened to sweep you away. With a final and powerful thrust, Aemond pushed you both over the edge once more.
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banner by: @cafekitsune
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hopelesslygaysstuff · 4 months ago
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pairing: past wanda maximoff x fem!reader / present natasha romanoff x fem!reader
summary: When you see Wanda again after the secret relationship you shared during your college years, you realize the lasting impact she had on you. Haunted by flashbacks of your time together, you struggle to reconcile the memory of the Wanda you once knew with the woman she has become a decade later.
content warnings: angst, homophobia, a few homophobic slurs, internalized homophobia, heartbreak and grief, some smut, tragedy
word count: 7.1k+
Masterlist
A/N: This is heavily inspired by the song Us. By Gracie Abrams ft. Taylor Swift. I would recommend listening to it simply because it is a masterpiece and the foundation of this fic.
comments and reblogs are always appreciated! happy reading ♡
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The Secret of Us
“Babe, are you ready?” 
Green eyes peek around the doorframe, delicate fingers working a dangling diamond studded earring through a slightly reddened ear. There’s a gentle smile on Natasha’s face, a strand escaping her perfectly curled hair and falling somewhat in front of her face. It brushes softly against her cheek, a sharp exhale moving it as a wince appears on her face. 
“Here, let me,” you say, curling a single finger in her direction. You place your makeup brushes onto the vanity in front of you, your fingers gentle as you pluck the earring from Natasha’s hand. 
It’s a beautiful piece. The golden metal is dainty, yet solid, woven into complex swirls that catch the dying rays of sunshine streaming in from your window. Your hands are careful, threading the earring through her skin like a seamstress, with confidence that comes from years of practice and love woven into each measured touch. 
“Perfect,” you mutter. You both know you’re not just talking about the earring. 
Natasha smirks at you, full of confidence that is only slightly contrasted by the pink flush rising to her cheeks. You laugh slightly, the sound low and full of warmth as you turn back towards the mirror. 
Strong hands rest lightly on your shoulders as Natasha’s fingers firmly rub circles into your skin. You can feel the tight knots give away beneath her ministrations and sigh in relief as you brush highlighter onto the highest point of your cheekbones. Green eyes track your movements lazily, taking you in like it's the first time she’s seeing you. You find it quite romantic and tell her just as much.
“Well,” the bright smile on Natasha’s face shines through the word, “That was my goal, detka.”
A soft shove from you has Natasha’s hands wrapping around your own as she pulls you to your feet. You sway slightly, blinking against the headrush that comes from changing positions too quickly. Arms wrap around your waist as strong as the pull of gravity, unwavering and inevitable. 
“You look beautiful,” Natasha murmurs, her lips brushing yours. 
“Compared to you, I am nothing.” The words flow from your lips easily, the truth of them lying comfortably under your skin, feeling like the steady weight of a cat curled up on your chest. You kiss away any protests, your tongue swiping against hers when she tries to speak. 
“We should go,” Natasha manages to say, the words separated with the firm kisses she places against your lips. “We’re about to run late, and I know you hate it when people are inconsiderate with their timing.”
You nod against her, your hands squeezing her waist gently as you breathe deeply through your nose, unwilling to part your lips from hers. 
“Sweetheart.”
Natasha’s tone is firm, her hand pressed against your sternum as she pushes you away. It's gentle, almost hesitant. You know that if you pressed back against it, she would crumble like a sandcastle at high tide. It's for that very reason that you don’t, not wanting to disrupt her carefully planned evening. 
“Lead the way, my love.”
You find yourself hanging from Natasha’s arm, feeling every bit like a trophy. Shining, and put on the highest shelf, gazes sliding appreciatively over you before moving on to the next impressive thing. You wonder how long it will be before the dust begins to collect. 
A man, standing close to your wife. His fingers twitch, his eyes glancing dismissively at you. He’s talking just a bit too loud for the short distance between him and Natasha, and you feel a white-hot rage rising before you take in the fake smile plastered across her face. 
It's too wide, showing too many teeth and yet not enough at the same time. Her eyes are sharp, the soft crow’s feet that normally appear at the edges nowhere to be found. The pressure of her fingers against your waist grounds you, leaving you feeling every bit like a rock standing solidly against the crashing waves. 
The man moves on, loses interest. You don’t mind. The memory of him is already floating away, being replaced by the soft look Natasha is sending your way. You feel shiny again, not a speck of dust in sight. 
Dragging your eyes around the room, you let yourself get lost in the sea of bodies. 
Natasha had brought you to some important work event. It was essentially a party, disguised under layers of professionalism in celebration of a multi-million dollar partnership with their rival company. 
There was an undercurrent of tension, being slowly filtered into a sort of understanding and grudging respect. The alcohol probably helped. 
A woman’s laughter rang around the room. The tension in the air shuddered and released its hold slightly. 
You amend your statement. The alcohol definitely helped. 
Lazily, you return your gaze to the room. Natasha is slowly walking you towards the center of the room, leading you with gentle touches at your waist. You feel every bit like a lamb, awkward with growing limbs as it is shepherded into a crowd. 
Bouncing around the room, your eyes take in the multitude of people. Features start to blur together. A pointed nose, blue eyes almost hidden under thick eyeliner, shimmering dresses that catch the light and make your head spin.
Your eyes catch on brunette hair. Soft, flowing like a calm river on a warm summer's day. 
Startling slightly, you blink, a memory dredging its way to the front of your brain like molten lava, slow and inevitable. 
Brunette hair, falling effortlessly over strong shoulders. The scent of vanilla washing over you and enveloping you like a well-known embrace. Green eyes sparkling down at you as soft lips move. You focus, dragging your eyes away from the perfectly manicured nails softly brushing against your desk. 
“Mind if I sit here?” 
A feeble shake of your head, and rapid blinking as you attempt to return the moisture lost to wide-eyed staring back into your eyes. 
She’s beautiful. 
Her words are kind, a small smile seemingly locked into place on her lips as she regards you. Green eyes roam your face, lingering around your lips for just a second too long.
“I’m Wanda.”
The memory slams into your skull, reverberating painfully around as you feel an age-old, nearly forgotten crack in your heart reopen. It takes your breath away, the weight in your chest feeling like a paperweight, settling down on the last few pages of a story full of loss and anguish. 
Natasha’s speaking to someone, her raspy voice filtering through your ears. It’s nothing like the cadence of melted butter you still sometimes hear in your dreams. It's different, better. You wonder when the lies will morph into a semblance of truth. 
You take a deep breath, letting those thoughts slide back to where they belong. In the back of your mind, locked away and left to be forgotten. It wouldn’t do you any good to dwell on the past, with its looming, crumbling chess pieces that dance around you in a game that you don’t quite understand the rules of. 
“Ah, fuck.” Comes Natasha’s voice, the words mumbled directly in your ear. 
You twist your head, shaking it free of cobwebs sticky with memory as you take in your wife. Her eyes are locked on something across the room, the faint furrow of her brows the only sign of displeasure etched on her face. Her lips are moving, mumbling something about an important blah blah man blah blah, rich and influential at her rival company blah blah…
Smiling slightly, you hide your amusement with practiced ease as you turn your gaze towards the man, no, a couple heading your way. Your eyes barely register the neatly parted blonde hair of a tall man, his eyes locked on Natasha with a calculating sort of look in them before your eyes slide over to the woman on his arm.
Fuck, indeed. 
Your heartbeat rushes through your ears, a dull ringing cascading through them as you feel your breath catch. Everything has gone numb, or cold, or tingly. You’re not really sure. Everything is too much and the room is too hot even as goosebumps rise on the surface of your exposed flesh. You suddenly see yourself in a third-person view, your mind projecting outside your body as you go rigid at the sight of her.
Wanda Maximoff. 
Green eyes, brighter and lighter than the ones you stared lovingly into at the altar. Her gaze flickers over to you, not fully meeting your eyes, a forced sort of dissonance playing out briefly on those perfect features before she focuses on Natasha.  
Another memory slams into you, rising unbidden from the depths of your mind before you can stop it. 
Soft laughter, echoing around the room before it's absorbed by the four walls surrounding you. Green eyes, smiling at you before returning their focus to the pen and paper in front of her. 
Wanda writes something down, your eyes tracing the elegant script that flowed easily from her fingertips. Something scratches at the back of your mind, a tendril of something fond, warm. It feels like coming home, future impressions of familiarity beginning to take root. 
“Let me see,” you’re saying, moving closer. Your hands reach for the book. No, it's a leather-bound journal. You’d picked them out earlier, after walking to the store with Wanda from your English literature class. 
“No, oh my god,” Wanda was saying, giggles erupting from her as she half-heartedly wrestled the journal away from you. Her hand lands on your knee, her cheeks a little too flushed. It reminds you of the cherry she’d eaten earlier, licking the whipped cream from her milkshake off before smiling and sucking the fruit into her mouth. 
Her hand stills, awkward and stiff for a moment. You don’t comment on it, shifting your body weight to be slightly closer to her. The warmth from her palm spreads through your body like a slow creek, new and small and promising bigger currents down the road. 
“Let me read yours out loud and I’ll let you read mine,” you offer, taking her journal gently and placing yours in her lap.
“It’s just poetry,” the words flow from your lips, but you know it’s more than that. It’s the very contents of your soul, laid bare for her to see, wrapped under layers of grammar and careful wording. It’s a confession, it’s a sin, it’s something twisting and beautiful and as graceless as a newborn foal. Her eyes meet yours, your thoughts reflected back at you as her fingers twitch slightly on your knee. 
Wanda’s hand takes your journal, those green eyes skimming the words as her lips move silently.
You don’t look away, you can’t look away. Her hair is falling over her shoulder, as delicate and soft as the words written before you. There’s a palpable tension in the air, low and thumping like a familiar heartbeat. 
Green eyes, flickering back to you. Something behind them that you can’t interpret. You feel like she can see your every thought, the very contents of your being laid out before her as she analyzes each individual piece. It’s frightening and it’s intoxicating, and you look away. 
You’re reading her words now, the sentences flowing and mashing together in your mind as you pluck the strings of her mind with your careful hands. It’s beautiful and well-written, layered with so many truths and lies that you can’t begin to interpret the true meaning of her sentences. 
Something tingles at the base of your skull, warm and light as it blossoms through your head. Understanding. Or, the semblance of it. 
You look up. Light green eyes stare back into yours. They’re captivating, and you wonder if they ever left. If she watched you the same way you did her, attempting to unravel her very being through carefully constructed lines and flowing script and words layered with meaning. 
Those green eyes have the power to shatter you. You pick up your pen. 
“So what is it that you do?” The man is speaking. 
Your mind crashes back into the present, another hairline fracture appearing on the surface of your heart. You can practically feel it, the torment running deeper than the illusion the thin crack offers. It’s bone-aching, and you suddenly feel exhausted. 
“I’m a copywriter,” Natasha answers, sounding casual. You can sense the clipped tone and undercurrent of frustration, and your hand gently traces circles against her wrist. “I graduated with a degree in English Literature.”
“Ah,” the man says, sounding every bit as pretentious as he looks. “My wife got a degree in that as well.”
Another crack, splintering into you. Your eyes flick down, catching the ring on Wanda’s finger. It’s shining and big, the diamonds glittering back at you, the mockery of it seeping into your soul. The meaning of it is every bit as surface level as what you assume Wanda’s feelings for this man are. You know better, she had told you just as much. 
“I don’t think I’ll ever love a man in the way I’m meant to.” 
You don’t have to ask what she means. You don’t respond, a gentle sigh escaping you as the weight of her head rests solidly on your shoulder. The clock on your nightstand blinks back at you, the numbers twinkling in the early morning. Pens and paper and journals are strewn around you, a poetry book facedown in your lap. Your voice had grown too tired from reading, but neither of you seemed to mind the comfortable silence stretching around the room.
Until now.
“I know,” you say. There are not many words you can speak.
It's simple. That’s a lie. It’s not, it’s complicated and it's painful and there’s nothing you can do to take that away from her. You wish you could. You would do anything to let Wanda’s soul have respite in your presence, to be unburdened from thoughts of sin and duty, to be able to finally breathe properly. 
Soft fingers find your hand, tangling with your fingers almost hesitantly. Your palm slides easily against hers, and you swallow the lump in your throat. Your hands fit like a jigsaw puzzle, feeling like the final piece as it clicks into place. Confusion and frustration sliding away as the picture finally makes sense. 
“Poetry feels like prayer.” Wanda’s voice is quiet, and you know what she means. It feels holy, even with the words only spoken in the sublunary space of your dorm room. Her head twists on your shoulder, and you feel your gaze drawn to her like the inevitable magnetic pull of the earth. Her green eyes peer up at you. “Will you pray with me?” 
Picking up the poetry book in your lap, you begin reading. Your thumb runs over the pages. Staring at the words in front of you, you wonder why they’re blurry. You realize later, after Wanda had fallen asleep from being lulled into comfort by your voice, that it had been unshed tears. 
You let them fall.
“Yes,” Wanda is saying, and her voice is exactly the same as you’d remembered. She’s speaking, saying something about the university she’d attended and how she got her degree. The only thing you can focus on is the familiar lilt of her words, the smooth cadence you’ve memorized and seared into your brain. 
It’s painful, but you can’t take your eyes off of her. Natasha’s hand moves slightly against your waist, and you blink. The man next to Wanda has his arms almost possessively around her shoulders, his hawkish eyes watching you. 
You look away. 
“Oh, you and my wife went to the same University,” Natasha says, trying to be helpful. You don’t appreciate it. Her words are genuine, but the statement falls short, a beat of awkward silence stretching into an eternity as you try to respond. What could you even say?
Yes. We did. I fell in love with the confident, full-of-life brunette who looked at me like I hung the moon, and I looked at her like she painted the stars just to give the moon some company. I loved her as easy as breathing, and now my lungs never feel full enough, my breaths labored and weighted with the words of love I breathed into her ear that I can’t take back, won’t take back. 
Refuse to take back. 
“We must have missed each other,” Wanda says, her eyes flashing in your direction, but not fully meeting yours. “It’s a big school.”
A polite smile plasters itself onto your face, too small and stiff to be sincere. Your heart clenches painfully, a small part of your mind begging Wanda to meet your eyes. God, it feels just like when you were at University. 
Her husband’s fingers tighten slightly around her shoulder, pulling her further into his side. You wonder if Wanda feels like she’s suffocating yet. You hope not, you want her to breathe. To fill her lungs with light and hope and passion and… not whatever this is.
Another memory, sludging through your mind like a heavy foot through quicksand. 
You don’t talk to Wanda much outside of class and the late-night poetry readings in your dorm. She blames it on her busy social life, being in a sorority is apparently no joke. You’ve learned to keep your head down when you see her in public, her eyes always lingering near you, but never fully meeting yours, too focused on the sorority sisters that always seem to surround her. Appearances are everything to her, you know that. 
But god, it hurts. 
It still doesn’t cut quite as deep as the weekend her parents came to visit. 
Wanda had grown up the daughter of a pastor, a well-spoken man with a quiet, hidden-in-the-shadows wife. You’d watched from afar, noticing the small glances her mother would send her way, and the nervous twitching of her fingers as she adjusted Wanda's collar, or brushed a piece of invisible lint from her daughter's skirt. 
Per usual, Wanda was nothing short of perfect. Her hair was perfectly curled, laying gently over her shoulders as the brunette strands glowed in the sunlight. She’d done her makeup just subtle enough to perfect her already dainty features, but not enough to rouse suspicion that she was promiscuous. 
You’d watched her do her makeup many times, her hands perfecting the art. You wondered how much of her father’s influence and mother’s worry controlled the easy flick of her brush as it spread a light blush across her cheeks. 
Tracing your gaze down her form, you glance back to the book in front of you. A poem glared up at you, the words swimming off the page as you remember the subtle curve of Wanda’s spine, her head bowed slightly as her father spoke into her ear. 
Wanda was full of life, shining brightly and standing out amongst the rest of the population at this university. Or perhaps that was simply your own observation, after all, your entire waking moments were consumed by thoughts of her. 
The point is, she wasn’t… docile. Or submissive, or meek like her posture suggests when her father lays a hand on her shoulder. You can’t tell if he’s gripping his fingers tightly or gently around her, but either way, Wanda doesn’t make a move to remove his hand. 
She’s nodding, her head turning towards him. You can see her smiling easily at him, saying something back. 
His hand returns to his side, and you hope that you imagine the slope of her mother’s shoulders relaxing. The way her fingers twitch towards her daughter, wanting to replace the feeling of his hand against her skin, but choosing to brush a strand of her hair behind her ear instead. Always deflecting her true intentions.
Wanda’s face turns towards her mother. You see the momentary look that passes between them, but you’re unable to interpret it from across the quad. The moment passes, and her mother returns her attention back to her husband. Always a faithful, obedient wife. 
When Wanda and her parents pass by the table you’re seated at, she doesn’t spare you a second glance. Her green eyes are focused on some unimportant thing in the distance, her father’s lips moving near her ear again. You silently plead with her to look your way, to take solace in the silent comfort you can provide. 
Her green eyes don’t meet yours. You feel a crack appear on your heart, and you swallow harshly as you stare blankly at the poetry in front of you. Shoving the crack down where you’ve displaced all the other ones, you begin to read. 
The poem is a romantic one. Full of yearning and hope and unbridled passion. The only thing you can think about is how incredibly tragic it seems. 
Natasha’s thumb is slowly moving, caressing your hip as she holds you loosely by her side. Not possessive, but not without care either. You’re grateful for the touch, and focus on it as Wanda’s husband continues to talk about… what is he talking about?
You don’t really care. 
The version of Wanda that you knew and the woman you see in front of you clash in your mind, splintering your thoughts. You’re also aware of your wife beside you, and guilt creeps into your heart. 
You chose Natasha. You’re happy with her, you stood across from her and declared your love and promised her that you would love her until the end of time. You intend to stand by that, to uphold your promise. Imagining a future without her seems impossible. 
But you’d also imagined a future with Wanda once. It didn’t seem right to just ignore that. And it was impossible to keep the memories at bay. Not when she was standing before you for the first time in ten fucking years, with her perfect hair and her natural looking makeup and her light green eyes and the scent of vanilla washing over you and and and-
Breathing in, feeling the comforting scent of vanilla enveloping you in the strong embrace of a familiar lover. Wanda’s hair just beneath your nose, the silky strands brushing against your cheek and chin as you place a gentle kiss on her head. 
Her arms are wrapped around you, her breaths even. You aren’t asleep, but you let her think that you are. It's easier for her to be herself when she thinks nobody is watching. Her fingers slowly dance along the exposed skin of your stomach, softly tracing nonsensical patterns against you as you feel your heart pound steadily. 
A poetry book rests at your side, forgotten in the favor of holding her in your arms. You understand what all the poets mean, with their suffering and their longing written painstakingly on pages of crinkled paper beneath their ink-stained hands, as you hold Wanda gently against you. This moment feels too precious, too raw to ever be put into words, to write down for the world to see. 
No, you’d much rather keep this moment pure and untouched, resting in your heart alongside the inevitability of Wanda Maximoff. 
You can feel her in your soul. Or rather, maybe it’s your soul that’s bleeding and filling the space between you two. You hope that it is mixing with Wanda’s, filling the painful parts of her that she pushes down and cushioning them with warmth. Is it too much to hope that she’ll carry a part of you with her forever? Is it selfish to take the willing parts of her soul that bleed into yours and keep them there until they’re so ingrained in the fiber of your being that you would lose yourself if she took it back?
Maybe that's the true definition of love. 
Natasha's hand grips you tightly, her fingers tense around your hip. Her eyes are locked on Wanda’s husband, his drawling voice grating your nerves. You risk a glance at Wanda, recognizing her blank look at the ground for what it is. Escape. 
She used to tell you about the places she’d go inside her mind when life got to be too much for her. It sounded peaceful. She could be whoever she wanted inside her own head, without the pressure of her father or the quiet concern of her mother and the encompassing guilt that she was never making the right choices. You hope she's there right now, and return your gaze towards her husband. 
“I mean,” Her husband's eyes are sharp, glinting dangerously at your wife. “It’s so nice that they allow so many… diverse individuals to work with your company.” 
His eyes travel down her body before flicking over to you briefly. 
“Is it hard to keep your lifestyle and work life separate?” he asks, and your blood boils. You see Wanda’s head lower further. “I imagine it's quite difficult to relate to your peers, with a secret like that.”
Natasha is seconds away from exploding, tearing him down with sharp words and securing her own termination in the same breath. 
You find your voice, the quiet strength of your words surprising you. “I’ve been out and proud since I was in high school. I’ve never been ashamed of who I am. And neither is my wife.”
Wanda’s eyes cut sharply over to you, that specific shade of light green filling your vision. 
“Why the fuck would you give this to me if you didn’t want me to interpret it that way?” You’re not yelling, you never would. Not at her. Never at Wanda. But you can feel the frustration leaking into each syllable, and you hate the way that Wanda’s shoulders seem to hunch in on themselves. 
“I never meant for you to…” Wanda can’t continue, her eyes locked on the poetry book you’re clutching between your fingers. 
“You never meant for me to fall in love with you?” 
A flinch, green eyes staring at the carpet and gentle fingers clenched uselessly over the back of a chair. The words bounce around your dorm room, settling in with a tentative weariness. 
“Why would you give me this poetry book about romance and passion and fighting for love if that’s not what you wanted me to think about you?” you set the book down on your desk, the pages flipping open. You can see the smudged ink of your annotations. That was a flaw of yours, always writing too fast as you try to keep up with the thoughts in your head. 
“That’s not what I mean I-” Wanda’s eyes are locked on the book and you watch her swallow harshly. Her voice is shaky, her head bowed. You hate it, and there’s nothing you can do to make it better. “I can’t love you.”
“You don’t love me?”
“That’s not what I said.” Wanda’s voice is quiet. 
Oh. 
“You don’t understand,” Wanda has unshed tears in her eyes. You want to wipe them away, your fingers twitching, unsure if you’re allowed to anymore. “My family means everything to me.”
Oh.
The weight of tragedy settles in, burying itself deep within your bones and wrapping around your heart and squeezing. All of the cracks you’d smothered appear at once, splintering and creating new fractures with each labored pump of poisonous blood coursing through your body. 
You finally understand what the poets mean. The metaphors and desperation, the weight of grief and longing and the way it sticks to your very soul like a parasite that you keep feeding and nurturing because the pain of forgetting is worse than the crushing travesty of remembering. 
Wanda is talking, and for the first time, you’re not paying attention to her words. She’s saying something about her parents and financial dependence and them cutting her off and all you can hear is that she’s stuck and scared and trying to protect herself and you can’t choose her path for her. 
It’s agony, it’s grief and it’s nothing like what you imagined as you innocently read the words scattered across the pages of your poetry book. It’s so much fucking worse. Wanda’s hand is on the doorknob of your dorm, her vanilla scent already fading from your walls as she looks at you with longing and grief and something devastating hidden and suppressed deep within her soul. You wonder if this will be the last time her green eyes ever look at you with genuine emotion shining through them. 
You wonder if you’ll ever escape the numbing chill of loneliness that settles beneath your skin like an old friend. 
Vision, you’d learned his name at some point during the conversation, seems at a loss for words for the first time since you’ve met him. His face is steadily reddening, the tips of his ears practically scarlet as you watch the hand on Wanda’s shoulder tighten.
“I’ve seen your name credited a lot, you must be very good at what you do.” Wanda’s voice is melodic, her words placating yet genuine. She’s mending the rift, her words an unspoken apology for her husband’s behavior as he stands sullen beside her. 
Natasha smiles and begins speaking.
It’s strange, to see the woman you’re in love with talking with Wanda. There was a time when you thought you’d never find someone who made you feel the way Wanda did. You were convinced that your love would live and die with her. 
Then, you met your wife. 
Natasha was everything you could have ever hoped for. She loved you openly and proudly from the moment she met you. Her commitment to you had never waned, her gestures true and meanings genuine. You’d never trusted somebody more, never felt as comfortable with another person. 
She stood by your side when others did not. She held you when you were sick, and stayed by your side when you were at your lowest. The day that you had married her was the best day of your life, and your vows were nothing short of pure truth. The green eyes that had looked at you from across the altar were vibrant and dark, your love for that shade of green far surpassing the one you’d loved all those years ago. 
So why did it still hurt to think about Wanda?
If you had to choose. Right now, Natasha or Wanda, you knew you’d choose your wife in every lifetime. But that didn’t explain the splintering cracks reappearing on your heart the longer you stayed in Wanda’s presence. 
Music rattles the floor, a plethora of swirling hues surrounding you. Your senses are dulled by the fiery liquor burning within your veins, your brain finally relaxing. 
“Dude, come on don’t just stand there like a weirdo,” Kate pulls you away from the wall, spilling your cup in the process. 
You both look down at it for a moment, before bursting into peals of laughter that leave you clutching her shoulder for support as she bends at the waist. Her dark hair falls neatly over her shoulders, her backward cap holding it in place. 
The music drowns out most of your laughter, but you’re aware of the eyes on both you and Kate as you wipe tears from your eyes. She’s pulling you closer to the DJ, dancing sloppily with you. You can’t bring yourself to care about the people around you. There was one goal tonight, get absolutely sloshed at the local college bars and then pass out on Kate’s couch to forget about the whole thing. 
“Who the fuck let the sloppy, drunk dykes in?”
Kate doesn’t hear the words, but you do. You turn to face the group near you, the liquor making you bold. It’s a bunch of sorority girls, with their skin-tight dresses and judging eyes watching you with caked-on mascara. Your heart drops when you see Wanda standing in the middle of them. 
Your blood runs cold, a surge of sadness and fury sweeping through you. It’s confusing, but most of all, it’s fucking infuriating. 
Behind you, Kate stumbles, her elbow knocking into your side. Your arms wrap around her, keeping her upright as she mumbles an apology in your ear. Out of the corner of your eye, you see Wanda whisper something to one of the girls, their eyes on you and filled with mirthful laughter. 
“You’re right, Wanda,” the girl says, loud enough for the whole group to hear. “These dyke sluts would probably jump on the nearest dick they could find, since nobody else wants to fuck them.”
The blood rushes to your ears, and Kate’s gasp reverberates around your skull. The bar seems quieter than before, and a multitude of eyes are on you and the blonde bitch in front of you is smirking like she just stole your favorite candy and Wanda is laughing and pointedly avoiding eye contact with you but her smile wavers slightly as her eyes grow sad for a split second before she remembers where she is and you’re so fucking mad and it all just seems so goddamn tragic and-
Your fist connects solidly with that stupid, smug smirk that the blonde girl proudly plasters on her face. There are gasps and Kate whooping loudly in your ear and arms wrapped around you and pulling you towards the door and alcohol making your head spin and fuck you’ve never felt more alive. 
Wanda’s eyes finally meet yours. They’re filled with shock, but just before she turns away, you see a sliver of gratitude and the hint of an apology glimmering in their depths. 
Needless to say, both you and Kate are banned from that bar. 
Your wife is laughing. The echoes of mean laughter from Wanda and her sorority sisters fade into the background noise of your brain as you refocus on the conversation. Natasha’s soft chuckles bring a smile to your face before you can stop it, your lips turning up as you look at her. 
She’s effortlessly pretty, her eyes crinkled slightly at the edges even as her gaze flickers warily over to Vision. Her arm is wrapped around your waist, solid yet unrestrictive. 
Wanda’s eyes linger around the fingers that lightly draw circles against your hip. She seems to shake herself, eyes quickly moving back towards safer territory as she focuses on Natasha’s face. You don’t miss the fleeting expression of longing that flits across her face, her appearance seeming soul-crushingly tired for a mere moment before it smooths over in a way that speaks to years of practice. 
You wonder if she’s remembering the same night that rises to the front of your mind. You try to combat it, to stay in the moment. Natasha's fingers squeeze your hips lovingly, and you descend into the memory with bone-deep guilt. 
The concrete is cold beneath you, the wind picking up slightly and threading its way through your hair. You shiver, feeling Wanda adjust her body closer to yours. You’re aware of her heat spreading through you. Her hand fits seamlessly in yours, and you wonder when loving Wanda became as easy and inevitable as breathing. 
“Do you think the poets compared their words to the stars?” Wanda asks.
“I’m not sure what you mean,” you say, breathing in her vanilla scent. It’s hard to focus on her words when her body is pressed fully against yours, your left side burning with warmth and something else that you’re almost scared to identify. 
Wanda chuckles, the sound heating your cheeks further. 
“Well,” she pauses. That’s one of the things you love about her, how careful she is with her words. “Do you think they viewed their words, their poems, as unattainable yet beautiful and pure?”
You’re quiet. You can think of something that is also unattainable, pure and completely inevitable. It’s not poetry, and it’s not the glittering stars that take up your vision. She’s lying right beside you, her nose bright red from the wind and a future stretching out ahead of her that she is able to mold into something beautiful and something that is completely her own. If only she had the courage to do so. You hope she does. 
“Of course they did. They’re poets,” you respond, and Wanda hums. “Do you feel that way?”
Wanda doesn’t respond, and that’s enough of an answer for you. 
The silence stretches on, but it's comfortable. Wanda is shifting silently, more of her body pressing against you, the wind having died down a while ago, leaving no easy excuses for her leg pressed fully against yours. 
“You wanna know what I think?” Wanda’s voice is quiet, yet firm. 
Turning your head, you look at her. She looks back, her lips mere inches away from yours. You can feel the soft, warm breath escaping her lips and hitting your face as she speaks. 
“I think that you’re like the stars,” Wanda begins, her green eyes sparkling at you. They glance down imperceptibly, almost too quickly for you to catch. You notice, of course you do. “You're incomparable, chemical almost.” 
Wanda trails off, her eyes firmly focused on your lips. You understand, you always do. 
“I can’t tell if you’re a curse or a miracle,” you whisper, feeling Wanda lean in. The tension vibrates palpably between your lips and hers. “But I don’t really care.”
Soft lips collide with yours, a seismic shift that causes your head to spin for a moment. It’s perfect and pure and something bordering on holiness and you find yourself never wanting to leave this moment. Then, Wanda’s lips are moving against yours and the heat inside you is rising and her hands are everywhere and you can’t get enough of her and-
Her moans feel almost reverent, stretching out into the minimal space between you as she arches herself closer to you. Her skin is pressed against yours, warm and alive and feeling every last bit like an all-consuming force that you gladly pull closer. Your fingers slip inside her easily, the feeling of her bringing tears to your eyes. You want to live in this moment forever, with the taste of her on your lips and her thighs impossibly soft around you, her head thrown back as she chants your name like a prayer. 
You’ve never believed in God. But in this moment, you finally know what it truly means to worship. 
A man’s voice pulls you from your thoughts. 
“Well, as lovely as it’s been to meet you…” Vision trails off, and Natasha simply raises an eyebrow. 
“Thank you for the wonderful conversation,” Wanda’s smooth words cut in, another unspoken apology and excuse for her husband's behavior. “We should probably be leaving, it’s getting late.”
Green eyes glance at her husband, whether for permission or in reprimand, you can’t tell. Either way, it gets Vision to move, a firm head nod directed towards your wife before he’s striding towards the door, pulling Wanda with him. 
She’s leaving. Again. 
A final memory claws its way to the surface. You know this one. It's a memory that you’ve kept hidden in the deepest part of your brain, in a place full of sticky cobwebs and scarce lighting, meant to be forgotten. 
It’s inevitable.
Wanda is almost at the exit, her husband's hand possessive against the small of her back. It speaks of ownership, of pride. You despise it. It’s nothing like the soft, loving touch of your wife’s hand against your waist.
The turn of a head and soft brunette waves falling gently around delicate, hunched shoulders. Soft skin, glowing slightly in the dim, red lighting of an exit sign. Green eyes, piercing yours in the same manner that they had all those years ago. 
Your breath catches, lodging itself painfully in your throat. Or maybe it's just your chest, and what lies beneath the surface. A heart, with cracks all along the surface, squeezing painfully, the tension, the agony almost too much to bear. 
A single tear slides down your cheek. You hear Natasha murmuring something in your ear, a gentle hand wiping your face dry. 
There’s a mask sliding into place over those perfect features that you’d memorized a decade ago. Green eyes, light in shade, sliding past you as if you’re an insignificant, forgotten trophy on the highest shelf. And then she’s gone, out the door with only the faint scent of vanilla and a permanent memory etched into your mind. 
The cracks splinter, and without warning, shatter completely.
“Pick up, pick up… please just… fucking. Ah, just, goddamnit pick up the fucking phone Wanda.”
You’re drunk, the phone feeling awkward and heavy in your hands. The sound of a dial tone beeping ricochets through your mind, and you clumsily jerk the phone away from your ear.  Blearily, you take in the four previous calls you’ve made to Wanda. 
One more try can’t hurt. Right?
You firmly press your finger against her name, the sound of your phone dialing her number washing over you. The tiny numbers in the corner of your screen read somewhere between one or two in the morning, but you don’t care. All you need is for Wanda to pick up. 
A sound, different from before. You hear quiet breathing on the other side of the line. 
God, you’ve missed that sound. The feeling of her head resting against your shoulder or chest as slow measured breaths fill the four walls of your dorm room. The small puffs of air hitting your skin when she shifted, burying her face in your neck. 
You say as much, the words spilling out of you. You’re not sure if Wanda is listening, but you hope she is. 
“Fuck, I- I just miss you so much. It feels like I’m dying every time I see you, and I can’t take your eyes avoiding mine anymore. I mean,” you hiccup, the sound pathetic even to your own ears. It doesn’t matter. 
“Don’t you miss us?” you say, your voice quiet. The soft breaths on the other end of the line hitch, and you grasp at it. “I miss the flame of what we were, I don’t even really know what we were, but… I miss the small reign we had. Even if it was just in the space of my dorm room. I would go through the pain of you every day if it meant I could be close to you. I-”
You lose the words, the regret pouring through you as quickly as a flooding river. The words can’t escape fast enough. 
“Do you regret us? I know we were a secret, and I was okay with that. I would have done anything, kept anything private, secret even, just to keep you in my life. You know that Wanda.” You draw a shaky breath. You hope that you don’t imagine the same type of breath on the other end of the line. 
“Do you miss it?” You ask, hating the way your voice cracks gently. You hear Wanda’s sharp, soft inhale. “Do you regret the secret of us?”
Click.
---
Taglist: @alexawynters @msvenablesbitch @marilynthornhilllover @lifespectator @milkeeteaa @imnotawitch @marvels--slut @justabrokensunshine @dorabledewdroop @wandsmxmff @esposadejoyhuerta @captivepotato
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jolapeno · 1 year ago
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you should be my only girl
joel miller x f!reader
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gif credit to @perotovar
summary: in many ways, Joel is aware that you’re too good, too lovely. it has become the reason why he wants to give you nothing but pleasure, in the hope it’ll be enough to smother the pain he knows he must inflict.
word count: 1.6k warnings: smut in the back of a car from joel - cunnilingus, fingering. dedication: happy birthday to the wonderful @thetriumphantpanda - i hope joel remembering makes you smile. an: huge thank you to @swiftispunk for giving me the boost to post and to @perotovar for letting me use their beautiful gif, thank you so much!
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You’re like a drug. 
More addicting than the little out-of-date off-white pills that douse pain, memories and more. Woven deep within him; infused inside his muscles and bones. 
One day, never there, and the next, you’re hacking away, cutting through him, digging out a space and sitting yourself inside it. Waiting, tapping—whispering like a siren until his resolve cracks and his palms are on either side of your face, kissing you gently. Far more gently than he assumes this new world allows, but he does so all the same. 
Because you’re treasure, a spot marked X that he found without a map. He had tried to fight falling for you, but here he is all the same—having jumped and found he hadn’t met an untimely end. 
In many ways, Joel is aware that you’re too good, too lovely. You’re a heart of gold and a fist of fury; you’re dirt-covered, scarlet-soaked, yet you’re also the brightest, shiniest thing he’s had in a long time. 
Your tongue may be laced with poison, your exterior hardened with the current times, but he sees the embers of the person that once was. The one that appears when the sun sets and rain peppers against the glass of his place. 
You see him, and he sees you. 
The loss you both carry suddenly lightened, one of them lifting it for the other on the more challenging days. No questions asked, just a nod, an understanding. 
Most mornings, when he wakes and your arm is around his waist, Joel has to pinch himself. His hand sliding over yours, fingers tracing your knuckles—doing an array of shapes until he hears your breathing change. It’s only ever then that he turns to face you, to watch in wonder as your lashes flutter and bask him in sunlight and care. 
Today, Joel finds he has to pinch himself differently when he has you like this. The truck door yanked open, you placing yourself on the backseat of it. The vehicle itself is all covered in wilted vines and decades of dust, not that either of you care. You’re atop cracked leather, engulfed in fusty air that’s desperate to escape and be renewed, but you just look at him dutifully. 
Having followed his instruction, his whisper as the two of you admired your handiworks. 
In general, you make him soft, but you also make him hard. The latter more present currently as his hands spread your thighs, hooking around them to pull you to the edge of the seat—perched, waiting, core glistening with want as your jeans remain abandoned at his feet. His finger brushes over the little thin fabric stretched beyond belief at your ankles—the sun's glow piercing through the dirt-covered sunroom, casting you in enough of a sheen to highlight the muck and sweat on your collarbone and forehead. 
But you’re still a vision. 
It’s why he likes having you like this, lay out for him—all prettiness in a sea of ruin. 
Words that are so similar fall easily from his mouth before he licks a stripe. 
Usually, he’d take his time and earn himself a couple of O’s before he cashes in on his own. Today, he’s more satisfied with this, giving you your reward, giving you all he has in him as his muscles groan from fighting.  
You seem to appreciate it. Purposefully arching your hips into his mouth, his tongue sliding deeper. Joel feels your walls tighten as he tries to go deeper—as he tries to bury himself inside of you, in the same way you have him. 
Then, it’s his turn to moan. Your fingers knotting in his hair, a feeling he relishes, yearns for as your nails scrape against his scalp. 
It wasn’t always like this with you. The two of you barely let the other in on anything outside the four walls the two of you had made liveable. It took time, weeks, months, half a year before things moved from being the right person at the right time, to just needing the other  
Now, he knows you’re his, and he is yours. It’s about as committed as things go when structure and normalcy have withered to dust. 
All he knows is he cares. It thrums, hammers against his bones when his voice couldn’t shout in time—watching in pained horror as your body was speared to the floor. His own fight began, unable to get to you, the back of his mind screaming, drumming its fists against his skull as a jaw cracked, and the butt of his gun met an oesophagus. 
His breathing laboured, difficult—strained. Catching a glimpse between his brawl to see you get the upper hand on the raider twice your size. Your body thrown behind your fist, the sound reverbing through the air as Joel smirked to himself. 
It grew larger when he heard the knife sink into the person’s spluttered hisses, coating your thighs in ichor, staining them cherry-red. 
He’d thought of nothing more than the mattress at the QZ—of his hand softly sliding your trousers from your skin. How he likes to kiss the pulse of your neck and feel your hands grasp his side. He imagined sinking his cock into you, inch by inch—the thought of your legs around him, breasts spilling out as he sliced you free from all the constraints that hid you from him. 
It’s those thoughts as to why he hadn’t been able to wait. A need to remind himself of how alive you are, to hear it, see it, taste it. 
It’s why he had you moaning—a sinful sound that almost reminds him of music. Your fingers splayed over the back of the seat, swiping dust away with your hopelessness as he continues to lap at your folds, keeping your legs parted with his hands as his thumb (he suspects and rather hopes) bruises your skin, leaving reminders. 
Joel likes the evidence that he touched heaven and left a mark that couldn’t be so easily wiped. That it proves you’ve chosen him, because he knows he’s done things, horrid things. 
Grief had spread its tendrils through him the same way the rot had ripped through cities. You hadn’t cared, not when you met or after. You never asked a thing—never wanted more than he could give. 
It’s why he liked you, why he felt seen. 
Boring your eyes into him, making him feel seen. Making him feel protective—awakening a dormant creature that’s now becoming a feral monster. 
It became the reason why he wanted to give you nothing but pleasure, in the hope it’ll be enough to smother the pain he knows he must inflict. Because he cares, but not in the way you deserve. He won’t find a flower on the walk through a once-thriving city and pluck it for you; he won’t dance with you if music ever reaches their ears.
But you deserve that. A different life robbed from you, a happy ever after ripped from grip, even more so the moment you chose him. 
It’s why he digs his hands into the back of your thighs, pulling you closer as he flattens his tongue against your core. Giving you something he can provide with ease, pleasure, care, comfort. 
You moan at it. All punchy, full of hoarseness as his name joins it. A particularly needier yank of his hair accompanies it as he swirls the tip of his tongue over your swollen nub, before he latches his mouth back over you. Not wanting to leave you on the edge, because Joel never does. His fingers slide into your fluttering hole, feeling your hips buck, watching your eyes clench shut. 
Because giving is practically all he has to offer. 
He knows how your body hums before your throat sings—the next moan spreading up from someplace deeper, born from depth, as it rips out of you and sprays itself around the truck as he smirks. 
He can’t help it. 
You’re everything: a goddess, a work of art, his. 
You’re his. 
It surges him on, devouring you, lapping up everything you’ll give him as his cheeks flush with warmth and his zipper cuts into his hardened cock. 
Because you’re so close. He can feel it, hear it, taste it. 
It rushes through you, snapping and crashing—all Joel, fuck and a sea of other noises he craves. 
He doesn’t stop, not immediately. 
Whispering muted words against you as he makes his movements more gentle, easing you back to the present, your hips finding purchase back on the leather of the abandoned truck. His tongue moves from you before his fingers, mouth wrapping around his digits as you watch, hunger still simmering in the ocean of your eyes—chest rising and falling, beads of sweat falling down the swell of your jaw and neck. 
Joel doesn’t move from his position, not even as your breathing returns. The two of you eyeing up the other, him all the more tempted to tell you to move up so he can get in the back, too.
”Do I ask what that was for?” 
His lips slide into a smile, a foreign one—one that makes his cheeks crack from how long it’s been since he’s let it show—as his hand moves to his jeans, readjusting for comfort. 
“Happy birthday.” 
You blink, an array of emotions swirling in your deceptively deep eyes, before whispering: you remembered?
His hands help guide your underwear back up your legs, reaching down to get your jeans, shaking the ground from them. 
Only then does Joel realise something else is like a drug, too. That look. The one full of surprise, shock, and amazement, still present on your face. Placed there by him, a remembrance from him you never asked for, never demanded. Because of that, he craves putting that look on your face again. And again. 
Some part of him realising, before the rest of him, that’s how moving on begins, what really falling for someone looks like. 
But as he helps you out of the vehicle, holding the jeans for you to take—deciding he’ll deal with all of that another day. 
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kookslastbutton · 4 months ago
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Too Late To Dream ༓ jjk (m) I Epilogue: Stargaze
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✑ Summary: The topic of starting a family has been a vulnerable subject for both of you, especially over the past year as you've struggled to conceive. But tonight, under the blanket of the twinkling sky, your love proves stronger as neither of you is willing to give up hope just yet —and maybe you won't have to.
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Pairing: economics professor!jungkook x fem!artist!reader
AU/Genre: angst, fluff, smut, marriage au, slice of life
Rating: M, 18+
Word Count: 4k+
Warnings: 8-year age gap, professor-student relationship (oc was a Masters student), swearing, mentions of past apprehensions of fatherhood, mentions of difficult past, pregnancy journey, and some sexual/suggestive content
Sexual/suggestive warnings: swearing, kissing (making out, neck kisses, etc), hair tugging/playing, sentimental tears, mention of pregnant s*x/c*ming
Now Playing: Heaven by Bryan Adams
a/n: About a year ago I started a series that I'm sure a decent amount of my readers are familiar with. It's one that will always stay close to my heart because of its very nature....it's simply touching for me. Anyway, I've owed everyone, including myself, an epilogue for quite some time. This can be read as a stand-alone, but I do recommend reading the series if you wish to have more context, etc.
Hope you enjoy 🥰
Series Masterlist | Requests: closed | Taglist | Fic Recs
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Tonight, under the vast canopy of stars in the late summer night sky, you feel a peacefulness in your heart as you lie beside your husband of three years on a soft blanket spread out in the backyard.
The air is cool with the scent of freshly cut grass, and the stars shimmer like diamonds above you. You and Jungkook have always loved stargazing together—it's a cherished ritual that brings you closer, grounding you in the beauty and wonder of the universe.
"Look," Jungkook murmurs, pointing towards a particularly bright star. "That one's so bright tonight."
You follow his gaze, smiling softly. "Yeah, it's beautiful."
Jungkook turns to you, his eyes reflecting the starlight. "This is my favorite place to be with you, you know?”
“Mine too,” you reply, snuggling closer to him.
The gentle rustling of leaves fills the silence for a few moments before Jungkook speaks again.
“I’ve been thinking…about us, about our future," he starts.
Your heart skips a beat, sensing the weight of his words. "What about our future?"
"I want us to keep trying to build our family," he says earnestly, his fingers gently intertwining with yours. "I know it hasn't been easy, and we expected to be pregnant months ago, but I believe our time will come."
The topic of starting a family has been a vulnerable subject for both of you, especially over the past year as you've struggled to conceive. It's been filled with tender moments and heartaches, each negative test a painful reminder of the journey.
Countless visits to Dr. Kim for advice and reassurances couldn’t fill the void left by each disappointment. Yet, through it all, neither of you could let the anticipation and hope that have woven themselves into the fabric of your days and nights diminish.
"I believe it too, Kook," you reply, tears pricking at the corners of your eyes as you squeeze his hand.
He turns to face you fully, his gaze searching yours. "I've wrestled with the idea of becoming a father in the past because of my own doubts and fears. But now, I can't wait to be a father, with you by my side. Even if more challenges await us, I want to share this journey with you, every step of the way."
A surge of emotion wells up inside you as memories of the past two years together start flashing through your mind. It was after an unexpectedly sweet encounter with a toddler at the park while painting, that you first brought up the idea of having children to Jungkook. He was initially apprehensive, recalling that neither of you had considered children when you first married for various reasons. But he loved you deeply, so he promised to be open to the idea.
Together, you agreed that rushing into such a significant decision as having a baby wouldn't be wise, considering it was an entirely new venture for both of you. However, over time, through therapy sessions, ongoing exposure to children, and heartfelt discussions, you both gradually felt more prepared and ready to finally welcome this new chapter in your life.
"Jungkook, I…," you pause, knowing that what you're about to share is something you've been bottling up all day, a dream waiting for the perfect moment to be revealed. "I have a feeling things might be different this time."
His eyes widen in surprise, a spark of curiosity igniting within them. "What do you mean?"
You take a deep breath, your voice trembling with mixed emotions. "I mean... today, I took a test. It was positive."
Jungkook's breath catches in his throat, excitement dancing in his eyes before quickly filling with tears of joy. "You mean...?"
You nod, a couple of tears streaming down your cheeks. "Yes, Kook. We're going to have a baby."
In an instant, Jungkook pulls you into his arms, holding you tightly against his chest. His laughter mingles with your tears as you cling to each other, overwhelmed with happiness.
"I can't believe it," he whispers, pressing a kiss on top of your head. "We're going to be parents."
You nod against his shoulder, the news feeling just as surreal to you as it does to him. "Together, Kook. We're going to be parents."
As you lie under the starlit sky, wrapped in each other's arms and the promise of a new life growing within you, you know that this night will forever be etched in your hearts.
"I love you, and I can't wait to meet our baby," Jungkook says softly, placing a gentle hand on your stomach.
"I love you too." Cradling his face in your hands, you lean in and press your lips gently against his.
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With the first month of your pregnancy underway, joy overwhelms you as you and Jungkook share the news with close family and friends.
"I can't believe it! You're finally joining the parent club," Yoongi teases, a mischievous glint in his eye as he recalls his own experience with twin girls. "Get ready for sleepless nights and endless diaper changes."
Taehyung chimes in eagerly, "And I demand to be their godfather! I'll teach your child everything about art and creativity."
"Hey, I think I can handle that part pretty well myself," you playfully interject, gesturing to your personal artwork hanging on the walls.
Taehyung grins, "I suppose you have a point there. But seriously, if you ever need help with anything, you know I'm here."
Jungkook chuckles warmly and pats Taehyung on the shoulder. "Thanks, man. That means a lot."
Yoongi smirks, leaning back in his chair. "Your kid will have the best of both worlds Jungkook—__'s artistic flair and your… well, whatever you bring to the table."
"Muscles," you say with a cheeky smirk. "He'll bring the muscles."
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The second month arrives fast, but it's not as cheery as the first. Morning sickness kicks in full force, testing your patience and resilience.
Jungkook becomes your pillar of support, always ready with ginger tea and comforting words.
"You're doing great, sweetheart," he reassures you, rubbing your back gently as you rest your head against his shoulder.
"I feel terrible," you admit, tears welling up in your eyes. "I just wish our baby was already here."
"We'll get through this together," Jungkook says softly, planting a kiss on your forehead. "And hey, at least we're getting really good at making ginger tea!"
You manage a weak laugh, grateful to have him by your side.
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By the third month, your bump begins to show. Despite your mixed feelings about your changing body, you can't help but feel wonder and amazement at the miracle growing inside you.
"Look at this," Jungkook whispers, gently placing his hand on your belly. "Our little one is growing so fast."
You glance down at his hand, then back up at him with a soft smile. "I know. It's incredible, isn't it? Sometimes it feels like just yesterday we found out. I can't wait to meet them."
Jungkook nods, his eyes sparkling with excitement. "Me too. I want to teach them everything I know. I wonder what they'll be like."
You chuckle softly, imagining the possibilities. "Who knows? Maybe they'll have your sense of adventure and my love for creativity. Or maybe they'll be completely different from both of us, which will be okay too."
He grins, pressing a gentle kiss on your belly. "We'll love them no matter what, no doubt about it."
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It's the fourth month when you feel your energy returning and renewed optimism as morning sickness subsides. You and Jungkook take walks in the park, hand-in-hand, discussing baby names and nursery decor.
"I think we should go with a woodland theme for the nursery," Jungkook suggests, swinging your intertwined hands as the crisp autumn leaves crunch beneath your feet.
"Sounds perfect," you agree, smiling at his enthusiasm. "We could have little animal decorations and maybe even a mural of a forest. Taehyung hasn't been subtle about wanting to paint the room for us."
"Definitely," Jungkook replies, his eyes bright with excitement. "He'd probably add his own artistic touch too, knowing him."
You chuckle softly, imagining Taehyung's vibrant and whimsical style adorning the nursery walls. "That would be amazing. Our baby would have the most creative room ever."
As you walk, you discuss more details—what kind of crib to get, whether to use soft pastels or earthy tones, and even what kind of mobile would best fit the woodland theme. Jungkook talks about how he wants to try building some of the furniture himself, adding a personal touch to the nursery.
"I want our baby to know how much love went into creating their space one day," he says, squeezing your hand gently.
"I can't wait to see it all come together," you sigh.
Jungkook stops walking and pulls you into a gentle hug, resting his chin on top of your head. "I can't wait either," he whispers.
“Hey,” you say softly, pulling back slightly from his embrace to meet his deep coffee-black eyes. “What would you say if we went home and did something we haven’t been able to do for a little while?”
You then wrap your arms around his neck with a playful smile.
"You mean…sex?” Your husband's eyes widen as he begins to grasp the extent of your suggestion. “But would that be…”
“It’s safe,” you confirm, “Dr. Kim says it’s completely okay and lots of couples do it. No need to worry.”
Jungkook's prior concern washes away, replaced by shock the moment he hears the words drop from your lips. “You asked Seokjin about this?! Our friend?" His eyebrows knit together in confusion and mild disbelief.
“Well, why wouldn’t I?” You chuckle at how cute he looks. “He’s been our doctor for years, Kook. Why wouldn’t I ask him?”
“I know, but it’s…Seokjin.”
“Honey, come on,” you say, attempting to reason with the man. “Are you still mad at him for questioning your sexual ability all those months ago? When we asked his advice on how to increase our chances of conception? You know he didn’t mean it to be anything hurtful.”
“Maybe I’m still irritated about it,” Jungkook pouts. “I guess I’m being petty though. I know he was trying to help.”
“Well, in any case, he was wrong, wasn’t he?” You subtly gesture to your stomach. “Seeing as I’m pregnant with our baby.”
Jungkook's mood seems to lift again as his hands travel down to grip your waist. A playful grin spreads across his face. “I think we should go home now and see if we can prove him even more wrong. What would you say about us having twins?”
You laugh, easily reading between the lines. “Have you been talking to Kim Taehyung? It doesn’t work like that and you know it. You can’t just make love to me while I’m pregnant and expect two babies instead of one. B+ for effort though.”
“Damn, B+? You’re a tough grader, baby. Good thing I might know a thing or two of what you like to get that reaccessed.” He then kisses you before granting you a chance to respond, deepening it within a second.
You feel a tightening build in your core as his tongue smoothly invites itself to slip between the seam of your lips. And despite literally being in the middle of a park, you moan immediately, tugging at a few strands of his hair. A low groan elicits from him as you do this.
Thank god most of the people have left for dinner by now.
“No,” you suddenly mumble, breaking your heated kiss. “This isn’t how we like to do it. We need to go home. Please, let's go home, Kook.”
Jungkook merely smiles in response, takes your hand in his, and quickly leads you to the car where he drives you both home.
That night, as the brisk autumn wind howls outside, your husband doesn't hesitate to take the lead as he makes love to you with all of his being. And by the end of it all, when you both come, you can visibly see the dried tears on both of each other's cheeks.
"Looks like we're starting to turn into two cry babies," you break the silence first.
"I think so too," Jungkook replies, a tad bit breathless. "Is that okay?"
"Of course. As long as you're okay with it too."
"Can't think of a single reason for it not to be." Your husband buries his head in the crook of your neck, kissing your neck lightly. "I love you, __, so much if you couldn't already tell." He then looks at you and smiles, his eyes brimming with happiness.
"I love you too," you reply simply. "I always will."
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In early December, during your fifth month of pregnancy, emotions run high as you start feeling the baby's first kicks. It's a touching reminder of the life growing within you, bringing tears of joy and occasional bouts of anxiety about the future.
"Feel that?" you ask Jungkook, taking his hand and placing it on your belly where the baby kicks again.
"Wow," he breathes, feeling the tiny nudges beneath his hand. "They're already making their presence known."
You nod, a mixture of excitement and nervousness swirling within you. "Seems like they're eager to join the party."
Jungkook grins, his eyes sparkling with amusement. "I guess they heard about your cooking and couldn't wait. They've got good taste already."
You laugh softly, giving his hand a playful squeeze. "Let's hope they also inherit my better sense of direction."
He raises an eyebrow teasingly. "Hey, I've got great instincts."
You shake your head with mock seriousness. "You once got lost in our own neighborhood, Kook."
Jungkook feigns offense, but his smile widens. "Alright, fair point. But I promise I'll navigate parenthood better."
"It's a little bit scary, isn't it?" you say softly.
"It is," Jungkook admits, his grip on your hand tightening reassuringly. "But we'll figure it out together, like we always do."
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In the sixth month, you and Jungkook find yourselves nervously seated in the ultrasound room, with you on the medical bed and Jungkook in a chair beside you. The doctor moves the wand over your belly. After a few moments of silence, the screen lights up with images of your baby. Both of you gasp in awe as you see your baby's tiny fingers and toes, their heart beating steadily.
"Everything looks perfectly healthy," the doctor announces warmly, pointing out different features and measurements. "Would you like to know the gender?"
You glance over at your husband, whose eyes are fixed intently on the screen. "What do you think?" you ask. "Do we want to know?"
Jungkook's gaze shifts from the screen to you, reflecting both eagerness and nervousness in his eyes. "I think… yes," he says finally, his voice filled with anticipation.
The doctor smiles warmly and adjusts the ultrasound wand, focusing on a specific area. "Well, it looks like you're having a…"
The suspense lingers in the air as the doctor takes a moment before revealing the gender of your baby. When they do, you and Jungkook can't help but grin at each other.
It’s a girl.
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The reality of impending parenthood settles in deeper during the seventh month as you and Jungkook diligently attend prenatal classes together. The sessions are eye-opening, filled with valuable information, but they also serve as stark reminders of the challenges awaiting you both. There are moments of frustration and tears as you grapple with sleepless nights and discomfort.
"I'm so tired," you confess one evening, sinking into Jungkook's arms with a sigh, the weight of exhaustion evident in your voice.
Jungkook wraps his arms around you, offering a comforting embrace. "Well, they say parenthood is good practice for functioning on minimal sleep, right?"
You can't help but chuckle at his attempt to lighten the mood. "I think I need a lot more practice."
"You're doing an amazing job, baby," he assures you, his hands rubbing small, soothing circles on your back. "I'm truly in awe of you."
"Thanks, but I feel like a mess most of the time."
Jungkook shakes his head and gently guides you to look up at him. "If this is what a mess looks like, then I'll take it," he says softly, leaning in to steal a kiss.
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In the eighth month, the physical strain of pregnancy becomes more apparent, introducing moments of fatigue and vulnerability. Everyday tasks like tying your shoes or putting a load of laundry in become increasingly challenging. However, with Jungkook as your husband, his attentive care shines through. He insists on handling all the chores without a second thought, from washing the dishes to preparing meals, often coaxing you to rest while he handles things.
"You really don't have to do all this," you protest with a weary smile as Jungkook scrubs a pot clean, his sleeves rolled up.
"I want to," he insists, flashing a reassuring grin over his shoulder.
You start to rise from the couch, still intent on helping, but Jungkook rushes over and gently guides you back onto the cushions. His touch is both firm and tender.
"Please, just relax, honey," he says softly, kneeling beside you. His hands find yours, warm and comforting, as he gives them a light kiss.
"But-" you begin, a hint of resistance in your voice as you look up at Jungkook.
"I know this isn’t easy," he says, his expression softening with understanding. "But let me take care of you, okay? I've got this."
You sigh, torn between wanting to ease his burden and accepting his offer of support. "I just feel like I should be doing more," you admit, your voice tinged with frustration.
Jungkook shakes his head, his thumb brushing over the back of your hand. "You've already done so much," he reassures you, his gaze unwavering. "Let me handle things tonight. Tomorrow, we can tackle everything together again, okay?"
His words soothe the inner conflict within you, and you reluctantly nod, knowing he's right. "Okay," you concede softly, “Thank you.”
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In the ninth month, you're surrounded by friends and family who gather at your house to celebrate your baby shower. The room is adorned with soft pastel decorations and delicate baby-themed accents, reflecting the joyous anticipation of your impending newborn.
"Look at you, all grown up and about to be a dad," Yoongi teases Jungkook, earning a playful swat on the arm from his wife.
Jungkook laughs, scratching the back of his head. "Yeah, I guess it's happening. Better start practicing my dad jokes, huh? Got any you haven’t used yet hyung?" He winks at Yoongi, who rolls his eyes in good-natured amusement.
Taehyung joins in, holding up a quirky baby outfit. "This would look adorable on your little one, don't you think?" he suggests with a grin, adding to the playful banter.
Jimin, always the entertainer, spins around the room, capturing everyone's attention. "I can't wait to spoil this baby rotten!" he exclaims with a mischievous grin, eliciting laughter from the group. "I'll be the best uncle ever, just you wait!"
Jungkook chuckles, wrapping an arm around you. "Yeah, we might have to keep an eye on Uncle Jimin's antics once this baby is born.”
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Finally, the tenth month arrives, and you approach your due date with growing anticipation. One June morning, as you're bustling about the kitchen, an unfamiliar warmth between your legs startles you. Your heart skips a beat with excitement and a touch of nervousness as you realize what’s just happened.
"Jungkook!" you call out, trying to keep your voice steady.
Jungkook hurries into the kitchen, eyes widening as he sees the puddle on the floor. "Please tell me your water just broke and that's not just a spill," he says, his voice filled with a mix of concern and excitement.
You nod, feeling a rush of emotions. "I think so. We need to go to the hospital."
With swift action, Jungkook helps you gather your hospital bag and gently guides you to the car. The drive is filled with a mix of anticipation and supportive words from Jungkook, his hand firmly holding yours all the way. You focus on your breathing, trying to stay calm and centered as you prepare for the birth of your baby girl.
In the delivery room, surrounded by medical staff and with Jungkook by your side, you endure the intensity of labor. Hours pass in a whirlwind of effort and support, until finally, with a spirited cry, your baby girl enters the world.
As you hold her for the first time, a sense of overwhelming love washes over you both. "She's perfect," you whisper, tears of joy streaming down your cheeks.
Jungkook leans in for a quick peck before gently kissing your baby girl’s forehead. "Just like her mom," he murmurs, his voice filled with awe.
After much consideration, you both decide on the name Ara, a name that symbolizes beauty and grace, perfectly fitting for your precious daughter.
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It's now mid-July, and the late afternoon sun bathes the living room in a soft, golden glow as Jungkook sways gently with Ara in his arms. It's hard to believe almost six weeks have passed since bringing your little angel home. Ara has recently started smiling, and you can't help but notice how much it resembles her father's. Her small frame seems even tinier against his broad chest now, her head nestled against his shoulder as if she were listening to the rhythm of his heartbeat.
Jungkook's movements are graceful and tender, his voice humming along to the lullaby as he continues dancing with your daughter. You lean against the doorway, a tender smile playing on your lips as you watch the scene unfold. Soft strains of a lullaby play in the background, blending with the sweet sound of your daughter's giggles while her tiny hands reach up to grasp Jungkook's fingers.
"Appa's dancing with you, sweetheart," you murmur, your voice filled with affection and pride.
Jungkook glances up, his eyes meeting yours with a mixture of love and happiness. "She loves our little dance sessions, doesn't she?"
"She adores you," you reply softly, feeling a warm swell of love in your chest.
Seeing Jungkook, once uncertain about fatherhood due to his difficult past, now embracing your daughter with tenderness, fills you with pride. The love and devotion he pours into every sway speak volumes about the kind of father he has become – patient, nurturing, and utterly devoted.
As the lullaby reaches its gentle conclusion, Jungkook carefully lowers your daughter into her crib, tucking her in with a soft blanket. She coos softly, her eyelids fluttering as she settles into a peaceful sleep. "You're the best thing that's ever happened to us," he whispers before pressing a tender kiss to her forehead.
Later that evening, after a leisurely dinner, you find yourselves nestled on the couch in the cozy warmth of your living room. A single lamp in the far corner casts soft shadows across Jungkook's face as he idly traces patterns on your arm, lost in thought.
"Hey," you say softly, breaking the comfortable silence that envelops you. "What's on your mind?"
Jungkook looks at you, a faint smile playing on his lips. His eyes hold a glint of contemplation.
"I was thinking… about Ara."
You nod encouragingly, "What about her?"
"She's going to grow up so fast," Jungkook muses, his voice laced with a hint of sentiment. "And… I can't help but imagine her with a little brother or sister someday."
Your heart skips a beat at his words, a rush of emotions flooding through you. "You've been thinking about another baby?"
Jungkook nods, his gaze searching yours for understanding and reassurance. "Yeah. I mean, not right now, of course. But… in the future. I think Ara would love having a sibling to grow up with."
A soft smile graces your lips as you squeeze his hand gently. "I think so too. I'm sure she'd make a wonderful big sister."
He leans closer, his forehead brushing against yours in a gesture of intimacy and connection. "I just wanted to talk about it, you know? Make sure we're on the same page."
"We are," you assure him, "Whenever you're ready, I'm ready too."
Jungkook's lips find yours in a tender kiss, his touch gentle and reassuring. “I love you and I'm so happy we're finally starting a family. Thank you for making me a father."
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a/n: Too sweet? Perhaps so, but it's how I roll 😎 haha anyway, if you were looking forward to a more detailed baby-making scene, well it's in the series so have at it lol. But now...I'm going to sleep. Maybe I'll open my requests for some more drabbles with the TLTD couple (or I'll make my own requests haha)
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holybibly · 8 months ago
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𝔇𝔢𝔩𝔦𝔳𝔢𝔯 𝔲𝔰 𝔣𝔯𝔬𝔪 𝔢𝔳𝔦𝔩 | 𝔚𝔬𝔬𝔶𝔬𝔲𝔫𝔤 𝔵 𝔯𝔢𝔞𝔡𝔢𝔯
𝔊𝔢𝔫𝔯𝔢: smut, Priests!AU
𝔚𝔬𝔯𝔡 ℭ𝔬𝔲𝔫𝔱: 9,9k
𝔖𝔲𝔪𝔪𝔞𝔯𝔶: It is said: "The best way to get forgiveness for sins is to repent." Priest Wooyoung will tell you how to do this.
𝔚𝔄ℜ𝔑ℑ𝔑𝔊: Priest!Wooyoung, Hierophilia, church sex, religion kink, dirty talk, masturbation, humiliation, blow jobs, rough oral, power play. spanking, fingering, orgasm delay, overstimulation, dom/sub and more.
𝔄/𝔑: And so it is that I have come to please you with something wicked. I don't know why I get so inspired, but I don't care. My opinion is that Priest Wooyoung is hot as hell, that's all. There will probably be another work released this weekend, but I won't tell you what it is. Of course, the unholy hours are available as usual. It's time to repent for the sins, bunnies, and, as the saying goes, Hell's empty, all demons outside.
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You have never thought of yourself as a religious person, not under any circumstances whatsoever. You never knelt down in front of your bed, covered your eyes with trembling eyelids, and whispered softly, "Hail Mary,"  before you went to sleep in your cold and lonely bed. 
Never asking God's mercy and forgiveness, you were as far from faith and piety as you could be. The last time you had been to church was years ago, when you came to communion with one of your distant relatives.   The feeling was all too familiar, yet as alien as the shattered fragments of a mysterious dream you remembered having long ago. You walked slowly up the rain-slicked stone steps of your hometown's old church, as smooth and dreary as the weather today. The thin branches of the dead trees, devoid of the usual green foliage you knew wrapped around them at the beginning of each spring, reached up to the sky as if in prayer—brittle and outstretched—like the hands of a sinner. 
"What am I doing here?" You asked yourself as you wrapped yourself more tightly in your soft cashmere coat and let out a convulsive sigh.
You didn't know how to answer that, and you couldn't seem to find the right one. That place... it seemed to call your name, and you couldn't resist the mysterious magnetism. The church was old and gloomy—the kind of church that people do not tell you the most pleasant stories about. Your eyes wandered over the faded, dark boards and the pointed spire, topped by a crooked, spiky cross that looked almost sinister as the rain swirled around it. The place had an air of desolation about it, and for a moment, you wondered if it was haunted. 
It was the same church that your mother had gone to when she was a child, always dressed in her most beautiful clothes and with ribbons of silk woven into her hair. 
"Did this place always look as spooky as it does now?" you asked her once. 
The cold wind whipped through your long hair as you pushed open the heavy wooden doors of the church and made your way in. The rusty metal hinges sobbed pitifully at the sound of your action. The inside of the church was musty and smelled of incense, and visually, it was the same as millions of other churches: furnished with rows of wooden pews, with dusty Bibles lying in compartments attached to the backs of the pews. Narrow Gothic windows, decorated with the faces of sexless angels, stretched up to a vaulted ceiling.
There was no one there, which was what you would have expected, considering that there were only a few cars in the car park when you arrived here. You felt stupid for being here, completely unaware of what the purpose of your visit was in the first place.
The echo of your footsteps on the dark, faded midnight-blue velour floor was the only sound in the church. As you walked towards the back of the church, where the neatly decorated altar stood, your fingertips glided weightlessly along the cool edges of the old pews. Dark and full of suffering, the heavy crucifix hung over the altar like an unbearable sacred burden. There was a small confessional not too far from it.
One day, when you were a little girl, your grandparents took you to the church and insisted that you have a confession of your sins. Sitting behind the curtain, you felt so grown up; the small room seemed so much larger in comparison to your petite body. With your head bowed, you solemnly told the priest that you sometimes took a few extra biscuits when your mother wasn't looking, and he, in turn, instructed you to recite the Hail Mary a few times.
As you approached the confessional, you lazily tugged at the heavy velvet curtain, running your fingers over the faded fabric, which was worn in places. You wondered what sins you could repent of now; you didn't often reflect on what you'd done or seek forgiveness, at least not from an all-powerful divine being you weren't even sure existed. You opened the curtain and jumped at the sharp sound of metal rings as they scratched against the beam on which it was hung. The inside of the cabin was dark, and there was a smell of dust in it. You coughed and breathed in the small particles that stuck to your tongue in an unpleasant way.
"Hello, my dear."
You jumped at the slight echo of the soft, melodic voice that came from behind the metal bars of the confessional. Leaning against the door, you pressed a hand to your chest, feeling your fast heart pound. Squinting, you hoped to get a better look at the dark figure of the priest on the other side.
"I'm sorry, I didn't know anyone was here." You said it quietly. "I... I was just lookin' around."
"You're new, right?" The voice was beautiful; with every vowel the person formed, you could hear some kind of melody, low and languid, almost seductive, and you suddenly realised that your hands were covered with goose bumps. Was the temperature in the little cabin any cooler than it was in the rest of the church? You couldn't be sure, but you found yourself unconsciously pulling the tails of your coat closer to your body.
Intrigued by the man on the other side of the small grate, you took a step further into the small room and looked around.
"Something like that."
"You don't come to places like this very often?" The voice made more of a statement than a question.
"No." You agreed with it. "I can't remember when I've been to church lately." You whispered in reply, so quietly that you could hardly be heard.
Silence fell between you, and, not quite understanding what you'd done, you reached out and pulled the curtain, shrouding yourself in darkness. Through the metal bars, you saw a slender man's figure and carefully sat down on the velvet bench.
"So why did you come here today, then?" The priest asked, although there was something in his tone of voice that told you that he already knew the answer, perhaps even better than you did. Was all this small talk a normal part of confession?
"I... I'm not really sure, just an instinct." You crumpled the soft fabric of your cloak between your fingers, growing more nervous with every second of the small talk between you and the mysterious priest.
"I understand, of course." He replied with a note of familiarity, as if he heard the same thing every day of his life.
Feeling even more insecure than before, you raised an eyebrow and shifted into the uncomfortable seat beneath you. There was something special about this priest, but you couldn't put your finger on what it was.
"Is something bothering you, dear?"
You bit your lower lip as you tried to process what he said. Was something gnawing at you? Was there something that was bothering you to such an extent that you were beginning to feel pangs of conscience? Deep down inside of you, in the depths of your mind, where you didn't dare to go?
"Maybe?" You finally managed to say it, but it sounded more like a question. Your whole body was on edge, and you couldn't understand why it was so. You weren't afraid, no, but there was definitely a sense of something out of the ordinary. Something that was forbidden.
"You've been doing a lot of thinking lately, haven't you?" The man asked you a question, and all of a sudden you found yourself with your eyes half closed in bliss as you enjoyed the silky texture of his voice. It sounded like an angel was singing, but with a dark undertone. "You have been asking yourself questions, perhaps even too alarming ones."
You nodded weakly in acknowledgement of his words; despite the barrier between you, he seemed to be aware of your silent response.
"You're afraid you're bad." He said simply, and you could almost swear that he was laughing at the last two words, there was a hint of mockery in the tone of his voice.
Hearing him say that made your mouth dry up and you coughed slightly, trying to clear your throat.
"Holy Father, what makes you say things like that?"
"Are not all of us afraid of something like this at some point in our lives? We are afraid of ourselves, afraid of our sinfulness."
There was a blink of confusion on your face, a complete bewilderment at the strange turn this conversation had taken. And yet, somehow, you felt compelled to go on and hear more.
His voice dropped to a hoarse, velvety whisper that sent waves of heat down the length of your spine and caused you to squirm in your seat. Was this how you were supposed to feel at this moment?
"Let me tell you a little secret, dearie."
"I-am I listening?" Your heartbeat quickened as a single streak of pale light fell on the man behind the small bars, and for a moment you saw a dark, fox-like eye.
"We are all bad men. Every single one of us."
A shiver ran down your entire body, and you could feel the stuffy air in the confessional getting hotter and hotter.
"Even you, dearest child." He moved closer to the mesh holes in the barrier that separated the two of you, and you could make out the shape of his lips, diabolically curved and full. "Especially you."
"F-Father…"
"Wooyoung." He fixed you. "My name is Wooyoung. "
You repeated his name softly, sliding your tongue over each letter; your voice was barely above a whisper, but you could hear the man inhale sharply as his name came out of your lips. His name was sinful and sweet, almost wicked, like a serpent that tempts you to do the most evil of deeds. This man cannot be a priest at all. But if he was not a priest, who was he then?"
"You are," he began, and you could almost feel the smirk on his beautiful lips as he spoke. "Very naughty girl.
Oh, my God. This wasn't really happening. Was it? No, he couldn't have meant it. He was a priest, for God's sake.
"And what is your suggestion that I should do about it?" You asked shyly, looking down at the palms of your hands, which were now covered in shallow marks from where your nails had dug themselves into the damp skin. You couldn't see Wooyoung, but you were sure that the look in his eyes would be nothing less than piercing and malicious. "Should I say the Hail Mary several times? Pray for atonement for what I have done? You haven't even told me why it is you think I'm a sinner."
He let out a dark, dry chuckle, and you heard a muffled sound as you guessed that the palms of his hands were making hard contact with his thighs.
"Shall I show you?"
"Show me what?" Your eyes narrowed and a strange sense of anticipation began to well up inside you.
"How do I have the knowledge that you are a sinner?"
You chewed on your lower lip in thought, and then you cleared your throat with a kind of self-assured finality.
"All right. But I'm beginning to think that you're a little overconfident." You added that last part in an attempt to lessen your sense of vulnerability in front of this man. You had doubts that anything would change, but something told you that you would need all the confidence you could have.
Hearing your words, his hand reached out and pressed against the grating metal, and he let out a low purr. Up close, you could see the prominent veins that ran down Wooyoung's slender hand, his long fingers adorned with a number of expensive rings, and you tried desperately to suppress a certain feeling that threatened to force itself upon you.
"Go on, touch; don't be afraid." He called to you, and you stretched out obediently, repeating what he said, carefully placing your fingertips on the grating's metal.
Instantly, your entire world was enveloped in a bright, unholy light, and with each turn of your head, you saw clear images of unspeakable darkness, depravity, and longing. You recognised them as your dreams, as fleeting thoughts that you tried to push away, as shadows that danced on the walls of your bedroom in the late hours of the night. All of these images had been ripped right out of your mind.
You jerked your hand away from him as if it had been burned, and you cried out in pity as tears streamed uncontrollably down your cheeks. You blinked and suddenly found yourself back in the dark confessional, multi-coloured spots dancing in front of your eyes as if they were mocking you and your mind.
"What the hell was that?" You wanted your voice to be aggressive and forceful, but the words sounded weak and pathetic as soon as they left your soft lips.
"You see?" The coldness in his voice burned like a fire within you.
"Those... those are not my thoughts." You murmured in fear as the confessional seemed to grow colder and colder by the second. "They were not in mine."
Were they?
Now you could see your own breath steaming, and in one quick, desperate movement, you rushed to the curtain, tore it aside, and stepped into the light. As soon as you were out of the stall, you slumped limply into the front pew of the church, your heart pounding in your chest as you tried to figure out what the hell had just happened.
There was a rustling sound in the cabin before the door on the priest's side of the room opened slightly, and a man stepped out of the darkness—Wooyoung. He was of average height and was dressed entirely in black, like a second skin, with the exception of a crisp white collar. His black hair flowed like silk down to his sharp jaw line and framed the chiselled features of his face. With fierce dark eyes and full lips that curled into a wickedly seductive smile, he was handsome—beautifully handsome.
You should have been afraid of him after what he had just shown you. You should have turned around and run away and never looked back—away from this church and away from Wooyoung. As you have always sworn, you should have left your hometown forever.
But you didn't. The man in front of you, whose eyes seemed to have an even greater darkness in them, had completely hypnotised you.
"You are not the Holy Father." Your breath caught in your throat as he came closer. There was an unreadable expression on his handsome face as he looked down at you. "Who the hell are you?"
He smiled mischievously, and you saw something completely evil in his eyes.
"I am the man who is going to rid you of all of your sins." The sound of his voice was like sugar itself—hilariously sweet.
"W-what? Are you going to make me say my prayers?" At this, he laughed uncontrollably, vulgarly, and at the top of his voice.
"Oh, poor, sweet child." He said this in a drawl, dragging the toes of his immaculately polished black shoes along the floor and carefully folding his hands behind his back. "Absolutely not. I am going to make you repent for all of your sins."
He came to a halt just a few feet in front of you, tilted his head, and looked down at your body. There was a sense of nakedness and vulnerability under his piercing gaze. You felt completely helpless.
"Throughout your entire life, you have committed so many sins that it will take me a long time to get you to repent for them," he said. Wooyoung was talking about it as if it were the most common thing in the world.
"All right. But I'm beginning to think that you're a little overconfident." You added that last part in an attempt to lessen your sense of vulnerability in front of this man. You had doubts that anything would change, but something told you that you would need all the confidence you could have.
Hearing your words, his hand reached out and pressed against the grating metal, and he let out a low purr. Up close, you could see the prominent veins that ran down Wooyoung's slender hand, his long fingers adorned with a number of expensive rings, and you tried desperately to suppress a certain feeling that threatened to force itself upon you.
"Go on, touch; don't be afraid." He called to you, and you stretched out obediently, repeating what he said, carefully placing your fingertips on the grating's metal.
Instantly, your entire world was enveloped in a bright, unholy light, and with each turn of your head, you saw clear images of unspeakable darkness, depravity, and longing. You recognised them as your dreams, as fleeting thoughts that you tried to push away, as shadows that danced on the walls of your bedroom in the late hours of the night. All of these images had been ripped right out of your mind.
You jerked your hand away from him as if it had been burned, and you cried out in pity as tears streamed uncontrollably down your cheeks. You blinked and suddenly found yourself back in the dark confessional, multi-coloured spots dancing in front of your eyes as if they were mocking you and your mind.
"What the hell was that?" You wanted your voice to be aggressive and forceful, but the words sounded weak and pathetic as soon as they left your soft lips.
"You see?" The coldness in his voice burned like a fire within you.
"Those... those are not my thoughts." You murmured in fear as the confessional seemed to grow colder and colder by the second. "They were not in mine."
Were they?
Now you could see your own breath steaming, and in one quick, desperate movement, you rushed to the curtain, tore it aside, and stepped into the light. As soon as you were out of the stall, you slumped limply into the front pew of the church, your heart pounding in your chest as you tried to figure out what the hell had just happened.
There was a rustling sound in the cabin before the door on the priest's side of the room opened slightly, and a man stepped out of the darkness—Wooyoung. He was of average height and was dressed entirely in black, like a second skin, with the exception of a crisp white collar. His black hair flowed like silk down to his sharp jaw line and framed the chiselled features of his face. With fierce dark eyes and full lips that curled into a wickedly seductive smile, he was handsome—beautifully handsome.
You should have been afraid of him after what he had just shown you. You should have turned around and run away and never looked back—away from this church and away from Wooyoung. As you have always sworn, you should have left your hometown forever.
But you didn't. The man in front of you, whose eyes seemed to have an even greater darkness in them, had completely hypnotised you.
"You are not the Holy Father." Your breath caught in your throat as he came closer. There was an unreadable expression on his handsome face as he looked down at you. "Who the hell are you?"
He smiled mischievously, and you saw something completely evil in his eyes.
"I am the man who is going to rid you of all of your sins." The sound of his voice was like sugar itself—hilariously sweet.
"W-what? Are you going to make me say my prayers?" At this, he laughed uncontrollably, vulgarly, and at the top of his voice.
"Oh, poor, sweet child." He said this in a drawl, dragging the toes of his immaculately polished black shoes along the floor and carefully folding his hands behind his back. "Absolutely not. I am going to make you repent for all of your sins."
He came to a halt just a few feet in front of you, tilted his head, and looked down at your body. There was a sense of nakedness and vulnerability under his piercing gaze. You felt completely helpless.
"Throughout your entire life, you have committed so many sins that it will take me a long time to get you to repent for them," he said. Wooyoung was talking about it as if it were the most common thing in the world.
"What if I have no desire for repentance?" You said it in a defiant tone. You wanted to be brave; you wanted to be strong and confident, but something deep down inside of you told you that Wooyoung was not the kind of person that you couldn't help but obey. His whole aura told you that if he wanted to, he would fold you up like an origami piece. But there was nothing you could do about it; you had to test the waters to see what would happen if you refused to bend to his will.
He looked at you so intently that you felt he wanted to eat you alive right then and there.
"But I have a feeling that's not the case, is it?" He said this as he ran the tips of his fingers along your jaw. You tensed as he touched you, feeling a cold shiver run down your spine as Wooyoung lazily ran his thumb over your lower lip. "I think you want to get on your knees before me, child. You wish to repent."
Your eyes widened at the sound of his words, and a smirk of arrogance spread across his perfect scarlet lips. Why haven't you fought back?
He leaned forward so that his gorgeous face was only inches away from yours. You squeezed your thighs together as warm wetness began to pool between them, realising he was even more beautiful up close, like sin itself.
"I could smell the sweetness of your cunt from the moment you walked into the church, you little slut." His voice dropped a couple of octaves, and you shivered at the feel of his hot breath on the skin of your body.
The vulgarity of his words made you gasp, but you couldn't deny how your mouth watered at the sound of his velvety voice saying the words 'cunt' and'slut'. God, he was doing something to you, but you were... You were attracted to it.
"I smelled that smell when you walked into the confessional, when you heard my voice, when you said my name." His eyes sparkled in a devilish way, trapping you in his gaze, and if you hadn't been so excited, you would have noticed the black shadows dancing along the edges of his irises.
He was speaking to you in an almost patronising manner now, and you froze in place as he pulled your lower lip down and gently ran his thumb along the inside of it until the pad of his finger was slick with your saliva.
"Wooyoung..." You exhaled, looking down at your hands, fidgeting aimlessly in your lap. Your cheeks were hot and flushed, and by the way Wooyoung looked at you, with a predatory hunger woven into the perfect features of his face, you could tell that your shyness was only turning him on even more.
"There's never been a girl in my life that has been so desperate for a fuck as you have. Your desires ... they are almost tangible." He was so close to you now that his hot lips touched the round of your cheek, sending a wave of electricity through your body as he spoke. "I have met many sinners in my life, as you can imagine."
"Are you going to punish me for that?" He raised an eyebrow before straightening up and looking down at you, seemingly completely satisfied with your answer. A majestic expression of all-encompassing power was frozen on his face as he spoke.
"No, darling, of course not. I wouldn't want to punish you, but I am going to make you repent. And the first sin you will have to do penance for will be lust." Wooyoung said, and you found yourself biting your lower lip at the commanding tone of his voice. "Stand up." He gave you the order.
You did as he asked you to, got up from your seat, and stood in front of the so-called priest. He moved around you in a circle, as if considering what to do with you, never allowing you to escape his dark gaze. His tongue stretched out to lick his plump lips in a sensual way; finally, he sat down on the spot where you had been a few seconds before and ran his hands over his muscular, thick thighs.
You were standing in front of him, completely at his mercy, your head bowed in respect as he looked at you like a predator from his seated position, your skin burning under the weight of his gaze. You could almost feel his eyes as they crawled over your body, peeling away layer after layer until they reached the very core of your soul.
"Get undressed." There was a metallic edge to Wooyoung's voice as he crossed his legs and leaned back, his long hair falling over his handsome face, making him even more vicious. "Now."
You opened your mouth to speak, words of protest hovering on the tip of your tongue, but you closed it immediately, realising that it was better not to protest. The feeling of submission came again, sharp and clear, and you quickly pulled off your cloak and threw it to the ground behind you. The soft fabric pooled on top of the midnight blue velour. Then your jumper and your jeans joined it, your hands shaking as you unbuttoned them and pulled them down to your hips.
As you shyly wrapped your arms around yourself, you suddenly realised that your nipples were hard and swollen and could be seen peeking out from under the thin white lace of your bra.
Wooyoung leaned forward, his elbows resting on his knees and his sharp chin resting on his palms, before he glared at you.
"You have to undress completely, darling."
You nodded obediently, reached behind your back to unhook your bra, and with timid reluctance, pulled the lace straps off your shoulders. You lowered your eyes in shame and looked down at the floor, while Wooyoung kept his gaze fixed on you.
"In atoning for our sins." He began to speak softly, reaching out to your face and gently guiding your chin so that you looked up at him. "We do not have the luxury of being modest." Wooyoung patted your cheek in a condescending manner before he hooked his fingertips into the waistband of your panties, which were nothing more than a thin piece of white lace. He let out a sweet moan as he slowly pulled them off of you, inch by inch, revealing the smooth skin and the wet folds of your pussy.
You blushed as you watched him rub the lace between his fingers, and a thoughtful look came over his handsome face as he said.
"They're wet, darling." He finally said it in a sarcastic tone, his lips curling into a disgusted grin. "You really are a whore, aren't you? You walk around in wet panties and have depraved thoughts, and no less so than about a person who wears holy garments." Despite the roughness and harshness of his words, you could still see the mischievous gleam in his eyes. He tucked your panties into his trouser pocket.
"It's really pathetic, isn't it?" His tongue flicked over his plump lower lip until it was glistening with saliva, and a quick glance down at his crotch showed that he was hard. "You are so lucky that I am here to help you rid yourself of all the sins that you have committed, my child."
The humiliating nature of the situation was turning you on far more than you were prepared to admit. Your clit was throbbing with pain, so intense that it was beginning to distract you, and your thoughts were constantly wandering off in a thick, lustful haze.
"Show me how you touch yourself at night when you are alone with all those sordid thoughts. I want to see you give yourself over to sin." Wooyoung ordered you as he leaned back in his seat and crossed his arms over his chest in a casual manner. It was impossible to ignore his erection in this position, and your mouth fell open a little when you noticed just how massive the bulge was.
"Y-yes, sir." You whispered. Your mind was spinning with lust as you parted your legs slightly for easier access, your hand hesitantly touching the warm, soft flesh of your inner thighs, shuddering as you discovered the abundance of your juices running down it.
"Keep going, darling. Don't be shy." In response to his words, your fingers touched your neglected, throbbing clit, spreading a sticky, warm wetness and massaging it in slow, firm circles. You whimpered softly, partly from pleasure and partly from the thick humiliation that was blooming in your throat, to which Wooyoung only gave a wicked grin.
"Come on, we both know that you can do it better than that." He reproached you. "I'd like to see you fuck yourself, darling."
You swallowed hard and hesitantly let your fingers slide between the wet folds of your pussy. Your behaviour was beginning to irritate Wooyoung, and all the playfulness was gone in an instant, and a venomous bitterness appeared in his voice. With the silver of his rings digging uncomfortably into your skin, he reached out and wrapped his fingers around your wrist. His gaze was as intent and as dark as the night, and you shivered at the sight.
"Didn't you hear what I said? I said, fuck yourself."
It was such a rude and vulgar thing to say, especially coming from someone who was a priest, and it took your breath away. In obedience to his command, you immediately slid two fingers through the soft, wet folds and into your cunt. You let out a long moan as you felt your silky walls stretch around your fingers, and, trying to get more of the feeling, you began to move them back and forth. Trying desperately to keep your balance in this awkward position, your knees were getting weaker by the second, and you could feel yourself starting to orgasm.
"You don't expect me to believe that your slutty little cunt can only hold two fingers, do you?" Wooyoung mocked him, biting down on his plump lower lip with her perfect set of teeth. 
Gritting your teeth against the invasion, you sighed heavily and added another finger. The soft walls of your vagina squeezed your fingers like a velvet vice with every move you made. You squeezed your eyes shut, trying to push away the shame that was quickly engulfing you like the flames of hell. The wet, squelching sound of your fingers moving in and out of your pussy was nothing short of vulgar.
"Harder, show me all of it." Wooyoung's sharp command came out, and you did your best to obey, curling your fingers and rubbing them roughly against the small, spongy bundle of nerves inside you. You were breathing heavily, your forehead and neck glistening with sweat, and your lips red and swollen when Wooyoung finally told you to stop. It was cruel, the way he waited patiently and calculatedly until you were about to come, only to deny you, but you couldn't bring yourself to complain; it was your punishment after all.
Your fingers picked up the glistening wetness that flowed from your cunt, and as you looked at Wooyoung, you brought it to your mouth and wrapped your lips around your fingers, licking it and sucking every last drop of it.
He rose sharply from where he sat, shading you and towering over you like the very embodiment of God—or the Devil? Wooyoung wiped away the beads of sweat that had formed on your hairline, with a look of genuine affection on his handsome face. This tenderness did not last for long, however, and after a few seconds, he was back in his unrelenting position of authority.
"On your knees, dear." You did so without hesitation, your knees immediately touching the faded and discoloured velour.
"Look at you, stripped of all your dignity, on your knees, writhing in despair, like a bitch in heat. Aren't you a sight to see?"
You blinked slowly, looking up at him with a fawn's wide-eyed innocence, squeezing your legs together as another wave of excitement surged from your needy cunt. Wooyoung taunted you; there was no way he would show you mercy—you could see it in his eyes as he looked at you coldly, his pretty mouth pressed into a thin line.
"You have no pride, my dear, but you must still do penance for that, to be sure you will have forgiveness for that too." He lifted one foot and placed it on the seat of the bench, presenting you with a polished, expensive-looking shoe. "Clean it for me. With your mouth, my dear."
You raised an eyebrow at Wooyoung but didn't argue, for fear that he would punish you more severely and in more subtle ways if you didn't comply. His boot looked clean enough; not a single scuff could be seen on the shiny leather, and as you moved closer to the bench, you ran the tip of your tongue along the leather in an experimental way. It didn't taste like much, which was a relief to your anxiety, and soon you were flattening your tongue and licking the hard material as if your life depended on it.
"Good girl." He cooed, but there was very little in the way of kindness in that reassurance. As if you were nothing more than a pet, his hand stroked your hair. You were relieved when Wooyoung pulled away and removed his foot from the bench, shuddering at the thought of all the dirt you were putting in your mouth.
"Look at me, my darling."
Your eyes fell on the large bulge at the front of his dark, neatly pressed trousers, and you moved away from the bench so that you were now level with his crotch. A beam of red light shone through the stained glass behind him, reflecting off the black stone of his ring as Wooyoung ran his fingers over his belt. As he slowly unbuckled the belt, the church was silent, except for the faint jingle of the metal buckle. Your gaze lingered for a moment on the image of the Virgin Mary that stood in the corner of the church. Was there judgement in her eyes? Was there a sense of disgust? Her face was as divinely serene as ever, and you couldn't tell.
Too handsome to be a saint, he bowed his head towards you, long strands of black hair falling down to frame his face. Wooyoung unzipped his trousers, taking a moment for a lewd touch of his bulge before pulling out his hard cock. The head of his cock was wet and turgid; a thick drop of pre-cum rolled down its length, and you wanted to follow its movement with your tongue.
"What do you crave, huh?" He asked, hissing as his hand slid up and down the length of his thick cock.
"Do you crave something that can't be satisfied?" His words flowed in a rhythmic flow, and his tone was so soft that you could almost swear that he was singing to you. It was the voice of an angel that was calling out to you. "Do you take all that they give you, only to find that you're still starving to death?" You bobbed your head up and down, desperate and needy, and parted your lips as he rubbed the head over your lips, staining them with pre-cum, making them slick and shiny. You were giddy, stunned by the pure, erotic beauty of this man, this stranger, whom you had so willingly allowed to pollute you in this house of God.
"You're a greedy little animal, aren't you?" Wooyoung taunted you with a throaty grunt as he slapped his cock against your cheek. You kept your hands on your hips, waiting obediently for further instructions. You grew more and more restless by the second, not having his dick in your mouth or in your hand.
God, you were one hungry little thing, you really were.
From where you were on your knees, he looked ethereal, his full lips moulded into a perfect, sensual shape. It was fascinating to watch such a man let himself fall apart like that, his chest rising and falling and sweat forming on his forehead as he moved his hand over his thick cock.
He let out a low, guttural moan as he picked up the pace and came closer and closer to the edge, throwing his head back towards the vaulted ceiling. You were so turned on that you were sure your juices were already dripping onto the carpet beneath you, forming a small puddle, a dirty declaration of your desire. The unpleasant throbbing of your cunt only intensified as you witnessed Wooyoung's approach to orgasm, his breathing choked and ragged.
He looked down at you and licked his luscious, almost sinful, lips.
"Open your mouth, dear." As if you knew he wanted it, you parted your jaw and lowered your head to his cock. Wooyoung jerked his cock a few more times before he released a silky stream of hot, salty cum into your open mouth, an animalistic roar of pleasure escaping from his lips like music. "Don't even have a thought about swallowing."
You felt the thick stream of his cum begin to flow down your tongue and into the depths of your throat, but you ignored the instinctive urge to swallow. Wooyoung pulled his trousers back on, buckled his belt around his waist, and sat back down on the bench with a cold indifference. There was not a single trace left of the erotic image that you had seen just a minute ago.
He patted his muscular, thick thighs and looked at you defiantly, and you obediently walked over to him and sat down on his lap.
His warm thigh pressed against your cunt without pity as soon as you sat down, and you pressed against him desperately in pursuit of the pleasure he hadn't allowed you to have yet. At the same time, Wooyoung slapped your bare bottom with the palm of his hand.
"You have been impertinent to me, which means you have an anger that makes you want to sin. And that is one of my favourite sins, my dear. Wooyoung said as he put his hands on your hips to stop you from squirming on his leg. "To see all the terrible things people can do just because of a little anger is both fascinating and funny."
He lifted you slightly and placed you on his lap. You obeyed him without saying a word. He manipulated you like a doll, positioning you so that you were completely on top of him, your long hair falling in your face and your head tilted forward. You clenched your jaw as hard as you could, terrified of what would happen if you let a single drop of his sperm come out of your mouth. You winced and whimpered as he wedged his knee between your legs again, his hand brushing the tender junction of your ass and thigh.
"I can feel the rage burning deep inside you, my child." Wooyoung held your hands behind your back as he restrained you, tears welling in your eyes. He used his other hand to press down on your lower back and used his knee to press down on your wet cunt. You let out a scream, the piercing sound muffled by your closed lips. The texture of his cum seemed to get thicker the longer it remained on your tongue, and you had to clench your jaw tighter, praying that nothing would accidentally drip out. You couldn't afford to be disgusted by how bitter and cold it had become, coating your mouth with every slight movement you made.
"Isn't that so? Answer me, dear." He growled as he began to massage your ass so hard that you could feel his nails digging into your soft skin.
All you could manage was a pitiful "mmmm.".
"Angry, naughty girl." He said, his voice full of fake sympathy as he ran his fingertips along your thighs in preparation for what was to come. "We can't let this pass unnoticed, can we? You need to repent."
Without warning, he slapped your ass so hard you almost forgot the cum in your mouth. Your body jerked forward before he caught you and brought you back. He didn't give you any time to recover from the blow, as he landed a second one on the opposite side of your ass. Your eyes welled up with tears and concentration as you struggled to keep your mouth shut. Tears started streaming from your eyes down your flushed, hot cheeks as he hit you again with even more sadistic aggression than the first two times. Wooyoung continued his merciless assault, each blow harder than the last, until he landed a particularly hard blow that you were sure would leave a bloody handprint on your skin. The force of the blow was almost enough to bring you to a scream, and for a moment, your lips parted. A small stream of cum ran from the corner of your mouth and down the side of your chin.
You hoped that he hadn't noticed, but you realised that you were out of luck when he let go of your wrists and took a firm grip of your hair instead. As he leaned down to speak roughly into your ear, he dug his nails into the battered, red skin of your ass as he pulled your head back.
"I will have no choice but to extend your punishment if you make a mess, my dear." When he warned you, Wooyoung's voice was deep and quietly ominous, like the ocean on the brink of a storm. He waited for a nod of understanding from you before he let go of your hair and returned to his previous position, running the palm of his hand lovingly over the swollen expanse of your ass.
You closed your eyes and took deep, slow breaths as Wooyoung spanked you over and over again without stopping. You would probably have enjoyed the spanking if it hadn't been for the added responsibility of holding a tonne of cum in your mouthYou s you squirm under his touch. His knee was still pressed relentlessly against your cunt, and his trousers were no doubt slippery from your excitement, the friction sending jolts of pleasure through your body every time you jerked in response to another loud slap against your skin. The sound was almost deafening, echoing off the walls of the old church in a dull echo.
Your punishment turned Wooyoung on once more, his hard cock pressed against the side of your body.
"It's turning you on, you little bitch." The tone of his voice would have been venomous, but it still remained angelic in some way. "I shouldn't be surprised about that. It doesn't matter what kind of touch you have, is it? You're such a needy slut that even the most innocent of touches makes your cunt wet." He ran his fingers through the tangled hair at the back of your head and let out a mocking chuckle. "You can swallow now, darling."
You swallow the cold, sticky cum, gasping in relief as it slides down your throat, immediately following his request. You could still taste it on the inside of your mouth, a faint hint of savoury sweetness tickling your taste buds. After he had spent a few seconds stroking your battered bottom in gentle, soothing movements, he grabbed hold of your sides and lifted you up until you were back in a sitting position on the edge of his lap. For the second time that night, he unbuckled his belt, sliding his trousers and boxer shorts halfway down his hips and freeing his thick cock.
Your stomach churned at the sight of Wooyoung's big, thick cock, but you knew better than to give in to your dark desires. All you could think about was how much you wanted to feel it—to run your hand along its veiny member, to curl your lips around its warm, velvety length, to jump on it and take it so deep into your cunt until you were sure you could feel it deep inside your belly. Wooyoung was absolutely right: you didn't care how he touched you at all. You were longing to feel his touch in any way that was possible.
"Pampered little sluts like you are always too used to being given everything they want without having to lift a finger to get it." He said this as he used his thumb to massage the wet head of his cock. He lifted you up and guided you to straddle him, his hands gripping the soft curves of your hips. Your breath caught; you were so close to your desire that you could almost taste it on your tongue.
"Is that what you wanted, darling?" Wooyoung hummed sweetly as he wrapped his long fingers around your wrist and pressed your hand down onto his cock. Instinctively, you grabbed hold of it, sinking your teeth into your lower lip as you ran your fingers along the prominent veins that adorned the length of his cock.
"Yeah, Holy Father." You said it breathlessly. "God, yes. This is what I have been craving so much."
"You little whore, you ought to know better than to take the name of the Lord in vain in the presence of a priest." Wooyoung teased, and you could feel his hot, cinnamon-scented breath on the back of your neck. The pleasure rippled through your body.
"Please, Wooyoung, please, I want to repent." You came close to whimpering. Your hips jerked in Wooyoung's tight grip in search of some kind of relief, and he reached forward to hold you tightly.
"You must try harder, darling. I want to see you try to repent." He placed his hands on either side of you, and the corners of his sensual lips curled up slightly into a wicked grin as he leaned back against the bench and looked at you from under his half-closed eyelids. You leaned forward and held his cock upright by the base. Sitting up, you rubbed the flushed head along your soft, wet folds, pushing it past your entrance and stretching the small hole with his thick, hot cock. Your heart pounded in your chest, pounding against your ribs as you slid on top of him all at once. At the obviously intense pain of his thickness stretching your narrow, silky walls, tears streamed from your eyes.
"Dear Lord." You let out a loud moan and rolled your eyes back as he suddenly filled you to the brim. Wooyoung didn't move, maintaining a majestic coolness, but you could see him sucking his plump lower lip into his mouth when he could feel your pussy enveloping him, a soft hiss coming from the back of his throat.
"That's it, my darling." He praised you, not being able to control himself, and he began to knead your plump tits in his hands. You squealed and barely moved your hips, still trying to get used to the idea of having something so massive and so hot inside of you. "I want you to fuck yourself on my dick. Can you do that for me like a good girl?" he asked.
"Yeah, Holy Father." You replied breathlessly. You leaned over Wooyoung's shoulder and grabbed hold of the edge of the bench with both hands to prop yourself up. As you began to move slowly, up and down on his cock, Wooyoung pressed his mouth to your sensitive nipple and ran his tongue over it.
You were starting to sweat, but you continued to fuck yourself as ordered, gaining momentum with each thrust of your hips.
The lewd sound of skin slapping against skin echoed through the empty church and mingled with the muffled, lascivious moans that escaped from your throat. You had never experienced ecstasy like this before, and you were not sure if you would ever be able to experience it again. You were insatiable, moving your hips in an almost painfully hard rhythm, your knuckles white from the force of your grip on the bench. The head of Wooyoung's cock reached your cervix, and you saw stars, unable to think of anything else but your inevitable orgasm and the devilishly beautiful man beneath you.
"Fuck, oh, fuck, Wooyoung, please..." You screamed out the words in an incoherent manner, completely consumed by the intense pleasure you were feeling. Wooyoung was a lot less eloquent than you and tried to control himself, but it was obvious that he was going crazy as well, judging by how hard he was pressing down on you. You could be sure that the marks that his hands had left on your body would be there for a long time to come.
He growled as he lifted his hips up towards you, and streams of tears began to run down your cheeks with renewed force. It hurt, but you loved the pain, you craved it, and you knew you wouldn't be able to forget it for weeks and weeks.
"I'm so close... oh fuck, I'm... I'm..." You let out a loud moan and threw your head back.
With that, he pushed you away from him with such force that you fell off his lap, your ass touching the cold velour carpet, his cock coming out of you just as you were about to come. You sobbed pitifully and looked up at Wooyoung with your eyes wide and glassy as he rose to his feet, his cock glistening with the wetness of your cunt.
"I don't think you're sincere enough in repenting; you're still full of sin, full of forbidden and dark desires, my dear." Wooyoung said it in a dismissive manner as he looked down at you. He leaned down and ran his long fingers through your hair, pulling you up until you were kneeling. "I know what you want, negligible girl. You want to cum. But unfortunately for you, today I'm the only one who can do it."
He mocked you, taking pleasure in the look of misery on your face as he forced your mouth open. He then shoved his cock into your mouth, letting you taste the arousal of your own as it covered him, and without any warning at all,, he began to fuck you in the face at a fast, merciless pace. Gagging on his cock and taking shallow breaths through your nose as he pushed down your throat, using your hair as a rein to guide your head, there was nothing you could do but take what was given to you. You felt his cock twitch, and then your nose was pressed against the smooth, hot skin of his pelvis, one hand holding you in place as warm ropes of cum shot down your throat. He released you and threw you on your side like a rag doll when he was sure you had drunk every last drop.
Too humiliated to look into the eyes of the gorgeous man who had brought you to this state, you began to sob, pulling your knees to your chest. There was no more holiness in Wooyoung than there was in the devil himself. Like the wolf in sheep's clothing, he wore a robe. At the moment, you were nothing more than a whimpering mess, bruised and humiliated, with a sore throat and trembling lips.
And yet somehow your cunt was throbbing and leaking, desperate for filling.
"Please, Wooyoung..." As the words left your lips, you felt numb and didn't even know how you could speak. "Please."
From where he was standing, he looked sinfully delicious, towering over you like a fallen angel dressed in black and sin as you lay on the floor, and you watched in disappointment as he tucked his dick back into his trousers. With what little strength you had left, you tugged at the hem of his trouser leg, and he tilted his head questioningly, a sensual smile crossing his plump lips at the sight of your hopeless state.
"Please. I don't know what you want me to repent for, but please.... Just... please. I'll do anything for you. Wooyoung..." You were on your knees, pressing your cheek against his thigh like a cat begging for food.
"What do you want, my child?" He asked in a voice that was patronising and majestic. He gently stroked your cheek with his thumb, wiping away some of the tears that had partially dried as he did so. "Wasn't that enough for you? Isn't it enough that my cock fills your mouth and your cunt? Are you going to ask me for more when I have already given you so much?"
You lowered your eyes in shame.
He grabbed you roughly by the shoulder and jerked you to your feet, throwing you onto the bench as he did so. Wooyoung licked his lips as he admired the sight of your naked body as it lay on the wooden bench, the angry red marks on your skin, and the blackened bruises that adorned your thighs.
"Do you want to cum? Is that what you want, you little slut?" Wooyoung asked you as he dropped to his knees and spread your thighs wide open. When you didn't answer, he smacked you hard on the inside of your thigh. "Answer me, bitch."
"Oh my God." You sighed, melting at the teasing sensation of the cold air of the wind on your hot and needy cunt as he spoke. "Y-yes Holy Father. That is what I want."
"Isn't it?" Wooyoung purred, holding your hips in place so that they would remain open for his pleasure. "I will be gracious to you, because that is what God commands us to be."
Suddenly, he lowered himself forward and buried his gorgeous face in your pussy, stroking vigorously between the folds of your pussy and collecting your sticky secretions on his tongue. You moaned wildly, one hand tangled in his black silk hair, reflexively rubbing your pussy all over his face. He wrapped his plump lips around your clit, sucking just enough to leave you stunned, and ran his tongue between your soft folds, swollen from his previous actions. Squirming helplessly under his ministrations, you cried out as he let go of one of your hips and slipped two long fingers inside you.
It was brutal—the way he moved his fingers inside you in a merciless way, his mouth working fervently over your clit. The edges of your vision became blurred, and soon you could feel the walls of your pussy beginning to contract, a sign that your climax was nearing.
"I... I... damn!" He flicked your head once more with the tip of his tongue, and then you came, throwing your head back in euphoria as you were consumed by your orgasm. Your cunt vibrated as Wooyoung laughed mockingly, and it was then that the whole situation became clear to you: you had been fucked, well and truly. He wasn't going to let you breathe; instead, he continued to play with your throbbing clit, a third finger thrusting into you with a dirty, lewd slurp.
"This is too much..." You whimpered as his tongue moved quickly around your sensitive clit, and his fingers spread you lightly as they went. You had no choice but to accept what he was giving you—the pleasure coursing through you so strongly that it became unbearable—but you were sure that was what he wanted—to punish you with what you craved so much.
He ran his fingers inside of you, guiding them so that they hit the deepest places that no one else had ever been able to reach. He twisted and turned them, brushing against something that was spongy and sensitive, and for a moment all you could see was white as you came for the second time. Just as you had feared, Wooyoung had no intention of stopping; now he was sucking on your clit with such passion that you could barely move, and you fell limply to the back of the bench, your legs twitching under his tight grip. He continued to push his fingers deep into you, your body shuddering weakly each time the tips of his fingers made contact with your cervix.
"Wooyoung, please stop." You begged, but all he did was laugh maliciously and spread his fingers out inside of you, stretching you even further. He pulled away from your clit with a loud pop, and you were on the verge of a sigh of relief until he removed his fingers from your core and replaced them with his sinful lips.
"N-no, that's too much, please!" Now you were sobbing openly as he lowered his head to lick the stripes between your folds, his thumb circling your defenceless clit, his long silken hair tickling the sore skin on your inner thighs.
Wooyoung sucked one of your labia into his mouth before he pushed himself deeper into your entrance and began to fuck you with his skilled, long tongue. You felt the familiar tightness in your stomach once more, and the muscles in your thighs clenched as he pinched your clit with two fingers. The coil in your stomach snapped without warning, and then you came, but this time everything was different: a wave of clear liquid burst from your overstimulated cunt and soaked Wooyoung's face and the front of his perfect shirt.
Eventually, he pulled himself away, his lips curling into a wicked grin as he looked down at the mess that you had made.
"You filthy little thing." He laughed as he wiped his mouth with the back of his sleeve and licked his wet fingers at the mess. "So, what do you think? Have you come to understand how you can repent of your sins?"
"Y-yes, Holy Father." You said you were clenching your legs in a protective manner in case he decided to go for another round.
"Good." He rose to his feet again, looking just as untouched as he had been the first time you had seen him, except for his hair, which was slightly dishevelled.
Your whole body was aching, from your sore ass to your swollen cunt, from your hips to your back. You were sure that for the next few weeks, Wooyoung would be the only thing on your mind.    "I will be waiting for your return, my child. I need to be sure that you have understood the righteous path and that you are living without sin. Do you understand me, dear?"
"Yes, Wooyoung, I am definitely going to come back to confess."
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angelsleepinggurl · 2 months ago
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𝙞 𝙬𝙞𝙨𝙝 𝙞 𝙬𝙖𝙨 𝙮𝙤𝙪𝙧 𝙜𝙞𝙧𝙡
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𝐒𝐘𝐍𝐎𝐏𝐒𝐈𝐒. stepping into your early twenties you move to live on your own. A couple months later you're surprised when family man Miguel O'Hara moves next door. How do you manage to get this sex symbol into your sheets?
wc . 7,625
tags . miguel o hara x reader.miguel o hara x reader smut. all characters are 18+ years old. alternative au. non spiderman au. family man Miguel. dad Miguel. husband Miguel. swearing, cunnilingus, praise kink, blowjobs, phone sex, masturbation, shower sex, squirting. age gap. 18+ mdni!
.⭒☆━━━✰━━━☆⭒.⭒☆━━━✰━━━☆⭒.⭒☆
ᴺᴼᵂ ᴾᴸᴬᵞᴵᴺᴳ : your girl by lana del rey
0:57 ————|——— -2:10
° . ๑・° ⊹ . + ° . ๑・° ⊹ . + ° . ๑・° ⊹ . + + ° . ๑・° ⊹ . + ° . ๑・° ⊹ . +
June 21st
You remember it clear as day. June 21st when they moved in. You’d just come back from practice and you were about to head downstairs to check for any mail when you saw it go down. The moving van pulled onto the street, tailed by a red family-sized car. Curiously you peer out of your bedroom window. Out stepped a tan middle-aged woman in a floral sun dress and a woven hat. A girl with her hair in pigtails and a lollipop in her sticky little hands. Then came him.
Him in all his beautiful glory. Him in his staggering height and muscular frame. His hair dark, curly, unruly falls against his well-defined cheekbones and, further highlighting his strong jawline. Just his appearance alone has put you in a trance, you’re glued to your window and you daren’t leave until he disappears from your sight. Even the way in which he moves speaks volumes about the silent authority that he carries.
July 1st
Temperatures rise gradually, and clothes get skimpier, at least yours do. But it’s all part of your plan. With a couple of failed attempts at making cookies, you’d finally nailed it, once your friend did it for you. You arrange them neatly on a plate, trying to ignore the little voice in your head that questions your motives. But you’ve already decided, and there is no turning back now. You let yourself in by opening his front gate, before closing it behind you, walking down the grassy lawn and in front of his door. The soft click of it closing behind you sounds like a finality as if crossing an invisible line.
You can feel your heart in your mouth. Tempering with a family man, you were up to no good, but you can’t help that you wanna have a little fun and see what you can do. A couple knocks on their door and you don’t wait long before the door opens, revealing the little girl and woman previously.
Fuck. Not who you wanted to see.
“Hi.” you greet cheerfully, hiding your disappointment behind a friendly facade. “I’ve noticed you guys have moved in next door, I’m Y/N and I wanted to give you these cookies as a welcome gift.” The woman smiles a warm smile in gratefulness and her child seems to be eagerly staring the plate of goodies down.
“Thank you so much, I really appreciate this, It’s so nice to see a friendly face out here.” she chuckles, pulling her child’s head close to her and stroking her dark hair.
You nod, your smile widening as you make small talk, though your mind is still on him. “It’s hard to get these guys to open up, takes a while, but I didn’t want y’all to have a bad impression of the area and I'm sure you’ll all love it here. Especially you.” you say, pointing to the child, who shyly turns away from you.
“Gabriel saluda a la simpática dama.” her mother gently prompts her and the little girl mutters a quiet welcome. For a brief moment, guilt twists in your stomach. This woman, her child—they’re kind and welcoming, and they see you as nothing more than a friendly neighbour. But the guilt is fleeting, replaced by a sense of determination. He’s set, devoted, maybe—but how devoted?
“She’s so precious.” you coo.
Sure, part of you feels bad, the man has a wife and a kid. He’s set and devoted, but you want to test the waters and see how devoted he is. So when they invite you to a barbeque night for the 4th, you seize your chance. Because while part of you knows this might be wrong, another part of you is already imagining what might happen if he looks at you just a little too long, if his smile lingers just a little too much.
The game has begun, and you’re ready to see just how far you can push it.
4th July.
The day tumbles into night dragging along its excitement and heat of the sun-soaked hours before into the darkening, night. Dense smoke from the barbecue rises slowly, curling and rolling into the night sky, wrapping itself around the gathering like a veil. It’s almost as if a hazy filter has been cast over the whole series of event, from the moment you step foot into their garden to the moment he offers you a drink. You can feel it—this strange, heady mix of anticipation and tension His significantly larger hand over the cool glass bottle, mimicking your cold sweat.
You take the drink from him, swinging it to your lips, feeling some of it trickle past your mouth and down your chin. A practised thumb swipes over it as your eyes reunite with his. “Thanks for introducing yourself to my wife. ” he thanks you, breaking the silence between the both of you- finally. “She really appreciates it and she’s glad you pointed out places for our Gabriel to play.” he finishes, eyes pulling away from the distance and back down to you.
“It’s nothing, don’t think anything of it.” now it’s your turn to look off into the distance, soaking in the scenery of others gathered near the table of roasted food. Their laughter mingling with the music that drifts from the speakers filling up the night. You’re unsure of when, but there is an eager flame dancing in a corner, adding a subconscious thrill to this gathering. The couple seem to have invited friends and family members and you start to feel a little out of place, like a fish out of water.
“Didn’t catch you name by the way?” he asks, widening his current stance, flexible in the subconscious hierarchy.
“Y/N, Y/N L/N.”
“Well, Y/N, you’re always welcome here, drop by if you need anything, we’d love seeing your face around.” perhaps it’s pure delusion or mere obsession with fantasy, but the tonality of his voice is hinting towards something. Towards something deeper and secretive than what the world has to know. Before you can thank him for his kind gesture, you’re interrupted by Gabriel running towards her father screaming “Daddy!”, and hugging his leg fondly.
Of course. You remember your place in this scenario. You’re simply their neighbour, nothing more, nothing less. You see it in his eyes as he bends down to pick up his daughter, his expression softening as he sways with her in his arms. He apologises to you, saying he has to leave for a moment. And you're alone again, placing the bottle to your lips once more.
And your heart shifts uncomfortably when the couple stands together to make an announcement, his arm wrapped around her waist comfortably,of course. As if she belongs there, and she does. You see where you stand in this.
10th July
You like to keep yourself busy when you aren’t drowned in school work, practising or doing your
part-time job and you accomplish that by journeys to the club with your friend, never intending to stay long or do anything of an impact, so this night when a new fellow accompanies you back home, you’re left with the tough decision of rejecting his advances.
“I’ve got a busy day tomorrow. “ you explain, leaning against your car, not entertaining his attempts.
“Well I can be quick baby, in and out.” he pleads, his voice slurring slightly as he leans closer, his hand resting on the hood of your car. The stench of alcohol clings to him, and you can tell by the way he’s using your car as a crutch that he’s far too intoxicated to be thinking straight. You sigh inwardly, already knowing this is going nowhere.
“I don’t like sloppy hurried work, I’d want for you to take care with me.” You explain, glancing at your nails bored, waiting for him to tire himself out and head home, so you can head to bed.
“I won’t be sloppy baby, promiseee.” he whines, his voice taking on a childlike quality that makes your skin crawl. The desperation in his tone only solidifies your resolve. This is exactly why you’re drawn to older men—men who know what they want and don’t need to beg or plead for attention. Men like him.
Almost as if on cue, out walks the man, his hair failing in front of his fair, this time much more unkept and messier than usual. Curious eyes observe his frame hidden under the loose-fitting shirt he’s wearing. The sound of the guy next to you complaining and begging again perks his attention and when he lifts his head to peak at the commotion he makes eye contact with you. There’s a certain satisfaction in knowing that he’s seen you, that he’s aware of your presence even in this awkward situation. your focus is elsewhere now, on the man who just drove away, leaving you with a lingering sense of longing. The night suddenly feels colder, and emptier, as you watch his taillights disappear into the distance.
23rd July
Blue skies overhead and the sun pressing down on you heavily, aggressively biting into your skin. The sun beats down relentlessly, turning your skin warm to the touch and making the air shimmer with heat. Your friends and you have hosted a pool party, to cool off and catch up. So you’re wearing your strappy swimsuit when you realise that your hose won’t turn or budge. You try with all your might but to no avail. No matter how much you twist and pull, the stubborn thing won’t budge. You put your full weight into it, your muscles straining as you give it another try, but it’s no use. The hose refuses to cooperate. Only one thing left to do.
You find yourself in front of your neighbours’ door, this time in a two piece piece swimsuit, that seems to hug you in all the right places, and the colour makes your features pop even more. You spend a couple of quick seconds adjusting the fabric only your body as finalising touches and fixing your hair, before lightly knocking on the door. It doesn’t take long before the door swings open wide, revealing a shirtless Miguel.
Bingo.
His broad chest glistens slightly with a sheen of sweat, and for a moment, you lose your train of thought. You flash a charming smile, “Hey, I’m sorry to bother you, but I was wondering if you could help with my hose?” you ask, your voice sweet and innocent, leaving the question hanging in the air. You can see the moment he registers your outfit, his eyes widening slightly before they travel slowly over your body, taking in every detail. It takes him a few seconds to pull his gaze back up to your eyes, and when he does, he leans casually against the doorframe, trying to play it cool.
“What hose?” he asks, his voice a little rougher than usual.
“The hose in my backyard,” you explain, your tone light. “I need it to fill up my pool.”
“Your pool huh?” his eyes keep drifting all over, he’s clearly distracted and your plan is set in motion.
“Yeah,” you continue, feigning a bit of helplessness. “I’m having a pool party with my friends, but I can’t seem to get the hose to turn on.” You pout slightly, batting your lashes at him, hoping to nudge him into coming over, even if it’s just for a few minutes.
“I can help you turn it on.”
“Great!” you exclaim, clapping your hands together, a smile on your face. You lead him to your back garden and the short journey there is filled with silence. He makes his way over the knob of the hose, effortlessly twisting it successfully, however, no water comes out.
“Oh no. Is the water broken?” you ask, lightly shaking the hose in hopes of getting a trickle of water to emerge.
“It probably needs a minute.” he explains, staring at the green hose in your hands in anticipation. The two of you wait the minute, patiently waiting for any spurts of water, but nothing.
“I guess, my water system’s broke. I’ll just call the-”
“I can help you. It’ll only take a minute, it may just be a connection issue, no need to ring them up.”
“Really? Thank you.” you gasp, ecstatic. You exaggerate your relief, letting it show in your eyes, hoping to make yourself seem more appealing, more in need of his help. Now, he’s in your territory, your domain, and you’re determined to make the most of it.
He nods and asks you to lead him to your kitchen sink. He crouches down on the ground and opens the cupboards, hands going into the darkness searching for something.
“Can I get you a drink or something?” you ask him casually, but he refuses, saying he’ll be in and out. To your disappointment. But even as he works, you can’t help but notice the little things—the way his brow furrows in concentration, the way his fingers move with precision as he checks the pipes.
Minutes pass, and though you try to make small talk, he remains focused, determined to fix the problem. Finally, after what feels like an eternity, he emerges from beneath the sink, wiping his hands on a rag.
“There, that should do it,” he says, standing up and giving you a satisfied grin.
You walk back outside with him, feeling a little defeated, but as he tests the hose one more time, water suddenly gushes out, splashing onto the ground with a force that catches you off guard. You can’t help but laugh in surprise, the sound is bright and genuine.
“Well, I guess I owe you one,” you say, turning to him with a playful smile.
He chuckles, shaking his head. “Don’t worry about it. Just doing my job as a good neighbor.”
But there’s something in the way he says it, in the lingering look he gives you, that makes you think this might not be the last time you find yourself needing his help.
2nd August
The days stretch on, each one hotter than the last, as the relentless sun beats down from a sky that’s perpetually clear, leaving the air thick with humidity. The heat has sapped the energy out of most people, turning every movement into an effort and leaving them sluggish, sticky, and desperate for relief. Miguel, too, feels the weight of the summer pressing down on him, the heat wrapping around him like a heavy blanket as he decides to spend his afternoon lounging on the chair in front of his house.
He’s settled in with a cold beer, the bottle sweating in his grip as he takes a long, slow sip, savouring the coolness against his lips. The golden sunlight bathes his skin, and for a moment, he lets himself relax, trying to enjoy the simple pleasure of the day. He’s asked his family to give him some space, just an hour or so to himself, away from the noise and the demands of the household. But even as he reclines back, sunglasses shielding his eyes from the harsh glare of the sun, he can’t seem to shake the feeling of restlessness that’s creeping in.
The heat is relentless, and the boredom is worse. The occasional car zips by, blasting music that fades as quickly as it comes, leaving him alone with the sound of his own thoughts and the distant hum of cicadas. Irritated, Miguel lifts his sunglasses, rubbing the bridge of his nose as if that might alleviate the discomfort. The overstimulation of the day—the brightness, the heat, the monotonous sounds—is getting to him, and he’s on the verge of retreating inside when something catches his eye.
His gaze drifts across the yard, past the sidewalk, and up to the window of the house next door—your window. His breath hitches slightly as he sees you there, your bedroom window wide open, allowing the summer breeze to flow in and caress your skin. You’re standing in the middle of the room, bathed in the golden light of the late afternoon, and you’re slowly, deliberately, peeling off your clothes. One item at a time.
Miguel’s grip on the beer bottle tightens as he watches, his heart beating a little faster. You’re completely unaware of his gaze, lost in your own world as you remove each piece of clothing with a languid, almost sensual grace. Your movements are slow, unhurried as if you’re savouring the act of shedding the layers, of freeing yourself from the constriction of fabric. Each piece falls to the floor in a soft heap, and with every discarded item, more of your skin is revealed, glowing in the warm light.
He’s hooked, his eyes fixed on you, unable to look away. There’s something hypnotic about the way you move, the way you seem to bask in the sunlight pouring through your window, your eyes closed in what looks like pure bliss. It’s as if you’re performing a private dance, one meant only for yourself, and yet here he is, captivated by every second of it. The way you twirl in front of the mirror, the sunlight catching on the curves of your body, makes his pulse quicken. He watches, entranced, as you take a moment to admire your reflection, your fingers trailing over your own skin, before you disappear from view, leaving him breathless.
For a moment, Miguel just sits there, his body tense, his mind racing. The image of you, so free, so unguarded, is burned into his memory, and he knows it’s something he’ll replay over and over again in his mind. He tries to shake it off, to convince himself that it was nothing, just a fleeting moment—but the truth is, he’s in awe. He can’t believe what he just saw, and yet he can’t let it go.
He refuses to lay back down, to pretend as if nothing happened. His heart is still pounding, his skin tingling with the remnants of the sun’s heat and something else, something far more dangerous. He sits up, wide-eyed, replaying the scene in his mind, letting it linger. There’s no escaping it now. The image of you bathed in sunlight, every movement deliberate and intoxicating, will haunt him. It’s a secret he’ll keep, a memory he’ll revisit again and again, long after the sun has set and the heat of the day has finally faded.
5th August
Adulting means spending heaps of money on things which you’d rather not, like new appliances. You start to wonder where the money goes after, and why so much of it goes too. Today is one of those days. After making a painful dent in your bank account on a new appliance, you finally pull into your driveway, the stifling heat inside your car practically cooking you alive. The summer sun has turned your vehicle into an oven, and as you open the door, a wave of heat rolls out, making the sweltering air outside almost feel cool in comparison.
With a sigh, you climb out, your body already slick with sweat. You circle to the passenger side, pulling open the door to retrieve the heavy cardboard box that holds your new purchase. The weight of it nearly sends you toppling over, and you grimace as you try to get a better grip. The box is bulky and awkward, the edges digging into your arms as you begin the slow, torturous journey to your front door.
Every step feels like a challenge as the heat presses down on you, sweat trickling down your back. You’re already dreading the short walk, and as you glance at the distance between your car and your front door, you can feel the sweat start to gather at your hairline, your muscles straining under the weight. With another heave, you start to shuffle forward, side-stepping to keep the box balanced, your arms already burning from the effort.
Just when you think you might have to drop the box and rest, a familiar gruff voice cuts through the oppressive heat.
“Need some help with that?”
You look up to see Miguel, your neighbour, stepping out of his car. His timing is impeccable as if he appeared just when you were about to collapse under the weight of the box.
“I saw you coming out and thought you might need a little help,” he says, his tone casual, but there's a hint of concern in his eyes as he takes in your struggle.
You can’t help but tease him a little, despite the sweat dripping down your face. “Why? Don’t you think I can do it on my own?”
He doesn’t seem to catch the playful tone in your voice, instead taking your words at face value. “No, it’s just that you’re bent over double and practically becoming best friends with the ground with how far down you’re crouching.”
“Ouch,” you reply with a mock wince.
“Sorry,” he says, though there’s a slight smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.
You chuckle, shaking your head. “I mean, if you don’t mind, I would appreciate the help.”
Without another word, Miguel steps forward and effortlessly lifts the box from your hands, making it look as light as a feather. You can’t help but feel a little envious of his strength as he carries it with ease toward your front door. You quickly rush ahead to open the door for him, grateful for the assistance.
“Where do you want this?” he asks as he steps inside, the cool air from the house hitting his face.
“Just on that countertop will do, thanks,” you reply, pointing to the kitchen.
Miguel sets the box down carefully, and before you can even think to ask, he’s already heading back to your car to grab the remaining items. He makes a couple more trips, hauling the heavy boxes as if they weigh nothing, and your mind can’t help but fawn over his effortless strength. There’s something undeniably attractive about the way he moves, the way his muscles flex as he carries each load inside without breaking a sweat.
With the last of the boxes shuffled onto the countertop, Miguel turns to leave, but you’re not quite ready to let him go just yet.
“Hey, would you like something to drink? It’s the least I can do to thank you,” you offer, flashing him a grateful smile.
He hesitates for a moment, but then he nods, a smile softening his features. “Sure, why not?”
You grab a couple of beers from the fridge, handing one to Miguel as the two of you make your way outside to the backyard. You find a spot on the steps, settling down side by side as he gulps down the cool drink, clearly appreciating the refreshment after the heavy lifting.
“You old enough to be having this beer?” Miguel asks, a smirk playing on his lips as he glances at you from the corner of his eye.
“It’s not mine,” you quickly explain, feeling a bit self-conscious under his gaze. “A friend left it over.”
He raises an eyebrow, clearly not buying your explanation entirely. “How old are you then?”
“Twenty,” you reply, your voice steady, though you can’t help but feel a bit exposed by the question.
“Right,” he says, his tone neutral, but you can sense the wheels turning in his mind.
The age gap between you is significant, but oddly enough, it doesn’t seem to bother him. Not at all. In fact, there’s a certain tension in the air, a silent understanding that something unspoken hangs between you both. The way he looks at you, the way he’s been lingering a little longer than necessary—there’s something there, something neither of you has acknowledged yet, but it’s growing stronger with every passing moment.
“You know,” he begins, his voice low and smooth, “you’re pretty resourceful, handling all this on your own. But if you ever need help again... you know where to find me.”
His words linger in the air, heavy with implication, and you feel a shiver run down your spine despite the lingering heat of the day.
“I’ll keep that in mind,” you reply, your voice soft, almost a whisper.
Miguel stands, his eyes never leaving yours as he steps away, but there’s a promise in his gaze, something unspoken that leaves you feeling warm and slightly breathless.
10th August
It’s late when he’s in your car round the corner of your street. The outside world is still- void of movement. The only two being existing are the both of you. Concealed under the inky blackness of the night, that its shade has to conceal. It's thrilling, almost like a sparkler on your touch, ready to crackle at any moment. The moonlight basks him nicely, highlighting his masculine and broody features, and capturing his captivating essence. His dark curls run past his deep eyes that call to you from the other side. His lips, which lick themselves with sin, are ready to taint yours too. You’re finding it harder and harder to contain yourself.
The lights of the streets, aligned perfectly, flicker and twinkle before you, igniting your motives even more. Even the distance between the both of you is electrifying, scared that one singular brush of a finger or shared gaze between each other would cause worlds to collide and collapse. His deep chuckle, fills the small car, snapping back into the present moment. It’s like your body has a mind of its own the way your fingers retract when he calls your name. This is dangerous territory. The scene set up for you is seductive and alluring.
“You got a boyfriend?” he asks you, his gaze ever so slowly rising from the edge of your car seat into your calling eyes, and he holds it. He freezes time by holding the connection.
“No.” you crack a smirk, your fingers playfully dancing on the centre console, keeping your tone light and flirty, your soft voice barely coming out above a whisper, drawing him in.
“Really? A girl like you doesn’t have one? That’s new.” he replies, looking ahead of him, the curls atop of his head tickling the roof of your car, further highlighting his enormous build.
“A girl like me? What does that mean?” Every sentence shared between the two of you is mere foreplay and the both of you know it. It’s sick. Every syllable spoken is dragged out slowly and stretched by rising smirks.
“You know, a pretty girl.” he’s smiling at your reaction, your failed attempt of muffling the smile spreading across your face and the heat rising through your core to your face.
You’re charmed, “You think I’m a pretty girl?” you ask, a twinkle in your eyes.
“Very.” he responds, the both of you staring at each other’s lips, imaging each other’s flavour and the way you both taste. Not a sound passes through the vehicle, it’s deadly silent, the only sound is the ringing of your own heartbeat in your head, a signal of your misbehaving.
“Well,” you start off, your voice as thick as honey, eyes latched unto his lips. “I’ve never had a older boyfriend before.”
“Oh yeah?” it is slow and reverberating when he says that.
“I bet he would treat me so good, and look after me real well. Don’t you?” you play with your lips between your teeth, biting and tugging playfully.
“I wouldn’t know. I’ve never had a younger girl under my care. But I assume, he’d treat you real good. Who ever he may be be.”
You hum, “How good? Tell me.”
“He’d make you feel things you’ve never felt before, make you see things you’ve never seen before, give you the attention you deserve.” his voice is low and grungy, he’s falling into your stick trap and you love it. You fail to realise the distance between the both of you diminishing, faces drawn closer and closer.
“Sounds good to me. Such a shame there isn’t a hunky older man to teach me these new things.” you’re whispering now. “Would you show me, Mr O’Hara?” The temptation. The beginning of his fall. You. Teasing him shamelessly in your car, you're displaying faux innocence, dripping in arousal. The use of the formality, ‘Mr O’Hara’ a name to which you’ve never referred him, flips the switch from within him.
Your lips crash unto his, finally bridging the distance between the both you. The kiss is fiery and hot, when your lips tangle with each other, breathing each other in, from the sheer desperation in the kiss. Sounds of lips smacking fill up the car very quickly, and the taste of faint liquor coats his lips, it's intoxicating and you’re reeling. His hand wastes no time cupping your face, holding you close to him. Finger’s nestle in his curly dark locks and the kiss deepens.
The only time the both of you separate is for air, gasping quickly as you pant for air, resting your forehead on his, and keeping him close by keeping your fingers interlocked in his hair.
“We shouldn’t be doing this.” he breathes out, refusing to look up at you, knowing he’ll fall for the trap again.
“I know but you know you want to. It feels so right, doesn’t it?” you’re breathless and your lips have darkened in colour slightly, appearing rosier and more tempting.
“Fuck kid, the things you do to me.” he groans and he dives in again.
17th August
“Ngh- fuck.” you’re crying out as he thrusts into you mercilessly, drilling you deeper and deeper into your sheets. You're writhing and wriggling under his weighted grasp, as he uses one firm hand to pin your wrists above your head. Hair clings to your face, as you’re worked up by the intense pleasure. Back arching off the mattress as one stroke out the other’s seems to hit you just right, causing an involuntary reaction. Miguel is living for this, his eyes trained on your every move and shift, his ears memorising every one of your whimpers and cries. He’s relentless.
“Being such a good girl f’ me y’know that?” he says, his curls in disarray from the strenuous act, clinging to his forehead, his abs glistening in the sheen layering of sweat, from his dedication to making you feel like heaven. “You look so pretty like this princesa. Tan bonita. “
You’re fevershingly rolling and grinding your hips against him, eager and desperate for a sweet release. “Hold on, patience,” he growls, focused on getting you to cream all over him regardless. He can picture it now, your trembling figure spewing out a hot burst of yours and his warm white cum, making a mess of yourself. The thought of it alone nearly sends him over the edge.
“’ M gonna come Miggy.” you mewl out, toes curling from the heightened anticipation. You’re dripping and drenched. It’s absolutely filthy. From the moment you invited them into your home and tolerated the incessant foreplay, you’ve been needy and begging to feel him, to get a piece of him. So the moment when those lace panties came off, the man was met with a glistening, slick cunt, which is now responsible for the soppy sounds filling up the room. The sounds of your arousal. He’d call you a bad girl, for thinking of him so naughtily to get your pussy so needy, but he isn’t as innocent either.
“I know baby, I know, just hold out f’me, kay.”
“Fuuuckk.” tears are running down your cheek when Miguel lifts up of your legs, placing it over his broad shoulders. Your head falls back in pure bliss.
“Looks like we got a dirty mouth on our case. You’re gonna have to open wide for me.” he instructs and like a puppet you obey, opening your mouth more waiting for his thick fingers to invade. You’re slobbering all over the shamelessly, making eye contact with him as he ruts into you. “What a messy girl, is this how you behave when you get fucked, hmm?” his movement and sharper and faster and your body is limp, mind fogged. You forget to respond to him, too dicked dumb to do so.
“I asked you a question, you’re gonna fucking answer, is this how you act when you get fucked? Huh, princess? Like a sloppy slut? Or is it just with me?” you nod lazily in response, still moaning over the fingers in your mouth. Your eyes go wide when you feel yourself tightening, your walls gummy hot walls clamping down on him harder. Miguel removes his fingers from your mouth and his hand from your wrists, freeing them, his hands slipping down to your hips.
You can’t even scream about about your close approach because he can feel it and it's fast coming.
“Wanna come Miggy. Wanna feel so good.”
“Want me to make you feel good? Wanna come.”
“Yes, please,please,please,please.” you’re screaming and chanting ‘please’ as you feel your high incoming, and arch your back even further.
“Cum baby, come all over.” you screw your eyes tight as the knot in your stomach finally breaks and you’re cumming. With a couple of thrusts, Miguel follows soon after, his groans and your moans mixing together in the room. His dick is coated in a creamy white, leaving a ring around his base. You’re twitching as you come down from your high, gasping and trying to catch your breath.
With a soft kiss on your forehead, he congratulates you, “Did so good baby.”
23rd August
Sounds of the conscient stream of water fill up the soundscape of the bathroom, hot water, rushing down your back as you’re pressed against the wall, bent over for Miguel and his thick cock. You’ve got no stable supports, and your fingers are slipping off the wet wall, as you try to grip anything for support. It was a mistake for you to drag him along with you into the shower. What were you thinking? Expecting for him to remain composed upon seeing you all when and soapy, no chance. That’s how you find yourself screaming out his name as he places his large hands on your hips, using them to pummel you.
Beirfely, you turn to look back at him. A man on a mission, focused on your ass jiggling repetitively, it was hypnotizing.
“Go slower, slower.” you plead, dreading cumming early, having all of this fade so fast. But of course, the man refuses to listen to you, instead speeding up. Your words are cut off when he reaches deep, feeling as if he’s brushing against your cervix. You drop your head, your mouth following and you scream silently, thanking the Lord above for this blessing of man. One of his hands runs up your back, his thumb slowly stroking it. Bouncing back on his dick, your hips push back every time he pushes in, making you go dizzy.
“Atta girl, just like that, you eager to come on my dick huh?” he says lowly. You’re biting your lip as you nod, that is all you can think about. Your back arches as he speeds up, clenching down on him, warm walls giving him a tight squeeze, making him drop his head back as he lets out a low guttural groan.
“Fuck you’re sexy. Think you can come for me?” Not much else is aid when after three more strokes you're crying out his name, sounding like a sweet melody in his ears.
24th August
“Nice and slow princess, you sure you can handle it?” you’re gargling around his thick cock as he pushes your head down, forcing you to take him all. Making a mess as your saliva coats and lubes his hard-on. Your eyes are shut tight and your hands are gripping his thighs as he uses your hair to bob your head up and down his length. “There we go, such a pretty girl.” he coos, staring down at you, in awe at your determination and persistence to carry this through. Initially, he would’ve been fine with directing all his attention to you, but you didn’t want to seem like a quitter, you didn’t want to prove to him that you were a kid after all and he wasn’t right for you.
“You like that? Yeah, take it all in baby. Fuck” You feel a familiar heat pool in your panties, slowly dampening them. You fail to notice, that one of your hands has slipped down to soothe the building ache until he chuckles. “Don’t worry baby I haven’t forgotten about you. Gonna take real good care of you real soon.” He leans his head back, feeling his high approaching. His incessant repeating of your praise intertwined with praises of your good work seems to be working you up even more, the ache from before now developing into an urgent and deep throb. You moan, just thinking about it.
“Dirty fuckin girl.” he groans, taking his hands off your head and putting you in charge, his hand instead collecting all your hair. You hollow your cheeks and bob your head up and down, turning it to the side occasionally to sensually glide your tongue up his length, maintaining eye contact with him through watery eyes. “Fuck princess.” he groans. “ Want me to cum all over your face princess?” you moan in agreeance, feeling yourself throb in anticipation.
He hisses before pulling out of your mouth at the last minute, helping himself by finishing with a couple of strokes from his own hand. “Open wide baby.” You stick out your tongue ready, and hot spurts of coming land on your face, some coating your awaiting tongue too.
“Fuck you look good like this.”
26th August
You would say that you’re surprised that this man is a master pussy eater, but you’d be lying. He has successfully proven numerous times that he’s simply a sex god. So when your fingers are pulling on his hair for dear life, he isn’t surprised. With every flick of his tongue over your sensitive clit, you’re rolling your hips, getting his nose to nudge against your clit too in the mix. “Can’t go anymore, baby.”
“Why not, just wanna see you cum all over again, you look so perfect when you do it.”
His tongue laps over your sensitive bud again, slurping up and collecting all your juices and you’re crying from the intense pleasure wriggling and writhing again.
“So good.” you groan, leaning your head back and falling into the pleasure, letting it consume you. His hands are grabbing your thighs forcefully whilst his thumb is simultaneously grazing the flesh. He’s passionately making out against your soaked cunt, not minding that you’re dripping unto his chin. He loves it.
“Wait, wait, I’m gonna come, ‘M gonna come, gonna come.” you tell him too late, because when you do, you’re not creaming like you usually do, but instead a clear liquid sprays out. Everywhere.
“Well, you may you didn’t come, but you definitely squirted.”
28th August
“Rub that pretty pussy for me. Just like that.” his voice says through the phone, watching intently as your fingers repetitively circle over your clit, your speed slow and teasing, you bite your lips to suppress your moans, your drenched hole fluttering around nothing. Miguel has finally got himself a free house, but his wife’s suspicions are arising, not towards the two of you, but towards Miguel’s new sneaking out habit and leaving the house more than he usually would. Usually, you would feel bad for the mother, getting neglected by her husband and watching him distance himself from her, leaving the burden of their child unto her, but you were having too much fun with his married man. With the way he fucks you, and holds you and whispers dirty things in your ear- tainting your innocence. Your head is reeling from all this new attention, so you don’t think you’ll stop anytime soon.
“Fuck.” a soft groan comes from his side as he watches you devilishly slip your finger into your warm, desperate cunt. “Did I tell you you could put you’re fingers in, huh?” Miguel on the other end is pumping himself to the sight of you, needy and depraved. No matter how many times he’s been all up in your cunt, or had your gummy walls wrap around him, he can never seem to get enough. There’s something about you that pulls him back, you’re not just some option on the side for him anymore, but now more like a drug, the things you’re doing to him.
“Don’t care.” you giggle softly, pumping your fingers at a faster pace, rolling your head to the side. “I’m horny and you’re not here to do anything about it.”
“Watch it. We’ll see what I’ll do when I get back.”
You arch your back as your fingers finally graze your G spot, causing you to moan out. Your fingers are covered in your slick. “Wish you were here to fuck me, Miguel,” you whine, not knowing the effect this has on him. If he could, he would run out of the house take you right then and there, stuff you full of him and watch as you get fucked dumb by him. You’re teasingly moaning louder than usual to work him up, but your mind can’t help but fill with a picture of him having his way with you, fucking you rough. “ Fuck Miggy, need you right now.” you moan out, your fingers pumping into yourself faster.
“Maybe if you come all of those pretty fingers I might consider it.”
“Mmhg shit, I can come for you, I can come real hard.” you put your other hand to good use, to circle your clit, the feeling immediately increasing my tenfold, now you’re really crying out, head getting clouded by pure lust and the urge to reach your high.” With a few more pumps and circles of your fingers, you release all over your fingers, laying back on your bed to catch a breath as warm cum ooze out of you.
“Come here and show me the mess you’ve made baby.” you don’t hesitate to sit up and grab your phone, angling it to reveal your white fingers. “Put em in your mouth and suck real good.” you follow his command, swirling your tongue around your fingers and sucking them clean, before taking them out of your mouth to show him the finished result. “Atta girl.”
“Look at the mess I made.” you bring your phone to your glistening cunt, absolutely covered in your arousal, your hole still leaking cum from your high, and your puffy clit.
“What a good girl.”
August 31st
The both of you knew this day would come. The last day before you returned back to college, the day where you’d have to say goodbye, but it happened all too soon. You almost wish that something, anything would happen to not have to pull you out of this situation and from the ecstasy you’re feeling. The room has picked up the scent of sex after all the rounds the both of you have endured, fucking for hours on end. The sounds of skin slapping and bed creaking has filled the room with pap, pap, pap’s. Your nails are digging into his back, definitely leaving him marked up with your scratches against his board back and he pummels into you, your body practically clinging unto him as he fuck you into oblivion.
“Gonna miss you, baby, you know that?” he says, placing gentle kisses on your hot forehead, some strands of your hair clinging to your face.
“Gonna miss you too,” you respond, pulling him closer as he reaches deeper and deeper, further and further into you. You place your lips on his neck, passionately sucking on it, with the intent of leaving a mark.
“You naughty, naughty thing, what have I told you about shit like this.” you ignore him anyway. Miguel has always had a problem with being evidenced. The last thing he wanted was for his wife to catch an accidental glimpse of it and start pointing fingers, but as this was a farewell gift, he let the scratching slide. Once successfully leave your mark, you giggle. “We’ll see who’ll be laughing in a second.”
In a second you’re moaning louder. There’s something that he’s doing that's working even better than a couple of thrusts ago, and you don’t know what it is. You thought you were already at 100% with him, but you suppose you truly underestimated him. Now he has you screaming his name, pleading and begging like prayer- music to his ears.
“Oh fuck. oh my fucking God.” One thing Miguel loves about you is how vocal you are, it fuels him, so whenever he hears your pleas to keep going or to stop because it’s too much, he carries right on. You’re high up with the way you’re being fucked, his hips rut into you and soon you’re unable to even scream out loud, all of them turning silent.
“Yeah, who's laughing now.” he chuckles, as you lay back on the bed, gripping the sheets beneath you. He takes his hand to your face, brushing the hair out of it before placing a is on your lips and you’re melting into it. The two of you don’t usually kiss, keeping it strictly to fucking, but this time it’s different, this one is different. Contradictory to his pace, you lips are slow and gentle as he savours your taste and your lips for the last time.
This truly is the end.
SEPTEMBER 1ST
+ ° . ๑・° ⊹ . + ° . ๑・° ⊹ . + ° . ๑・° ⊹ . + + ° . ๑・° ⊹ . + ° . ๑・° ⊹ . +
count how many times i said fuck. miguel is sooooooooo sexy oh mi god. please give this the love it deserves i acc spent ages writing this.
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the-fiction-witch · 5 months ago
Text
Little Sister
Media - House Of The Dragon Character - Aegon Targaryen Couple - Aegon X Reader Reader - Y/n Targaryen (Daughter of Viserys and Alicent) Rating - Smut Word Count - 3687
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Y/n stood in the grass of the Red Keep’s gardens, playing with butterflies and spiderwebs. She wore a beautiful gown of green and was ignoring the scowls of her older brother Aegon sat in his usual attire with a cup of wine in hand. The two were supposed to be on a date together in the gardens as their mother Alicent demanded due to their upcoming wedding.
Aegon watched Y/n prance around in her fancy gown and he rolled his eyes, "What nonsense are you even saying?"
"Why are you so grumpy big brother?" She asked as she turned to him pulling her face to make a frown
Aegon crossed his arms and glared at Y/n. "Why do you think, Y/n? We're on a date and you're acting like an idiot, prancing around instead of spending real time with me. I bet you don't even know how to have fun."
"oh… Okay," she giggled hopping over to his bench and sitting on the grass beside the bench "Suggest the funs?"
Aegon raised an eyebrow, slightly amused despite himself. It seemed like Y/n was finally willing to listen and have some fun. "Well, for starters, we could go out and ride dragons. Or if you want something more relaxing we could do some archery or sword fighting practice." Aegon leaned closer and grinned. "Or we could do something even more exciting and get some wine and go for a little adventure around the Red Keep. Anything's better than just sitting around here in the gardens."
"adventure!" She giggled "We can go find all the tapestries or we can find the bones in the dungeons or we could find where all the rats sit!"
Aegon couldn't help but chuckle at Y/n's excitement and innocent enthusiasm. "Alright, an adventure it is. Let's go! Which one do you want to do first? The tapestries, the bones, or the rats?"
"whichever you like big brother" she giggled holding his hand and jumping up and down
Aegon smirked, "Well then, let's start with the tapestries. If we're going to find clues, they're as good a place as any to start. Lead the way, little sister."
Aegon grinned and set out with Y/n, ready for an exciting adventure through the castle in search of tapestries, clues and maybe even a little bit of trouble.
As Y/n took Aegon from one tapestry to another, pointing out the various details and symbols, Aegon started to see her in a new light. She might be a bit strange and eccentric, but she had a passion for learning and a curiosity that was refreshing. Aegon listened to her explanations intently, nodding along and adding a comment here and there. As the tour continued, he found himself enjoying the time with her, enjoying the way her eyes lit up with excitement as she pointed out the different stories woven into the tapestries.
She stopped at a particular tapestry in the library turning her head to the side as she looks at the tapestry, Aegon watched as Y/n stared at the tapestry, her eyes widening in surprise. He raised an eyebrow, wondering what had caught her attention.
"What is it? Is something wrong with this one?" Aegon stepped closer, studying the tapestry himself. He didn't see anything out of the ordinary, but he knew Y/n had a unique way of seeing the world.
"… All the other tapestries are so literal?" She pouted "Kings, queens, dragons and castles … Why doesn't this one?" She asked pointing to the tapestry that depicted an old scene forgetting by time the meaning and reasoning of. The tapestry showed a woman lying nude with a dragon wrapped around her as if mating
The image of the woman wrapped in the dragon's embrace left Aegon feeling a mixture of confusion and curiosity. He had never heard a story of a Targaryen queen… no, of any woman having an intimate relationship with a dragon. Aegon turned to Y/n, his eyes still fixed on the tapestry. "I-… Do you know what the meaning of this tapestry is, Y/n?"
"… I assume dragon blood or Targaryens mating with normal people of Westeros? I guess? Or … Maybe in old valyira having dragon blood was literal?"
Aegon could feel his face heating up as he listened to Y/n's explanation. The possibility of Targaryen queens mating with dragons was a strange and disturbing thought, but from the tapestry, it was undeniable that it had occurred. Aegon cleared his throat, trying to keep his voice steady. "Well… I suppose it's possible that in old Valeria some Targaryens were so obsessed with their connection to dragons that they took it that far. But even then, it still feels… wrong."
"I don't know maybe it's just art .."
Aegon nodded, trying to keep a straight face. "Yes, maybe it's just art. A strange and unusual depiction, but perhaps it's just someone's imagination runs wild. Let's move on to the next tapestry, shall we?"
Aegon smiled, doing his best to push away the uneasy feeling of the last tapestry as he and Y/n turned to the next one, hoping to find something more mundane and less disturbing there.
She giggled moving close to the new tapestry, she laughed hard as she brushed her hand on it,
Aegon blinked in surprise as Y/n burst into laughter, seemingly amused by something on the tapestry. "What is it?" Aegon asked, puzzled by her reaction. He turned to the tapestry, but didn't see anything funny or amusing. All he saw was yet another dull depiction of a Targaryen king and his sword Blackfyre. Aegon leaned closer to Y/n, curious as to what could have made her laugh so hard.
"sword." She giggled
Aegon raised an eyebrow, wondering if Y/n had finally lost her mind. "What about the sword? It's not that funny." Aegon scoffed, trying to figure out what was so amusing about Blackfyre. As far as he could see, it was just a plain old sword, even if it was Valyrian steel.
"I like to imagine that whenever they depict kings and their swords they play with the size and perspective based on the kings .. you know"
Aegon couldn't help but chuckle as he realized what Y/n was saying. He had never thought of it before, but now that she mentioned it, it was amusing to think that kings would exaggerate the size of their swords in their own tapestries to appear more impressive. "You know what? You might be onto something here. I never really considered that before, but it does make a certain kind of sense. Maybe this king was compensating for something?" Aegon grinned, his mood lightened by her observation.
"Maybe you'll have a tapestry when your king and your sword will be the size of the whole! Thorne room!"
Aegon laughed at that, imagining himself in a tapestry towering over the room with his sword as large as a mountain. "Now that would be a sight to behold. I can just imagine the looks on everyone's faces when they see me like that. They would think I was some kind of god! But I think I'll stick to real life and leave the gigantic sword-wielding for the tapestries."
"or that you were compensating,"
Aegon chuckled, conceding the point to Y/n. "You're not wrong. It would be quite obvious that I'd be overcompensating if I had a sword that big It's a good thing I don't have anything I need to overcompensate for in the first place." Aegon grinned, teasing Y/n. "But you should worry more about your own tapestry, little sister.”
"I won't get a tapestry" she giggled "I'd be happy just as a name on a family tree in the books that's all" she giggled, "I don't know Aegon I've never seen your sword I don't know if it needs overcompensating,"
Aegon grinned, still teasing Y/n. "You think you're so humble, don't you? But don't pretend like you don't want your own tapestry just like me and Aemond. I bet deep down you want to be depicted with a thousand giant bugs as your loyal soldiers. And don't pretend like you're not curious about my sword size now. Perhaps I should invite you to the training yards more often to witness its full glory firsthand."
"why? I could find out now if I wanted"
Aegon raised an eyebrow, intrigued by Y/n's remark. He couldn't help but chuckle, amused at the audacity of her words. "Are you really suggesting what I think you're suggesting, little sister? You want to… see my sword right now?"
Aegon smirked, leaning closer to Y/n. "I could if I wanted"
Aegon chuckled, enjoying the playfulness in Y/n's eyes. "Well, what are you waiting for then? Go ahead, take a look."
she giggled and gave his nose a kiss before she knelt on the wooden floor and held out her hands "Sword please"
Aegon's heart skipped a beat at the small kiss, enjoying the playful mood between them. He smiled, amused by her request. "Alright then, little sister. You can have my sword for a moment." He unstrapped his sword from his hip and rested it in her hands, watching her closely to see what she would do.
she held the old sword on her hands but immediately tossed it on the floor "Sword please"
"Y/n! what are you doing? Why did you throw the sword on the floor? I thought you wanted to see it!"
"I do."
Aegon's confusion deepened. He picked up the sword from the floor and placed it back in her hands. "Here, take it again. But be careful with it. Valyrian steel is prized for good reason and it's not something to be casually tossed aside."
she immediately tossed it again
Aegon's eyes widened in disbelief as Y/n tossed the Valyrian steel sword again. "What in the name of the Seven are you doing? Valyrian steel is valuable and difficult to come by! Why are you treating it like a toy? Do you have any idea what that sword is worth?"
"sword" she giggled putting her hand on his belt
“Oh…” Aegon's confusion gave way to amusement as he realized what Y/n was really asking for. He chuckled, enjoying her playful antics. "Alright, you little menace. I think you've had your fun with my sword. But since you've been such a good sport, I suppose I can give you a different kind of sword to play with." With a smirk, Aegon reached for his belt and loosened his trousers slightly, then took Y/n's hand and placed it on his soft cock, "There, now you've got your hands on a different kind of sword. But remember, this one is even more valuable and needs to be handled with care. And it's definitely not for tossing around like a toy."
she pouted slightly "oh …"
Aegon chuckled at her pouty expression, finding her attempt at disappointment amusing. "Do I detect a hint of disappointment in your voice, little sister? What's wrong, is my sword not to your liking?" He grinned, teasing her.
she pouts and gives him sad puppy eyes "why doesn't your sword want to play with me Aegon?"
Aegon's heart melted a little at her sad puppy eyes, but he couldn't help but continue to tease her. "Oh it wants to play with you, Y/n, but it's a very special sword, and it only plays with people who deserve it." He smirked, reaching out to muss her hair affectionately.
"does it need rubs?" She asked taking him in her hand and stroking back and forth attempting to harden him,
Aegon chuckled, his amused expression quickly changing to one of surprise as he felt her hand on him. "Rubs? I didn't realize you were such an expert in sword care, little sister. But I'll admit, a few gentle rubs might help him feel… more playful."
Aegon couldn't help but smile at her innocence and the playful banter between them. Aegon's smirk deepened as he felt her hands moving on him, and he couldn't help but marvel at her naivete and confidence. "You're a natural at this, you know that? Just a few minutes ago you were tossing swords on the floor, now you're handling this one like a pro." He chuckled, enjoying the feeling of her touch and her innocent curiosity.
"Aegon! Why won't he play with me big brother?" She whines
Aegon chuckled, finding her innocent determination to make him respond quite endearing. "Why do you think, Y/n? Perhaps it's because you're playing with him too gently. Maybe you need to be a little more… assertive in your approach. Show him how much fun you can really be."
she nodded and began to kiss him pressing her lips softly to his hardening erection,
Aegon's eyes widened slightly at the sudden sensation of her lips on him, mixing with the gentle touch of her hands. He gasped slightly in surprise, feeling a rush of pleasure coursing through his body. "Oh… " He gasped, feeling himself grow harder under her touch. "That's more like it, little sister. You're beginning to understand how to handle this sword now."
she peppered kisses all over him, "more!" She giggled
Aegon groaned as her kisses drove him wild, his hardness growing with each touch. "You have the touch of a dragon queen, Y/n. You know just how to handle this sword." He couldn't help but laugh at her eagerness and the sound of her giggling as she continued "Yes, yes… more… I think you've nearly got it now, little sister."
she giggled and began lapping at him as she kissed, and rubbed clearly egar to get him as hard as possible
Aegon's breath caught in his throat as her tongue and kisses sent waves of pleasure through his body, his hardness growing harder under her touch. "Oh gods, Y/n… yes, keep doing that…" He groaned, struggling to speak as her touch seemed to take him over, bringing him closer to the edge. "I… I think you've finally found the correct way to play with my sword, little sister."
She giggled and pulled back tapping him with her fingers and giving him kisses playing with his now completely hard state, playing around him him like he was her own little toy,
"You're enjoying yourself, aren't you, little sister? Do you like seeing what you've done to my sword? Feeling the effects of your touch?"
"I wanna play with him everyday"
Aegon chuckled, a mixture of amusement and desire stirring within him. "Every day, hm? You're truly dedicated, Y/n. But I don't think my sword could handle that, even for a princess. He'll need a chance to rest and recover between all this play." He grinned, reaching out to caress her cheek gently."But of course, if you're willing, I'm more than happy to let you play with him again."
"every day!" She pouts "Please Aegon"
Aegon smirked, unable to resist her begging, especially after the incredible pleasure she had just given him. "Very well then, little sister. From now on, you may play with him everyday. He'll be at your disposal, ready to be wielded by your talented hands." He laughed, enjoying the spark of excitement in her eyes at his promise. "But remember, you must take care not to exhaust him too much. We don't want him breaking on your watch, hmm?"
"yay!" She giggled kissing him all over again
Aegon laughed softly, enjoying the feeling of her kisses all over him. "You're truly a wonder, Y/n. So playful and joyful, with such a fierce desire to learn." He ran his fingers through her hair, a smile on his face. "Just promise me you won't use that desire on anyone other than me while we're playing, little sister. This sword is for you and you alone."
"only my big brother" she giggled "Can I Aegon can I?"
Aegon chuckled, her innocence and eagerness bringing a warmth to his heart. He raised an eyebrow, a smirk playing on his lips. "You ask for permission now, do you? I like that. You're learning to be a good little sister, Y/n." he smirked, "Of course you can, little sister. Play with my sword whenever you like. It belongs to you."
She nodded and took him, she began to suck, and lap her tounge, moving her head back and forth
Aegon moaned softly as her lips and tongue worked their magic on him, his body shuddering with pleasure. "By the Seven, Y/n, you… oh… you've got the gift of pleasing a man." He gasped, his heart racing as he watched her, unable to tear his eyes away. He reached out, stroking her hair softly as she continued. "Just like that, little sister… just like that… you're doing so well…” Aegon's hand tangled in her hair, guiding her movements as she continued her ministrations. His breathing grew heavier, filled with pleasure. "Yes, that's it… just like that… just keep doing what you're doing, little sister…" He groaned, closing his eyes as he surrendered to the sensations she was giving him, his body completely in her control.
A knock suddenly came from the door, Aegon tried to stop her but she wouldn't stop, "Y/n… stop… someone's at the door…" But he was powerless to actually stop her, his voice failing him as the pleasure overwhelmed him. He tried to compose himself, but his breathing was heavy and labored.
she pulled back and peppered him with kisses as the door knocked again "we are betrothed. You are to be my king. There is surely no shame in a servent witnessing the prince be pleasured? Let them in. Let them see." She cooed for once the mad girl giggles where gone and she sounded like a targaryen queen before she returned to her work
Aegon found himself both surprised and aroused by her words and her shift in demeanor. The door knocked again, and he hesitated for a moment, weighing her words. Finally, he called out. "Yes… come in." He watched as a servant entered, taking in the sight of them together. His eyes widened, clearly shocked by what he was witnessing.
"Your uhh your grace -"
Aegon chuckled, noticing the servant boy's reaction and that the boy already got hard at the sight of Y/n doing this to Aegon. "Yes, boy? Speak your mind. What brings you here? And by the gods, close your mouth before you catch flies."
the boy nodded and did his best to look away "I uhh your mother has invited you both to dinner tonight in the royal chambers at nine." The boy nodded and watched as if knowing she had an audience she worked even harder and more seductively, moaning and letting Aegon play with her hair
Aegon nodded, his eyes twinkling with amusement as he watched Y/n's increased efforts. "Very well. We will be there." He turned back to the boy for a moment. "That will be all. Close the door behind you. After all we don’t need everyone knowing do we little princess?"
"no my master" she playfully cooed up to Aegon before she returned to her work
Aegon chuckled, enjoying her playful response as much as he was enjoying her mouth. "That's my girl" He smirked, looking down at the boy. "Get lost now. We have a few hours before we need to be anywhere and I intend to enjoy them."
the boy nodded and bolted from the room shutting the door again,
Aegon chuckled, leaning back against the couch as Y/n continued her work, clearly enjoying the newfound thrill of having a servant witness their intimacy. "You're quite the little minx, aren't you, Y/n? Playing with your king and putting on a show for that poor servant boy? You seem to be enjoying our game of secret pleasure more than I ever could have imagined." His hand threaded through her hair, guiding her movements as he savoured the sensations she gave him.
she giggled as she kept working not even slowing keeping up her moans her hands even moved to massage his stomach to help ease him to release
Aegon groaned loudly, the combined sensations of her mouth and hands bringing him close to the edge. He knew he wouldn't be able to hold out much longer. "By the gods, Y/n… you're going to make me.. I'm going to… oh… yes, just like that… just like that…" His body strained as he felt his orgasm building, his breaths ragged and heavy. With a final, shuddering groan, Aegon reached his peak. Pleasure surged through his body like lightning as he released himself into her mouth. His eyes rolled back, and he gasped for air, panting heavily from the intensity of it all
she giggled as she pulled back the moment he hit it meaning his seed now coated her face, hair, dress, and a little in her mouth "ummm tasty Aegon"
Aegon looked at her, a mix of astonishment and amusement on his face. He couldn't deny the sight of her, coated in his seed and giggling, was incredibly arousing. "By the gods, Y/n… you never fail to surprise me. You're like a wanton little dragoness, aren't you? Not caring how messy you get, as long as you have your fun." He chuckled, reaching down to gently wipe her face with his fingers, his eyes filled with desire.
she only giggled licking her hands and face excitedly "did I do good?"
Aegons' smirk widened, watching her lap up his seed with her tongue. "Yes, Y/n. You did very, very good. But you made quite a mess, didn't you? We'll need to clean you up before we attend dinner tonight."
"oww… No more play time?" She whines
Aegon chuckled, leaning down to gently kiss her forehead. He knew she was still somewhat inexperienced and didn't yet understand the consequences of her actions. "No more play time for now, little sister. We must clean you up and get ready for dinner. There will be plenty more playtime later, I promise you. But we don't want to keep our mother waiting, and we certainly don't want her or anyone else at the table tonight to see you in such a… disheveled state, right?"
she whined but nodded "fine…"
Aegon grinned, always a little amused by her impatience. "That's my good little sister. Now come here and let's get you cleaned up. We'll have you looking proper and presentable in no time." He took a nearby cloth and gently began wiping the mess from her face and hair, making sure to be careful and gentle as he did so. “Come on you can get ready for dinner in my chambers tonight,”
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mischiefmanagers · 8 months ago
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Eris Vanserra Fic Rec Library 🍁❤️‍🔥
these fics are a mix of Eris x reader, Eris x OC, and a few general Eris fics with no pairing. if you've never read an Eris fic before, I highly recommend starting with the first rec below (gust & flame) because that fic made me fall in love with him. enjoy ✨
🌼 personal favorite 🥀 angst 💞 fluff 🔥 smut
by @invisibleanonymousmonsters
gust & flame (series) 🥀💞🌼
by @theostrophywife
here in your arms. 💞
like you wanna be loved 💞
by @acourtofmenandthirst
The Fox & The Hound 💞
by @leafsandstarlight
Destiny's Battleground (series) 🥀💞🔥
In Spite of Our Differences (series) 🥀💞🔥🌼
Great Rite 🔥
The Prince of Blood
by @profound-imagination
Finding Home 💞
Rose Gardens
by @munsons-hellfire
Happiness in the Heart 🥀💞
by @sweetcarolina-24
Scorched Shadows
by @azrielbrainrot
Fire on Fire
Mind Over Matter 🥀
by @danikamariewrites
Rescue 💞🥀
Fake Sleeper 💞
Peace 💞
Seekers 💞🌼
Did You Just Say No?
Song of Death
Starfall Revelations 🥀💞
Guilt 🥀💞
Kisses 💞
by @redbleedingrose
Till the End of Time 💞🥀
Pretty? 🥀💞
by @b0xerdancer-writes
It Wasn't Supposed to Happen Like This 🥀💞
by @thisblogisaboutabook
Bad Idea, Right? 🥀🔥
by @azsazz
Cherries, Juniper, and Orange Slices 💞
Fire & Water 🥀🔥
by @honeybeefae
Cauldron Fated 💞🥀🔥🌼
Forgotten Ties 🥀
Valentine's Mini Fic 💞
A Court of Wings & Fire (series) 🥀
Past and Present 🥀💞
Coronation Day 💞
Potions 🔥🌼
by @we-were-beautiful
The Fox and the Hounds 💞
by @bubbles-for-all-of-us
My little flame 💞
Her 🌼
My tears ricochet 🥀
by @2thestars-andbeyond
The Fire That Burns Within (series) 💞🥀🔥
by @simkaswriting
What if…Eris had danced with y/n instead?
by @jeannineee
Daylight 🥀💞
Breeding 🔥
by @jdeclerc
a brother's intervention 🥀
by @azrielsdove
Playing With Fire 🥀🔥Azriel x Reader x Eris
by @cassiefromhell
Unexpected 💞🥀🔥Azriel x Reader x Eris
by @fieldofdaisiies
Late Again 🥀
Brother 🥀💞 no pairing
Falling 💞🌼
by @azrielsoulmate
Covered in you 💞
by @cupidojenphrodite
Morning After 🔥
by @acourtofwhatthefuck
Loose Lips 🥀🔥
by @thelov3lybookworm
Remember me? (series) 💞🥀 from Rhysand x Reader to Eris x Reader
Bloodshed 🥀💞
Not what I expected 🥀💞🌼
by @fineghkst
How Eris acts around his mate 💞
by @ladyescapism
fractured bonds 🥀
by @clairebear08
Woven 🥀
Use Me 🔥
by @historiaxvanserra
If I Can't Have Love, I Want Power 🥀🌼
I Am Not a Martyr, I'm a Problem
by @shadowdaddies
Autumn's Eden 💞
Bramble 💞
by @azrielslightintheshadows
Fake love. 🥀
by @crypticandmachiavellianaugustine
Sweet Nothings 💞🌼
by @readychilledwine
Death of Peace of Mind 🥀🔥🌼
Safe Haven 💞
Relief
Unconditional 💞
Leap 💞🌼
Kissed By Fire
Lapcat 🔥
Pack Mentality 💞
Tainted Love 🥀
by @throneofsmut
Bound In Flames (series) 🥀💞🔥
by @parkerslatte
Overlooked 🥀🌼
Warm Me Up 💞🔥
by @prythianpages
Like An Angel 💞
Cruel, Wicked Thing
by @saphirered
Frozen lake 🔥💞
by @thehighladywrites
Professor Eris 🥀💞🔥
by @thevanserrras
Breaking Point 🥀
Den of Foxes 🥀💞
Happy Equinox at Last 💞
Wake Up 🥀💞 Azriel x Reader x Eris
Petty 🥀💞
by @secret-third-thing
Never An Honest Word 🥀 no pairing
by @nocasdatsgay
From the Ashes, the Wildflowers Grow (series) 🥀💞🔥🌼
by @lucienforhighking
Hounds of Love 💞
Dancing 💞🔥
by @callmeblaire
when fire and ice dance
by @moonlightazriel
Symphonies 💞
When no one hears your calls 🥀💞
by @sellyoursoulforagoodfic
Monstrous Secrets 🥀💞
by @florencemtrash
Flame, Shadow, Beast 🥀💞 Azriel x Reader x Eris
by @serpentandlily
Sly Fox, Dumb Bunny (series) 🌼
Last Solstice 🥀💞🌼
by @fever-fluff
Unconditional
by @yearning-for-autumn
Would That I
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l0velysmut · 1 year ago
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⋆ ࣪. neteyam x na’vi reader
contains: short smut, aged!up neteyam, sub!neteyam, dom!reader, p in v, riding, overstim, whiny neteyam, mommy kink, creampie.
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“Ah, f-fuck!” He moaned, hands gripping onto your hips for dear life as you bounced up and down on his cock. He tried to hold your hips tightly to keep you from bouncing so fast, but he quickly learned that his grip had no effect on your speed.
Wet squelching sounds could be heard throughout your home and probably could be heard by anyone who walked by it.
Your wetness saturated his pelvis, and some sprinkles of your wetness were dotted on his chest which mixed in with his sweat.
“S-Slow down— Oh!” He moaned, throwing his head back against the roughly textured woven mat. He panted, practically gasping for air as his hands moved from your hips to grab onto the flesh of your breasts. He licks his lips, staring at your perky tits in his hands, rubbing his thumbs back and forth over your nipples. The feeling of them in his hands and the tiny whimpers he got out of you from such a simple touch made his dick throb inside you.
“Slow down, tiyawn!” He cried, face contorting into a look of pain before he shut his eyes tightly, clenching his jaw as he tried his best to hold back his orgasm.
You stared down at him with a smile, biting your bottom lip as you continued to bounce up and down on his cock. And, just for shits and giggles, you decided to clamp your pussy around him, watching in amusement as his body shudders and his jaw drops wide open, his hips jerking up, his cock sinking further inside of you. You noticed how his eyes that were once shut had opened a tiny bit, but you could only see the whites of his eyes since they were rolled so far back into his head.
You then stopped your bouncing, and for a second, he thought the torture was over so he let out sigh of relief, his chest still heaving as he took a moment to recover. But, then you began to grind into him, your clit rubbing against his pubic bone, making you moan and tilt your head up.
He looked up at you through half lidded eyes, watching your facial expressions as his cock remained stuffed in your warm pussy. He could feel your walls clasping onto him tightly with each grind, and he began to whimper loudly, making your ears twitch and your pussy drip even more juices down his shaft and balls and onto the woven mat below you.
“Yawne… I’m gonna cum.” He said in a whiny voice, looking at you with beautiful amber doe eyes as if asking for permission.
“Not yet.” You reply.
He whines and screws his eyes shut, beginning to pant again as his hands drop down to his sides because if he kept holding onto your boobs, he for sure would cum, and he doesn’t want to cum without your permission. He wants to be a good boy for you.
“Fuck, I’m cumming!” When you say that unexpectedly, his eyes pop open and he stares at you in a panicked state.
“No, no, no, no!” He chants, shaking his head, knowing that you cumming would send him over the edge.
Then, he feels your pussy flutter around him, gushing cum all over his shaft, creating a white ring around the base of his long girth. His moans become louder than yours, altering between actual moans and pathetic whimpers before his legs shake and his hips stutter, spilling his load deep inside of you, spurting against your cervix.
You stop moving your hips and look down at him, feeling his warm cum fill your womb. You click your tongue in disappointment.
“Poor baby couldn’t hold it?” You ask in a teasing voice.
He doesn’t dare look at you, just breathes heavily and furrows his brows.
“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, mama.” He says, soft cries and gasps for air leaving his lips. “I won’t—” He swallows to try and relieve his dry throat. “I won’t do it again, mama, I promise. I won’t cum without your permission again. You just feel so good, I couldn’t- I couldn’t hold it.”
You could barely understand his words, his babbling making you giggle before lifting yourself almost all the way off his cock, keeping the tip inside before slamming back down.
He moans loudly, his hands going back up grab your thighs, nails digging into the squishy flesh.
“I can’t, I can’t.” He shakes his head. “Mommy, I can’t.”
“You can, baby,” You tell him, nodding, bringing your hand up to cup his jaw. “I know you can… ‘cause you’re my good boy, right?”
He whimpers softly, finally meeting your gaze, then nods, instantly regretting his decision when you begin to bounce up and down on his cock again which causes shivers to run up and down his spine.
He could feel his cock pulsating inside of you, feeling dangerously close once again and his cheeks burned in embarrassment because he was pretty sure you could feel it too.
But he doesn’t complain, just allows you to use him like your own personal fuck toy because he’s your good boy and he loves you so much.
“I’m your good boy…”
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a/n: i love subby neteyam
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helen-with-an-a · 3 days ago
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I think more beautiful girl no-plot-pure-smut blurbs are needed and welcomed whenever you get the chance😩🙏🏽
Well ... if you insist hehe.
In honour of the Ballon d'Or ceremony tonight. Here is a little post-ceremony/welcome home no-plot-pure-smut blurb. Imagine Alexia wasn’t there shhhhh
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TW: 18+ (R receiving)
Beautiful Girl masterlist
"Oof," you grunted as an Alexia-sized lump barrelled into you, almost knocking you off balance. Her warmth enveloped you, her familiar, sweet scent filling your senses, and you couldn’t help but smile as she wrapped her arms tightly around you, pulling you into her world.
“Estoy tan, tan, tan orgullosa de ti, mi amor,” Ale whispered into your ear, her voice low and full of genuine affection as she pressed her face into the crook of your neck, her breath a comforting warmth against your skin. Her words seemed to pulse with a weight that sank straight to your heart, each syllable woven with a love that was hers alone, unmistakable.
“Gracias, mi niña hermosa. Coming from you…” you began, feeling the words catch in your throat, overwhelmed by the sincerity in her voice. You took a slow breath, savouring the familiar, comforting scent of her coconut body wash, a detail of her that felt uniquely yours to know. “…it means a lot coming from you.”
Yes, this was Alexia Putellas, La Reina, the fierce competitor and inspiring leader who had captivated the world with her talent and tenacity. But here, in your arms, this was simply Ale - your beautiful girl, the love of your life, whose pride and joy in you shone brighter than any accolade could ever bring.
She pulled back slightly, her arms remaining securely wrapped around your waist, grounding you as she locked her intense hazel eyes onto yours. “I love you,” she said emphatically, each word weighted with sincerity, her gaze unwavering and piercing. You felt a warmth rush to your cheeks, unsure whether it was the intensity of her gaze or the power of her words that caused the blush.
“Best in the world,” she remarked, her tone teasing yet earnest.
“No, I’m not,” you chided gently, instinctively hiding your face against her chest, seeking refuge in the softness of her embrace. It was hard to bear the weight of such praise, especially when it was so clearly meant for her. “That’s you, la Reina.”
“Nope, I will not allow that,” she replied playfully, shaking her head with determination. “You are the best in the world, mi amor. The shiny golden ball that’s being shipped back to Barça says so.”
“Mm Mm,” you shook your head, a smile tugging at your lips despite your protest.
“MmHmm.” Alexia countered, her voice rich with affection as she pressed a loving kiss to the top of your head, the gesture making your heart flutter.
“You have two,” you reminded her, raising an eyebrow as you pulled away just enough to look into her eyes. “And I’m starting the campaign for your 2025 win already.” You feigned seriousness, but your heart raced with pride for her.
“Why can’t you see how amazing you are?” Alexia asked, her tone shifting, turning earnest as she disregarded your playful statements.
“I’m not amazing,” you said, your gaze falling, the blush creeping back to your cheeks. It was difficult to accept the praise, especially when it felt so exaggerated.
“Look at me, mi amor.” Alexia’s voice was gentle but insistent, her eyes steady as she waited for you to comply. When you hesitated, she cupped your jaw tenderly, her touch electrifying and sweet, pulling your face up until you met her gaze. “You are so talented. You are good and wonderful and incredible and beautiful… and you mean the world to me. All I want is for you to see what the rest of the world sees.” Her words washed over you like a soothing balm, but still, doubt lingered.
“I’m quite happy with my view,” you smiled at her, your expression a lovesick blend of adoration and uncertainty. You knew the truth in her words, but the weight of them felt almost too heavy to bear. It didn’t escape Alexia’s notice that you were still avoiding the heart of the matter, and her brow furrowed slightly with concern.
“Mi amor, please don’t hide from me,” she urged, her voice softer now, filled with an earnest longing that made your heart ache. “You deserve to feel as incredible as you truly are.”
Your heart swelled at her sincerity, and for a fleeting moment, you thought about opening up, about showing her the depths of your feelings. But instead, you let the moment linger in the air, wrapped in the comfort of her arms, knowing that sometimes, just being together was enough.
“Let me make you feel good?” Alexia asked quietly, her fingers dancing playfully along the waistband of your shorts, teasing and inviting. “Let me congratulate my winner, sí?” Her voice was a soft whisper, but the intensity behind it was palpable, setting your heart racing.
You looked up at her, meeting her gaze, and the desperate edge in her voice mirrored the wanton look in her eyes—dark, inviting, filled with an unmistakable desire. How could you ever deny her? The connection between you was electric, a current that thrummed through the air, pulling you closer together.
“What do you want?” you asked, raising an eyebrow as a playful challenge flickered between you.
“Whatever you do,” she replied quickly, her hands splaying out against the small of your back, her touch grounding and warm, making you feel utterly cherished.
“That’s not what I asked, baby,” you reminded her gently, your tone playful yet firm. “What do you want?”
You watched as Alexia’s mind raced with possibilities, her eyes sparkling with mischief. She bit her lip, a slight blush creeping up her cheeks as she considered her possibilities.
“Do you want me on my back? Legs spread wide just for you?” Your voice was sultry, each word dripping with seduction, making both your pulses quicken. “Or on my front? With your dick stretching me out so well that I can feel it for days?”
The image your words conjured sent a rush of heat coursing through her. Alexia could practically feel the weight of your body beneath hers, the way you would arch into her, inviting you deeper, urging her to claim you. The thought of you soft moans filling the room, of your gasps as you moved together, ignited something primal within her.
“God, mi amor,” she breathed, feeling her resolve waver in the face of your shared desires. “You know just how to get to me.”
“Just tell me what you want, and I’ll let you have it,” you promised, your voice low and sultry, eyes glimmering with lust and challenge. The vulnerability of her offer made her heart swell; you were both here, fully present and ready to share everything.
She leaned closer, feeling the heat radiating between you. “I want you to feel as good as I do when you’re around, mi Reina,” she murmured, your breath mingling with hers, the tension thickening in the air. “I want to make you feel alive.”
“Then take me,” you urged, your voice a soft plea, your eyes dark with longing. “Show me how much I mean to you.”
The weight of your words hung in the air, a promise of exploration and intimacy that filled you both with anticipation. You leaned in, capturing her lips with yours, sealing the unspoken agreement between you, as the world around you faded away, leaving just the two of you and the electric connection sparking in the space between your bodies.
The bedroom was only a few steps away, but it felt like it was oceans away as Alexia guided you to the bed, her presence electric and intoxicating. It reminded you of the early days of your relationship when Alexia had confidently taken the lead, and you had been a very willing follower, swept up in her energy and charm. Her hand was warm in yours, a gentle weight that anchored you amid the rising anticipation.
“You are so beautiful,” Alexia whispered as you finally shut the bedroom door behind you, the soft click echoing in the intimate space. Her voice was low and sultry, a melody that wrapped around you as she leaned down to capture your lips in a kiss that sent sparks flying through your body.
“Your outfit... you’ll have to wear it again sometime.” Her smile was playful, eyes dancing with mischief as she whispered into your ear, her breath hot against your skin. “If only so I can take it off you.” The teasing lilt in her voice made your stomach flutter with excitement.
You let your head drop back, offering her more of your neck, surrendering to the sweet onslaught of her kisses. “Mmmmm, feels so good, beautiful,” you moaned, your body responding eagerly to her touch.
“You should have seen me at camp,” she continued, her lips trailing down your jawline, igniting fire wherever they grazed. “The photos… whenever the camera was on you…” Her voice trailed off, heavy with desire, as her hand deftly pushed your waistband down, teasingly exposing more of you to her hungry gaze.
“Déjame hacerte el amor,” Alexia whispered against your collarbone, the words reverberating in the quiet room, a promise laced with urgency. Your hands instinctively threaded through her hair, tugging on the dark roots as if to draw her closer, to make sure she knew just how much you wanted her.
In that moment, everything faded into the background. The world outside, the worries, the noise—all of it disappeared, leaving only the two of you in this bubble of heat and longing. You could feel your heart racing, pounding in your chest as her hands explored you, igniting your skin with each caress.
“I want you, Ale,” you breathed, your voice barely above a whisper as her lips found their way back to yours, igniting an inferno of passion that left you breathless. You could feel her smile against your lips, a shared secret of desire and love that passed between you as you surrendered completely to the moment, letting it wash over you like a wave.
It wasn’t long until you found yourself nestled against the plush pillows, your heart racing as you reached for Alexia, who was climbing back onto the bed, her movements graceful and fluid. The air was thick with anticipation, and you could feel the warmth of her body just out of reach, your clothes discarded, leaving you achingly aware of her absence. You missed her warmth more than usual, a stark reminder of how intimately you craved her touch.
“All I could think about was wanting you there,” you confessed, your voice barely above a whisper as she settled her naked body against yours. The cold plastic of the strap was a stark contrast to your feverish skin, sending a shiver of desire coursing through you. “I really missed you, baby.” A wave of emotion flooded over you, and tears pricked at the corners of your eyes, a mix of vulnerability and longing that you couldn’t quite contain.
“And I missed you, mi amor,” she replied, her voice tender and soothing. The sincerity in her words enveloped you like a warm embrace. “You deserve so much.” Leaning down, she kissed you again, her body the perfect weight against you, grounding and intoxicating all at once.
“Can I make you feel good, mi amor?” Alexia asked shyly when she pulled back, her wide eyes sparkling with excitement, pupils dark and filled with desire.
“Always, my beautiful girl,” you replied, smoothing some hair away from her face, your fingers lingering against her soft skin.
Alexia kissed you again, her lips a soft caress, igniting a fire deep within you. Then, with a deliberate slowness, she took hold of the strap in one of her hands, leaning back slightly to create space between you. She ran it up and down, teasingly gathering some of your slick against the cool plastic, sending a jolt of anticipation racing through your body.
A soft gasp escaped your lips as she tapped lightly on your clit, the sensation electrifying and overwhelming. The world around you blurred into the background, and all that mattered was the way she made you feel, every touch igniting a new wave of pleasure. You could hardly contain the moan that slipped past your lips as she pushed inside, the sound echoing in the intimate space, a melody of longing and desire.
“Just like that,” you breathed, your voice trembling with the intensity of your feelings as you surrendered completely to the moment. Alexia’s gaze remained locked onto yours, filled with a mix of mischief and affection, her own desire mirroring yours, a beautiful dance of intimacy unfolding between you. Each movement, each caress, drew you closer to the edge, a heady mix of love and lust that made your heart race and your body ache for more.
“Making me feel so good, baby,” you moaned, your hands tightening in her hair, fingers tangling in the silky strands as each stroke sent a wave of electricity surging through your veins. The sensations were overwhelming, a sweet surrender to the bliss she was creating.
“Sí?” she asked, her voice breathy, almost like a plea, and you could hear the eagerness in her tone.
“Sí. So good, Ale. You’re making me feel so good,” you gasped, another wave of pleasure coursing through you, hotter and more intense than before. You lifted one leg, your heel pressing against her arse, urging her deeper, desperate for more of the delicious friction.
“Keep going, beautiful girl,” you encouraged, your head rolling back against the pillows as she brushed that perfect spot again and again, igniting your body with each caress. “Oh, Ale. You’re gonna make me cum.” The words tumbled from your lips, your body thrumming with anticipation, your toes beginning to curl as pleasure built within you.
“C-can I come with you, mi amor?” Ale’s plea was barely audible, her voice tinged with desperation as the fabric of the strap brushed perfectly against her clit. She watched you, eyes wide and filled with need, as if she were hanging on your every reaction, every moan.
“Oh, baby, yes. Ale,” you whined, feeling the tension coiling tighter within you. “I’m gonna cum so hard for you, beautiful. Just for you.” You nodded frantically, your gaze locking onto hers, seeking that connection, that shared intensity that made everything feel even more profound.
“Need you to cum with me,” you stuttered, completely lost in the pleasure that consumed you, the world outside fading away as you focused solely on her, on the moment you were sharing.
“Ale,” you groaned, the bubble of tension inside you building to its breaking point, the air thick with the scent of desire and the heat of your bodies moving together. And then, with a rush that stole your breath away, the bubble burst.
The pleasure crashed over you like a tidal wave, sweeping you up in its force as you lost yourself completely in the sensation. You felt every nerve ending ignite, the world around you dissolving into a kaleidoscope of colours and sensations, your body shuddering with the force of your orgasm.
As you spiralled into ecstasy, the world around you faded away, and all that mattered was the two of you—her warm body pressed against yours, the rhythm of your breaths synchronised in a perfect harmony. You could feel her right there with you, her own release mingling with yours, a sweet union that wrapped you both in warmth and satisfaction. Two bodies intertwined, echoing each other's pleasure in a symphony of shared bliss, a perfect duet that resonated deep within your souls.
Your cries of pleasure hung in the air, a melody of love and desire that lingered long after the last wave of ecstasy washed over you. It was a moment that felt timeless, a cocoon of intimacy that shielded you from everything else.
“Holy shit, Ale,” you gasped, breathless as the pleasure finally subsided, Alexia pulling out as the aftershocks still tingled through your body. “Making me feel so good, beautiful girl.” You leaned up to kiss her, pouring all the love and gratitude you felt into the kiss, letting your lips convey everything words couldn't capture.
“T'estimo molt, mi amor,” Alexia mumbled against your lips, her voice a soft, sweet murmur that filled you with warmth.
“I love you more, my beautiful girl.”
In that moment, the world around you faded into insignificance; there was only the two of you, wrapped in each other's arms, the weight of your shared love filling the space with a profound sense of peace. The lingering taste of her lips, the soft sound of her breathing, and the gentle thrum of your hearts created a tapestry of connection that enveloped you both, reminding you of the depths of your bond.
You traced your fingers along her arm, savouring the feeling of her skin against yours, as if grounding yourself in the reality of her presence. Each touch spoke of affection, each glance held promises of more beautiful moments to come. With every beat of your heart, you knew that this was where you belonged, entangled in the love and joy that blossomed between you, a love that felt boundless and everlasting.
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inlovewithpandora · 4 months ago
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ੈ✩‧₊˚ — Summers Of Pandora ᝰ Day 2 - One Bed
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Artists — Neteyam x fem!Omatikaya!reader
Lyrics — You and Neteyam spend the night together on an overnight hunting trip and while you’re trying to sleep the mighty warrior can’t keep his body under control
Music Advisory — nsfw content (18+), porn w/ little plot, aged!up Neteyam, suggestive/allusions to sex, best friends trope, one bed trope ᝰ this fic does contain aged!up character smut so if you don’t like that type of content please don’t interact and continue scrolling!!
Duration — 767 words
Index — pänutìng - promise • ftang - stop
Words From Artist — This is my first writing smut for Neteyam and it was fun writing it! Always feel free to comment and reblog, I love reading y’all reactions! I hope you enjoy!!
Current Platforms — event m.list・main m.list・event taglist ・prompt list
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“Neteyam, move over. You’re all over me.” The agitation in your voice is clear while you try to scoot over, trying to give yourself more space so you can get comfortable and finally get some rest.
“If you haven’t noticed this bed wasn’t created for two people.” He replies with a groan while trying to keep his body from slipping off the edge of the bed.
“Fine, just turn on your side or something. It’ll give us a little more room.” You whisper through a yawn while flipping on your side, turning your back towards him and pulling the woven blanket that you and Neteyam are sharing over your body.
Neteyam has a feeling that this idea isn’t a good one but he wants to keep you happy and doesn’t want to put up a fight since it’s so late and you both are tired from the hunting trip today. “Uhm, okay.” He turns on his side, the side that’s facing your back, the side that gives him the perfect few of your beautiful ass and round hips. While Neteyam tries to focus on anything other than your body he notices you scooting back, making a low hiss fall from his lips. “W-Wait, y/n.” He says hesitantly while shifting his hips back, hoping you stay still.
“Stop poking me Neteyam, it’s too late at night to be playing around.” You wiggle around a little, trying to find the perfect position and get comfortable.
“I’m not, I pänutìng.” He breathes heavily while placing a hand on your hip, trying to calm your movements down. “ftang moving around so much, you’re making it worse.”
“Making what worse?” You ask in a confused tone, not understanding what Neteyam is talking about. Once you turn around to see face Neteyam you see his face all flushed, his normally blue cheeks gaining a purple hue, making you wonder what that could be about. “Neteyam, how many times do I have to ask you to stop-” You place your hand where you feel the poking in your back, wanting to grab whatever hard thing is giving you discomfort, but what you feel against your palm isn’t what you assumed it was going to be. When you realize it’s Neteyam’s hardened cock in your hand your eyes bulge open, not expecting to feel your best friend's length tonight.
At first you don’t know how to react to what’s going on but you can’t help but feel a sense of warmth spread through your core when it registers that you caused Neteyam to become erect. You’ve always had a crush on him but you never knew he felt the same, now you finally have your answer. Since his feelings are clear and you’ve always fantasized about pleasing Neteyam, why not take this opportunity and give him a nice little handjob and help him achieve the sexual release his body is clearly asking for.
“y/n…” He mutters out while looking down at your hand grasping his cock, feeling it throb the more he thinks about you touching him because he’s always wanted this moment to manifest he just didn’t think this is how it would happen. He doesn’t want to seem weird for enjoying this lovely accident that you both stumbled upon but he can’t help it. “M-Maybe we shouldn’t- you shouldn’t do this…”
“Why not? I just want to help out my best friend, it’s the least I can do after causing it.” Your fingers work their magic to untie the strings that hold his loincloth together and once they unravel you lay eyes on his cock, swollen and veiny with droplets of his pre-cum already making an appearance. Your thumb gently swipes over his leaking tip, teasing his slit before moving your hand downward and slowly stroking his cock, already eliciting sweet groans to fall from his lips. “Just relax, Neteyam. I’ll take care of you.” You whisper softly in his ear before gliding your tongue around the shell of his ear and making your way down his neck and to his jaw, covering each inch of skin you touch in kisses.
In a million eclipses the mighty warrior never thought he would see the day where Eywa would grant his wish to share an intimate moment with you but here you are, giving him a handjob and him crumbling in your hands and succumbing to your pleasures. Now he’s thankful that his father made him come on this overnight hunting trip, this is so much better than being alone in his mauri and jerking off to the thought of you.
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Fanbase — @eme1hyst @o-kingston @erenjaegerwifee @Kaydoux @biaaaaaaaa1 @hikotaru @thisaintredwine @lexieeeeeeeei @that-gurl25 @Peanut713521 @anemonelovesfiction @32saucy-minx @rae @bigdikzaddy @laylasbunbunny @merlinbtch @morisim @btsiguess-kpop @sussybaka10 @galactict3a @shima @eyrina-avatar @headsincloud9 @buble787635 @normspellmann @em-x0 @sliqeramx @lexasaurs634 @yetanotherattemptatanaccount @myh3artttt @savagemickey03 @neteyamyawne @neteyamsblog @deadgirlrin
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— all rights reserved © INLOVEWITHPANDORA 2024. all fanfics belong to me, do not copy, translate, repost nor recommend on tiktok any of the works seen here.
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teymars · 1 year ago
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PEARLS OF STEEL ⊛
Pairing: adult!neteyam x fem!metkayina reader ⋆
MDNI - 18+ - SMUT UNDER THE CUT!
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warnings- smut, minimal plot, dom!neteyam, fluff, neteyam w piercings, oral (m & f receiving), overstim, some praise, tongue piercing (midline), dick piercing (PA), fingering, degradation (minimal), choking, swearing, no use of y/n, aged-up!neteyam.
plot summary- Neteyam has been courting you as of the last few months, since his family arrived at Awa’atlu. From the beginning, you were aware of his tongue ‘piercing’ which he received shortly before meeting you. The metallic ball never really bothered you, he claimed his brother dared him to get it done- which he couldn’t back down to. Eventually when things get heated, you discover his tongue isn’t the only place decorated by pearls of steel. You also discover the many benefits of these accessories. //
notes: this is my first ever fic here so I am open to constructive criticism, I hope you enjoy!
Divider by: Benkeibear 🤍
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There was an undeniable tension lingering in the air that separated you from him. Neteyam sat on the floor of your shared marui, tail twitching as he focused on adorning his usual jewelry silently. Your cerulean-gaze simmered into the deep-blue skin of his back, making him subconsciously shift in unease. “Do you really have to leave so early? I’m sure the-” “Sweetheart, you know I have tasks to get through! I’m sorry but I really gotta get going. We will see each other again at dinner, okay?” Neteyam interrupted in a soft tone.
You pouted at the man as he turned to face you. “Don’t look at me like that, baby.” He practically whispered before standing and coming to crouch in-front of you, a faux seriousness on display. Neteyam’s attempt at looking earnest caused you to break into a smile, which he soon matched. His mouth parted open slightly in a grin, giving you a glimpse of his shiny piercing. “please.” You whispered before leaning in, clasping his lips in a soft kiss.
Neteyam groaned quietly against your lips. Unable to resist the temptation of your advances, he pressed you slowly back onto the sleeping-mat. Soon your mouths parted in practiced unison, allowing your tongues to intertwine in a fight for dominance. The slightly cooler metal of his piercing rubbed smoothly against your tongue, feeling as though it came from every angle. Lust seeped from your core like the sweat between his heated body and yours. Neteyam pulled apart slightly, taking a moment to breathe. “We should-” “no, no please.. Teyam!” This time you were interrupting him, followed by an attempt at interlocking your swollen lips again.
Without a word, the man backed away from the encapsulating heat of your mouth. He began sucking wet kisses along your neck and collarbone, the steel pearl of his tongue grinding softly into your skin. Things typically never escalated this far between you two, although you definitely weren’t complaining. His open-mouthed kisses reached your chest and he paused all movement. “Is this okay, sweetheart?” He whispered in question while gripping a tassel on your woven top. You nodded frantically before arching your back so he could access the knot of your clothing. Within mere moments the top was tossed out of sight and mind, leaving you bare in-front of his increasingly lustful gaze. “So, so beautiful..” he cooed, causing your cheeks to heat up rapidly.
Neteyam began to suck and lick lightly over one of your tits, allowing his piercing to roll against your hard nipple. These actions had you gasping and arching deliciously beneath his towering form. In response to a particularly sensitive lick, you grasped his braids tightly between your fingers and yanked his head. Neteyam glared up at you. “You’re such a brat sometimes, you know? Always so fucking needy.” His smooth voice lowered as his hot breath fanned over your chest. A whine curled from your throat as he continued the same ministration on your tits. “ahhsh, cold!” You seethed, only to be ignored as his focus remained on your body. “You like this, don’t you?” Neteyam accentuated his assumption with continuous rolls of his pierced tongue against your skin, slowly trailing down your torso and past your navel. All you could do was nod frantically at him, trying to contain an itching moan.
“You’re so wet for me already, baby.” He observed as your pheromones penetrated his senses and your loincloth continued to soak up some of your arousal. “Fuck it.” Without further elaboration, he began to untie your loincloth. Only briefly did he gaze into your hazy blues in search of confirmation. Satisfied by your approving glance, your clothing was now completely discarded. Neteyam soon removed his own loincloth for fear his painful erection would ruin it anyways.
The warrior gazed at your slick coated cunt with complete admiration flooding his golden hues. “Shit, look at you all pretty and spread out for me.” He murmured. “Be a good girl, baby. let me take care of you, okay?” Another heat driven nod from you initiated his continuation, as he began to press warm kisses to your inner thighs. “Neteyam? I need you, here..” you gestured. His ears perked at your sudden announcement, his cock throbbing with desire as he registered your words. “You’re such a whore for me, aren’t you?” Neteyam questioned rhetorically. “Be patient.” He cooed, now rubbing circles into your thighs as his chin lowered until his nose pressed into your mound. Neteyam’s tongue shot out briefly in a kitten-lick, testing the waters and gauging your reaction as the tip smoothed over your pulsing clit. You shuddered at the fleeting sensation before being thrown into an ocean of tingling feels. Neteyam proceeded to lick a wet stripe through your folds, up to your clit before sucking down on it lightly. “You taste soo good, holy shit.” He mumbled.
Within seconds your hand had clasped into his braids again, urging him to keep going. The man groaned against your pussy, sending vibrations through your system like a domino effect. It was then that you felt the cold sting of a familiar bead rolling across your aching clit. “Fuck!” You gritted out as jolts of pleasure shot like lightning through your body. This sensation was shortly followed by his long, thick fingers prodding against your entrance. “You’re gonna take my fingers so well, aren’t you, Tìyawn?” Neteyam taunted as he pressed one finger into you firmly, quickly returning his mouth to your clit. He was obsessed with the way your body reacted to his mouth, particularly his piercing. He got to work thrusting his finger slowly into your heat, then adding another. He then curled them tightly into your sweet spot as his piercing inflicted buzz after buzz to your clit.
All these new feelings overwhelmed you quickly, a tight knot formed in your stomach that bubbled and fizzed with energy. “Wait! I think-” Before Neteyam could even process your words, the knot snapped and a shrill moan broke past your lips. Your release flooded around his fingers like a raging river as you clenched onto him hard and convulsions overtook your spent frame. “That’s it, slut. Cum all over my fucking fingers.” Neteyam growled while still proceeding with his thrusts into your drenched cunt. He wasn’t shocked in the slightest by your abrupt release, he only continued to push you past the brink of a second orgasm.
“Teyam, I can’t-”
“Mawey, you will.”
“Please! It’s too much..”
“Ma Yawne, you should have thought about that before getting all needy. Now you can take all that I give you.”
Neteyam’s fingers increased to a bruising pace inside of you, his mouth returning to lick through your folds. He thoroughly enjoyed the flavors of your release on his tongue, drinking it up like he would become severely dehydrated if he stopped. The painful twitching of his cock began to become a problem though as his desperation for release had risen drastically. Despite this, he continued pumping you with vigor until the familiar clenching around his fingers resurfaced. You moaned loudly as a second release shook through your core, falling off the cliff into overstimulation. He groaned happily against you, enjoying his meal. You lay there for a moment, catching your breath and recovering from the sensitivity enough so that you could focus on his next movements.
Slowly, the man removed his fingers from your abused hole and stood tall, gazing down at your fucked-out expression with eyes matching that of a starving Palulukan. He held your eye contact, soundlessly sucking his soaked fingers clean followed by flexing a smirk. Only then did you gain the confidence and strength to look away, partly in embarrassment, just for your stare to fall upon his dick. It stood tall and rigid, matching his skin colour apart from its dark purple tip. You were completely awestruck by his size and beauty. At first, not even noticing the very familiar steel-pearl adorned on his leaking tip. “You have one there too??” You whispered hoarsely, questioning the obvious, while also observing the way beads of precum shimmered on it- as he had never mentioned it before. “Yea I do, that was also part of the dare, I regret it though.” He spoke with a slight grit behind his words, clearly growing impatient despite basking in the light of your curious face gazing almost innocently at him. You cocked a hairless-brow at his words. “It was a stupid bet and I don’t want to be constantly reminded of my foolishness, the tongue piercing isn’t so bad but this one, I plan to get it removed.” He explained, cupping your cheek in his large hand. You simply nodded, trying to understand his issue despite your clouded mind.
His confession soon left an idea coursing through your foggy brain. Smirking, you reached forward and gripped what you could of his shaft between your curled fingers. Neteyam grunted in satisfaction at the new feeling, observing the way your small hand ran up and down his shaft painstakingly slow. His breath completely hitched as your thumb teasingly danced over his tip, pinching against the ball of his piercing in order to collect some of his pre. The man’s hips stuttered forward abruptly, chasing the overwhelming sensation as if he would die without it. “Shit! stop doing that, love.” He spoke slowly in a low tone, sounding more like a threat than a request. You rubbed your aching thighs together, attempting to diminish some nerves. This only made you whimper quietly as the overstimulation came back to the forefront, hitting you with the force of an Akula.
Deciding to ignore any further feelings of doubt and sensitivity, you took his cock and licked a long stripe underneath from base to tip. Neteyam let a moan slip past his lips at the sensation, his veins pulsing beneath your hot tongue. You then curled your wet muscle over his head, sucking at it and flicking the piercing lightly. The most guttural moan escaped his throat as his head lolled backwards in ecstasy, moments later his hand was wrapped tightly in your hair. He lost some control, snapping his hips fast towards your face. You gagged loudly as his cock rammed into the back of your throat harshly, causing tears to form in your murky eyes. “Fuck—shit! I’m sorry..” Neteyam whimpered out as his hips continued fucking into your constricting throat. “So good, sooo fucking tight! Haah!” The man babbled as his thrusts fell into a rhythm, causing you to choke loudly on his length. “I warned you- not to..” He paused. Feeling his piercing rolling into the back of your throat was driving him to the edge, fast. “Eywa, I’m close..”
You attempted to hollow out your cheeks only to be interrupted as he pulls out, giving you a chance to breathe again. Neteyam began fisting his cock eagerly in-front of your face, grunting loudly as he twitched with the need for release. “Where do you want it?” He asked abruptly, though it didn’t take long for you to decide. “I want to swallow it..” You said with mustered confidence, reopening your mouth as his hot release began shooting right onto your tongue. “fuck, fuck, fuuuck! cumming- I’m cumming!” He rambled as his orgasm continued to spill onto your face, into your mouth and drip down your chin. You swallowed eagerly and the sight only increased his satisfaction. After a while, the two of you finally pulled some air back into your lungs. He proceeded to wipe the excess cum from your soft face with a spare cloth.
“damn baby, that was fucking amazing-” Neteyam spoke softly while kneeling down in-front of you again, feeling completely relieved. He then took in your half lidded, completely exhausted face. “Shit! Yawne, I’m so sorry, did I hurt you?” You shook your head, smiling at him before collapsing onto the sleeping-mat. He was content with your response. Wishing to thank you for it all, Neteyam was quick to lean down between your parted legs again. His only intention being to eat you out until he couldn’t feel his tongue anymore. You were far too tired to stop him, let alone mind it.
“Maybe you should keep the piercing after all, hmm?” You whispered, earning a cheeky smile from Neteyam. “Maybe, Paskalin.”
For anybody who wants to know how he got the piercings, ask Norm.
And that’s it, idk if I would ever do a pt.2 but I hope whoever reads this found it enjoyable :)
Edit: thank you so much for the likes, comments, follows and reblogs! I really appreciate it and I’m glad you guys enjoyed my fic, more coming soon! Please feel free to send me suggestions. I LOVE YOU ALL !!🥰💕🤍
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hatsukeii · 1 month ago
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think fast / childhood bsf!tsukshima kei x reader
genre(s): childhood best friends x soulmates???? past lives and normal people by sally rooney coded im a sally rooney MEATRIDER!! angsty, gut-wrenching longing, bittersweet / hopeful ending so it's not all bad!! nostalgia is going to carry this fic so hard it's going to be a fun, fun time...
warning(s): eventual smut!! all characters are aged up to 21!!MDNI (at least up until the observatory)!! unprotected sex here remember to wrap it before you tap it!! (sorry kids), female leaning anatomy because smut but pronouns are gn all throughout and honestly you could read it as gn anyways:)) dead dad warning (my dad is NOT dead this was just convenient to kick off the thing), i fw the timeline of the world??? pretend flip phones were still in use in like 2012 or something idk
wc: ~6.3k
tldr; time has a way of reminding Kei of its presence, and its escape. you are the reminder it has been sending to him for six years.
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Fate: A power believed to cause and control all events, so that one cannot change or determine the way things will happen. 
It is a sunny afternoon when you step foot into Sendai, Miyagi. A beautiful day of golden warmth beaming onto petals of pink, red, and white, wrapped in coffee-stained newspapers and tied together with a spool of twine. The bouquet lies on browning grass, a contemptible reminder of the time that has passed since your last appearance here, six years ago, and you crouch down to the ground. Now face to face with the engraving of a full name on a slab of polished granite, you hesitate. Your father lived in a language that you can no longer speak, died in a country you no longer call your home. When you whisper blessings and apologies at the gravestone in broken Japanese and slurred syllables, you sound like a stranger. A stranger who sits in a graveyard at noon, with nothing but a bouquet from the nearby florist in hand, and a promise, stuttered out in half-decent Japanese, to return again the next year. 
When a second bouquet falls to the ground behind you, and you turn around, Tsukishima Kei thinks this is what English speakers like you would call fate. He’s a little taller now, and bulkier too, and you have to crane your head higher than you remember just to meet his eyes. You don’t recognise the glasses he dons anymore, the black rectangles from his teenage years swapped out for rounded squares and silver frames. But he has a towel in his hand, a towel that has his initials poorly stitched into the corner with red string. You wonder if the matching one he made you, eleven years ago, is collecting dust somewhere in your dormitory, halfway across the world. 
“You’re back.”
“It’s been a while, Kei.”
You can no longer differentiate Japanese syllables clearly, and your statement jumbles into nonsense in your head. Kei hears the English woven into your accent in the way you roll your tongue like foreigners do, and in the odd intonations that don’t exist in your mother tongue. You don’t even remember your father’s dislike for white flowers. London has truly done a number on you. 
“Why? Why now?”
You bite your nail, a persistent habit that Kei frowns at. He picks up his flowers, and steps towards the gravestone, just close enough for your knee to brush against him for a moment. The bouquet in his hand is wrapped in plastic and filled with red and pink, the white from your own sticking out like a sore thumb when he places his flowers gently on the grass beside yours. He tosses the towel in his hand, opening it up against his palm, and you take it from him. If you cannot get the language right, or the flowers, this is the least you can do. Cobwebs stick to the fabric as you sweep at the granite slab, watching soot and dust fall to the grass. The curves and dips of the gravestone are familiar once again, and you dig the towel into every nook and cranny. You feel Kei’s body shift, before his knee is touching yours and his face is finally level with your peripheral vision. He glances at you, waiting. His knees bounce in anticipation. 
“Never had the chance, college has been a lot.”
Your phone rings as you finish cleaning. The ringtone is familiar, unchanged from when you used to have a flip phone, in fact. Kei hums along to the jingle for the four seconds that the call is left unanswered, before it cuts off into a flurry of English. He catches something about research, and a thesis, his shabby English unable to fill in any more than that. He’s never known you were interested in research, let alone what it is that you’re researching. All he’s known is your aspiration of becoming a librarian when you were six, and his promise to borrow books from you for the museum that he swore he would one day work at. Now, he works at the museum, sorts antique scripts and yellowed books into cabinets and display shelves. He does not borrow books from you. Now, you talk, but nothing makes sense to him.
You end the call, mumbling foreign curses as you shove your phone back into your pocket. Clicking your tongue, you turn to Kei, who stares at the flowers on the ground. He pushes his glasses up when they slide down his nose, and you resist the familiar urge to nag him about buying the right frames for his face. 
“Yeah, college has been mostly phone calls like that.”
He nods, a half-hearted chuckle huffing from his nose. He’s forgotten what it’s like to sit at a graveyard with somebody else, the annual reminder of a lonely death replaced by another this year as you dust off his towel, and drop it onto his thigh. He swipes it from his leg, folding it into quarters and sliding it into his pocket. 
“So you choose to come now, without a word? Not even a heads up? Six years after leaving?” Kei’s voice rises at each question, the same way it did six years ago when you broke the news of leaving Japan to him. This hurts him to ask, that much you can still recognise.
“I would have come sooner if I had the chance. I’ve missed everyone so much.”
You pluck a petal from a white flower in your bouquet, then another, until all that remains is the naked bulb, and scatter them onto the ground beside you. Perhaps the next person that’s been buried under six feet of dirt used to have a liking for them. Kei remains unmoving, throat bobbing as he swallows thickly. His knee stops bouncing. 
“How long will you stay for?”
“Today, then Friday and Saturday too. Flight back is Sunday night.”
Six years of waiting, and this is what it amounts to. A weekend and a bit. Despite that, Kei still thinks this must be fate, in all the languages that it exists in. Six years of life, and love, and hurt, all to be condensed into four measly days. Yet as Kei pushes himself off the ground, dusting his trousers off, he still thinks that this unlikely, yet conveniently timed visit must be the answer to his pleas for your return. That this must be some heavenly reward, good karma for visiting your father’s grave annually on your behalf. You watch him turn to leave, and he calls out to you as he walks away from your father’s grave. 
“Everyone’s at Hinata’s old place tomorrow. You should come by if you can.”
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Change: to replace (something) with something else, especially something of the same kind that is newer or better; substitute one thing for (another).
All it takes is one coincidental exchange of panicked glances at the first throw up of the night for you and Kei to leave together. Hinata slurs a drunken farewell, tries to embrace you as you slip your sneakers on at the door, and you make a note to yourself that you really do not miss most of the people here, spare for the volleyball team. Kei waits at the door, holding it open for when you finally shake Hinata off of your back, and step through. The night is chilly, the warmth in your skin from the indoor heating system emanating into the midnight air. You kick rocks along the pavement as you walk, scattering pigeons that remain awake and active at this time, and Kei smiles at your antics. You still hate birds, and you still remember the trick he taught you when you were nine for chasing away pigeons that flocked around you for food. 
“Who are you staying with?”
“My mom’s.”
The road leads the two of you to a high school. Kei has not come back to Karasuno since graduation. You squint in the dark, scanning the school, and you don’t recognise the new building that stands in place of the old auditorium. He watches you crouch at the plaque next to the front gate, tracing the letters engraved on it with the pad of your thumb. Some part of him blames Karasuno for being a bad place to you, the other parts blame himself for not being good enough to outweigh it.
“It’s changed.”
“Everything has.”
You rattle the locked entrance, the chain and padlock hitting against cold metal. It won’t open, so you look up through the gap of the gate. Six years ago, on that rooftop, was where you stood over a cold lunch box and emptied convenience store drinks, back against the wire fence, saying to Kei, I’m leaving tomorrow. On that day, you had packed yakisoba for his lunch, and nothing for yourself. He could barely respond to your announcement, only dropping his chopsticks and asking you, why? You told him something along the lines of being an expat, and a better school for what you wanted, all in the fluent Japanese you once spoke. Nothing made sense to him anyways. 
When you turn back to him, his hands are in the pockets of his jacket, and his nose is red from the cold air. You stand beside him, staring aimlessly at Karasuno from outside its barriers. 
“Do you still play volleyball?” 
“Yeah, Sendai Frogs.”
You hum, and then wonder why you only asked tonight, and why you’re surprised. He shrugs, clouds of white puffing from his mouth when he breathes out. He tries to blow a wisp of hair away from his face, and you suddenly realise that his hair has grown too, along with his height. It fails, and he tries again. You reach up to swipe at his bangs, before running your fingers backwards through his hair. It parts itself as you lift your hands from his head, and falls into place neatly. A cold breeze whizzes by, and undoes your work, sending strands of gold into his face once again. You snicker a little.
“You know, you could ask my mom to trim it for you like she used to.”
“Nah, I prefer this.”
It isn’t until you turn to look at him properly that you see how much time has passed. He likes his hair longer these days, the choppy hairdo of his teenage years now nothing but an old preference, and you wonder if he is still a loyal customer of your mother’s salon. When he pulls his hands from his pockets and blows hot air into them, calluses line the bases of his fingers, the blisters of his high school years hardened by trials of time and effort. There are bags under his eyes, eyes that are now a little rounder, and softer too. When he speaks, monotone and tired, you realise his snarkiness has dissipated into general frustration. You stare until his eyes dart to you, and turn away quickly, ashamed. Leaving Karasuno has taken your hand and led you to a purpose that you never knew you were capable of. You wonder what the hell it has done to Tsukishima Kei. 
“It looks good.”
He breathes in sharply, then exhales with a huff, shoulders relaxing as he stuffs his hands back into his pockets. You suddenly realise that your fingers have gone numb from the cold of the night, fingertips tingling like a million frost-bitten needles poking into your skin. You also stuff your hands into your pockets, rubbing your fingers against each other to generate some heat. Then, Kei’s looping his arm around yours, and pulling you away from Karasuno High School. He keeps on his straight path, and you stumble along behind his leaping steps. When you round a corner, the night breeze grows into something less imperturbable, and more vicious, pushing the two of you forward from behind in slashes of cold. The sea is near. 
“Is this the beach we used to go to?”
“You still remember it.”
He drags you down a flight of stairs to Fukanuma Beach, and the misty sea air rushes to your head. When he leads you to the shoreline, you hesitate. The sea has been off limits since the two of you were five, a regulation put in place in remembrance of the Great Sendai Earthquake. An earthquake that saw Kei and yourself hunched beneath the same table in the middle of class, huddled next to each other as you cried for your parents. Now, in your final years of college, as the water slips beneath the soles of his shoes, pushing and receding in layers of aqua and bubbles of white, it seems that time has slipped by just as easily too. Time, that saw the fading of the earthquake’s devastation, despite the loss of thousands, including your father. Time, that frayed the string connecting yourself to Kei as you moved through life halfway across the world from Japan. Time, that passes through you like sand spilling between your fingers on a beach you once thought you knew, but has changed like the unprohibited water that seems to push further up into the shore at each tidal wave. 
“They lifted the ban?”
“A few months ago, yeah.”
You step into the next wave that fizzles into foam, and the water crashes into the toe of your shoes. Crouching, you push mounds of wet sand into a cylinder, flattening the top and pushing divots in equal intervals. Kei joins, moulding shorter ones beside your own and drawing windows into the side. You finish, and he stands, smiling at the creation. You cover the top, afraid he will stomp on it, a trademark of Kei’s whenever you built sandcastles with him in childhood. Instead, he laughs, and walks further into the water. When you get up to join him, the hems of his trousers are soaked, shoes also covered in a sheen of wetness. You hop over the castle, and the next wave that comes sends its foundations crumbling back into the sea. 
“We used to do that. You’d destroy it every time.”
Kei chuckles, and looks back to see the half destroyed castle. Clicking his tongue, he returns to the rubble, and you watch his hands push mounds of sand towards what is left standing. 
“I’d always build a better one for you afterwards though.”
He dusts his hands off when he finishes, and the waves fizzle out just before they hit the two-tiered sandcastle. You sniff, holding your arms close to your chest. When Kei looks up, he feels like the summer of being seven years old again, smiling at you with his missing front tooth when you sniffle and laugh at the improved castle he’s put together for you. Now, it is winter. He only grins with the corners of his lips. You only sniff because it’s cold. 
“Kei.”
“Yeah?”
“It’s really been a while. How have you been?”
He steps over the castle towards you, careful not to break it. Your hair blows in your face from the beach breeze and your eyes squint from the sand that flies into the air, and Kei takes it all in when you’re face to face with him. When he opens his mouth, some selfish part of him thinks about casting his words into shackles of regret, so heavy that they weigh you down and keep you in Japan, in Sendai, on this beach, somewhere close to him.
“Do you want to stay the night? Like you used to?”
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Nostalgia: A sentimental longing, or wistful yearning for a return to or of some past period or irrecoverable condition.
Kei does not take you to his family house. He leads you up stairs that make no sense, and hallways that stretch on forever, until you finally reach his flat. He wipes his shoes on the doormat, throws his keys into a glass bowl upon entry, and hangs his jacket on a hook mounted to his front door instead of the coathanger that used to stand beside it. You look around, searching for the shells you once collected in a jar for his tenth birthday. When your eyes land on a jar filled with conches and cowries, you let go of a breath you were unaware of holding. They sit on the top of his bookshelf, above textbooks and file organisers. A knot forms in your throat at the realisation that the jar sits alone in its compartment, with nothing beside it. You’ve done the same to the jazz vinyl Kei gifted you at the airport before your departure. You don’t realise that he’s disappeared somewhere as you stare at the shells, until a shirt and a pair of shorts are thrown into your chest. He stands at the entrance to a hallway, donning sweatpants and an old hoodie, one that’s clearly a size too small. The pocket is lousily sewn on, a result of a mishap that occurred when you had borrowed it once. He doesn’t know that you spent the night learning to sew fabric just to fix it.
“Change. It’ll be more comfortable.”
You scurry through the hallway to his bathroom, pulling the shirt and shorts on hastily, before balling up your clothes and returning to the living room. Kei sits at his couch, now bound in leather instead of fabric, and clicks at the television. You join beside him, legs splaying across his own subconsciously. He doesn’t move. He stops at a movie, one you’ve seen hundreds of times before at his old house. It drones on in the background as he watches in silence, his arms now draped over your knees. The first time he watched this movie, it was in his old home, cross-legged on the carpeted ground with you on the couch behind him. Your hands used to press into his shoulders from above, shake them whenever your favourite scenes came on, squeeze them when you laughed until tears rolled from your eyes. Now that his new flat lacks a rug, he’s willing to settle with your legs on his own. Flashing lights illuminate the dark room in sequences that you can still recall perfectly from memory. He watches the movie. You watch him. 
“Have you been doing good, Kei?”
Turning to you, he pushes his glasses up into his hair, leaning further back. You shuffle closer, legs bending as your shoulder digs into the leather couch. A strand of blond falls into his face, and you lift his glasses to tuck it back, before smoothing your hands over his mess of hair, combing and pushing with your fingertips.The words from the television melt into gibberish when he hums in satisfaction, what is unspoken between you two is more glaring than ever.
“I’ve been okay.” He cuts off, then finds himself thinking of what to tell you first, amongst the recollections of life that rush through his head. “Started working at the museum a couple years ago.” He wishes that you still remember the building, where the marble floors squeaked beneath your slippers, and glass panels lined the walls, hiding away treasures and artefacts that have withstood centuries, maybe even eons of erosion and weathering.
You nod, mind filling with the many museum visits you had with him there. He’s always liked the dinosaurs more than the shells. When you breathe out a chuckle, he knows you’re recalling the time he almost pissed himself at a life-sized, moving tyrannosaurus rex model. 
“What about you?”
“Research. I’ve been doing research about…” you sign in the air, searching for the Japanese words that have slipped from your mind. Surrendering, you whip your phone out, searching for a translation. 
“Archaeology?”
“Yeah, that. No more librarian dreams for me. More dinosaurs, though.”
A smile finds its way onto Kei’s face, one that softens his cheeks and flattens his eyes into crescents. He wonders if amongst the silver plaques and digital displays, your work is engraved in there somewhere. If each time he explains something to some bright-eyed child, who scuttles around the museum as you and him once did, he is unknowingly speaking in your language, translated until he can decipher the thoughts that run through your mind in your research, your memories, your dreams too. 
“Maybe it’s in the museum somewhere. I’m willing to bet.”
“I hope it is.”
Your conversation fizzles back into silence, and the characters on the television do too. The two on the screen sit in a field, mere inches apart. The two of you look at each other, your knees now leaned into Kei’s chest and one of his arms draped along the back of the couch. When he pulls his glasses back to his eyes, and studies you all over again, it hits him that you really haven’t changed all that much, even after your six year separation. Six years older, with the exhaustion of a functioning adult, but you still gnaw on your cheeks, and tilt your head as you ask questions. Six years apart, and you are still you, who taught him to build sandcastles, and introduced him to his favourite movie, and fixed his hair whenever it stuck up in stubborn peaks of gold. When you let your eyes close, and drop your head onto his shoulder, you wait for lost time to tick backwards, until you’re on the rooftop with him once again. In this version of time, you blush when you tell him that you’ve chosen to stay in Japan instead. Pushing your head further into the crook of his neck, Kei’s chin reaches over to rest on the top of your crown. The credits of the movie roll in the background, and you mumble into the skin of his pulse. 
“Can you take me there? I’ve missed it.” Your words send vibrations down his spine, sending his head into a frenzy as he pushes his hands against the couch harder. 
“The museum?” It will be closed for the weekend, but Kei nods anyway. He’s sure he can find his way in through the back. Maybe he’ll take you to the fossils again, let you run your fingers along smooth amber and stone engravings. Perhaps he could show you the new exhibitions, ones that you won’t miss this time, as you have for the past six years. For now, he thinks he will let you sleep on his shoulder, listen to your soft snores, tremble at every hot breath that fans onto his neck. 
The credits roll to the end, and come to a stop. Kei removes his arm from the couch to grab the remote from his coffee table. He rewinds the movie to the start.
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思慕 [しぼ, shibo]: yearning; deep longing, especially when accompanied by tenderness or sadness.
On the final night of your stay, you learn that Kei still giggles when he breaks rules, as he drags you through the back entrance of the closed museum. He maneuvers through hallways of antique paintings and repurposed junk, slips into dark stairwells illuminated by the flashlight of his phone, traps your wrist between his fingers and chuckles to himself, shaking his head as he takes you higher, and higher, and higher. You’ve lost count of how many flights of stairs have gone by when he taps his keycard against a sensor by a backdoor, and pushes it open. The museum observatory, once a mess of bamboo scaffolding and green covers, now allows silver moonlight through its glass dome, boasting billions of iridescent stars nestled in a blanket of hazy midnight. A decade of your anticipation has resulted in a circular space, hundreds of plush recliners lining the circumference of the room, and you wonder how many eyes have watched the stars from those seats before you ever had the chance to. When Kei leads you further into the observatory, you step foot onto the north star plastered on the ground in the centre of the room, where nothing but a telescope remains in a ten-foot radius. He takes a spot on the ground, back pressed against the cushioned edge of a seat.
“I figured this is the best spot. Better than any of the seats, actually.” He plants his feet on the ground, bending his knees and spreading them just wide enough for you to sit in between. You cross your legs, wagging them up and down as your hands hold your shins, and he lowers his legs, stretching them out in front of him. Leaning back, your spine hits a spot between his ribs, the same way it did when you were thirteen, and fourteen, and fifteen, staring at stars from the grass of his backyard. You pity the visitors that have yet to discover the simplicity of stargazing from the ground, hands pushed into the ground for stability, dirt and moisture seeping into the fabric of clothing. Pushing further into him, his breathing is heavy against your back, chest rising in rhythmic ups and downs. For what feels like hours, you sit in silence, eyes trained on your fingers that pick and fiddle. At the realisation that you haven’t looked at the stars in years, something bubbles in your stomach, pervasive, relentless. When you finally loll your head backwards to fall on his shoulder, and the tip of Kei’s nose grazes your cheekbone, you wonder how long he has not looked at the stars for as well. 
“Why’d you stop calling?” His sudden question sends a haze rushing into your head.
You swallow thickly. If the passage of time were a sin, you’d burden it with all your explanations. Telling him that now would seem like some lousy excuse.
“It stopped going to your line a year after I left.” You pause, searching for the right words to use amidst the sea of Japanese and English that you must now sort out. “I only stopped trying after another month, the voicemail just said your number was no longer in use.” 
Kei wishes he could dig his fingers into his chest and rip his heart out. If only he hadn’t stupidly broken his phone that night, five years ago during volleyball practice. If only he had checked his pockets before entering the court, just as he has done hundreds of times before. If only he had this, if only he had that, he might just torment himself for the rest of his life. His breath hitches, shoulder freezing rigid. Time does not differentiate between the knowing and oblivious. It slips and leaks beneath the noses of all that it encompasses, and it is but the cautious few that know to grab it, and join in on its journey. He knows now that he is not one of them, not after he’s cursed at the passage of time over and over and over for his own blunder.
“I broke my phone in a game. Got a new one so the number changed as well, fuck me.”
You laugh dryly into the empty observatory. The occasional twinkling of the stars above do nothing to make his explanation any easier. You think you’ll blame it all on doomed fate that you’ve spent five years trying to find somebody that felt the same as Kei did, to no avail. Blame it on cursed luck that you’ve clawed and grabbed at anything familiar enough, archaeology, jazz vinyls, old DVDs of the movie shared between two, all to remind yourself that he too, was once within grasp. You say nothing, because you don’t see a reason to. Instead, you push your head into his neck, drown in the scent of his cologne, ease yourself into his now grown body. You don’t see him wipe a hand across his mouth, then rub his eyes with pinched fingers. 
When Kei decides to speak again, it is what feels like another hour later. He’s readjusted his posture about fifty times by now, arms removed from the ground and draped over your shoulders. The sensation of your hair against his skin is suddenly more prominent than ever when your hands find his own, holding them closer to yourself.
“If I didn’t find you at the grave, would you have looked for me?” His question is heavy, weighing his chest down as the words leave his throat in a hesitant cluster. You turn to look at him, and your eyes linger on his own when you squeeze his hands once, twice, then a third time. 
“I’ve been looking for five years. Nobody else could take me home.” Your heart rushes to your mouth at your confession, and the bob of Kei’s throat does not go unnoticed. One of his hands comes up to hold your shoulder, pushing it towards himself until your body twists, rubbing against his. You let go of him, pressing your fingers into the ground between his legs instead, and he breathes out shakily, his windpipe suddenly cleared of its uncertainty.
“You’re leaving tomorrow.”
“Yes, I am.”
His fingers slide down to grab your wrist, before going numb completely. His unoccupied hand peels itself from the floor and settles on the side of your waist. Your mouth goes dry when Kei breathes, hot and heavy, his eyes travelling to every inch of you. A bout of heat rushes from his chest to his head, and his legs, and his arms too. The air between the two of you is thick, and it sends your head into a feverish blur. The ground collapses beneath your knees as they shift to press into the floor, and you come face to face with Tsukishima Kei, who prefers his hair parted in bangs on the sides of his face, and wears silver frames instead of black ones. Tsukishima Kei, who has been visiting your father’s grave on your behalf for six years, and still plays volleyball even in his adulthood. Tsukishima Kei, whose eyes are finally finished with their ventures across your figure, that is pushed up against him on the ground of an observatory, and is learning whatever he can about you when his fingers tighten around your wrists and he kisses you without a warning. 
Once, at the young, innocent age of seven, Tsukishima Kei kissed you in this museum. You had run a little too fast, stepped on your loose laces and fallen onto the ground face first. You sulked at a bench facing some random painting of melting clocks, red dots scattered across a purple patch right beneath your eye. When he kneeled in front of you to grab your face, and pressed his lips onto the bruise for a fraction of a second, he must have kissed the pain away, mending the leaking capillaries beneath your skin as he separated from your cheeks with a pop. Now, he pulls against your wrists to push himself closer, traps you in the embrace of his legs around the back of your thighs, wheezes and stutters against your lips at the lack of oxygen in his lungs. His head is running in circles instead of straight paths, and everything is spinning. When your hands reach to grab at his shirt, and palm at his chest, he pulls away only to rip his glasses off and toss them to the ground. Beneath the glow of the moon from above, everything but your flushed cheeks and swollen lips is a blur. You take half a breath in, before it is interrupted by Kei’s palms pulling you in by the sides of your neck, and his mouth on yours again. At seven years old, he ripped bruising pain away from your face with a kiss. At twenty-one, he forces his pain, and grief, and regret rushing into your heart by pushing himself against you, fingers tangling themselves into your hair as he kisses you, desperate, almost distressed. Every tug at your lips is a confession left unspoken, every time Kei opens his mouth apologies spill out into you in choked groans and sighs. At the sensation of his hand leaving your neck, your arm searches for him aimlessly, before he’s palming at you through your pants. He swallows your sudden gasp, and your fingers grip his wrist until your knuckles go white. 
“Did you ever like me?” You can do nothing but choke out a question against his lips, one you’ve pondered about, day in and day out, since your departure from Japan.
By the way that Kei nods frantically, you’re certain that this is what six years of separation has amounted to. 
Sparing no time, your fingers tug at the hem of his boxers, pulling them down just enough to release himself from the fabric constraints. He does the same, hands roaming until they find the waistband of your pants to push them down, fingers tugging your underwear to the side with a flick. He grabs you by the waist beneath your shirt, yanks your body towards him until something feels right and he can’t help but let out a trembling sigh into your shoulder. And when you finally begin to sink yourself onto him, agonisingly slow, you wish that you had never left Japan in the first place. Your eyes roll to the back of your head, and you wish that you could spend the rest of your life in this observatory with Kei, your hands wrapped around the back of his sweat-slicked neck. 
When he pulls you down to push further, more pervasively, you fall into him, head hanging over his shoulder and arms squeezing around his neck. His inexperienced hands rock you back and forth against his hips, pulling a flurry of gasps and moans from your throat. He lets himself learn how you taste when his teeth tug at the hem of your shirt, pulling it down to expose your bare shoulder. His lips latch onto your collarbone, biting and sucking a trail of red marks up to the side of your neck. You shudder at his advances, and he studies the way your walls flutter around him, the erratic pulses that draw stars around his head, how your nails dig into his shoulders, and send his mind into a senseless orbit. 
When he pushes and pulls at you a little harder, you whimper his name into his ear, reduced to nothing but a babbling mess that nibbles at his neck and kisses up his jaw feverishly. First friend, first kiss, first love. The notion that this is another first that Tsukishima Kei has brought upon you sends your mind spiralling. He should have been your first prom date, first roommate, first dance too. If only you hadn’t left him first. You push your head off his shoulder, hands moving to hold his face instead. A wave of pleasure washes over you when his palm presses against your stomach, and you hang your head low again, a shaky sigh released from your chest. 
When you look up, there are tears in Kei’s eyes. He rolls his head back onto the plush seat behind him, hands lifting you off himself fully, just to push you back onto him again. You collapse into his body, palms pressing against his heaving chest. 
“I- fuck! I fucking loved you! I still do!” He speaks it into the glass ceiling as one hand reaches for his face. He wipes his palm across his eyes, only for more tears to form. They are uncontrollable, relentless as he turns his head away from you. He isn’t sure how he will live again tomorrow, not when he’s finally come to a reckoning with the pang in his chest at every thought of you. He thinks he could die the second you step onto that flight back to London, ripped away from him once again. The reality that he cannot stay buried inside you for any longer than the next couple of minutes haunts him to no end, the idea of being separated from you a second time unbearable to even imagine. When he turns back to see you, head on his chest and fingers gripping the fabric of his shirt, he decides that reality can wait until he’s finished with you. 
“I love you too- shit, Kei! I never stopped!”
You rut against his hips senselessly now, chasing some unfamiliar high as your vision fades to black and you scream his name until your throat goes hoarse. Kei barely gives you time to breathe, before he’s coming undone from right beneath you, shuddering and groaning as you relax against his body and go limp. He holds you against him, one hand pushing your head against his chest and the other wrapped around your back. He tucks your damp hair behind your ears, places kisses along your temple so he can hear the hums of satisfaction that sound from your curled lips. 
“Can you stay forever?” He mumbles into your hair, and you turn to press your ear against his chest. His heart pounds as he pushes his cheek into the crown of your head, and your hands crawl up his chest to wrap around his neck. When he looks up through the glass ceiling, the stars have not moved one bit.
“I’ll find you again, wherever you are.”
Time may slip away from Tsukishima Kei like petals that fall off the buds of flowers, water that seeps beneath the soles of his sneakers, stardust that hovers above the atmosphere. Yet he has learned that it has a way of always coming back to remind him of its presence, and its escape. You are the reminder that it has been sending to him for six years.
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author's note:
ERM! never writing nsfw again that's for sure but this piece defs had some stuff that i was very, VERY proud of coming up with!! sorry to my minor moots who probably won't read this in its entirety bc of the big MDNI warning... but I honestly don't know how to feel about this piece as a whole... i was super excited to write it but i think i got a little impatient towards the end esp since im always writing at like 3am LOL but i hope you guys liked it anyways!!! i tried really hard to make the dynamic work and i hope it did!!!!!
also ps they exchange numbers again js a little extra bonus that i didn’t get to put into the actual thing
anyways tags!!
@staraxiaa @chuuya-brainrot @akaakeis @laughingfcx @writingsofanomnivore @t0rchknight @bailey-reeds @wyrcan @hiraethwa @fiannee @catsoupki @anonymity-222 @wishi-selfships @kuroppiii
ok love u guys thank u for being patient
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